Dave first saw her as he passed the smoking lounge on the way to his flight. She had her lips wrapped around a cigarette and was smoking it down to the last grains of tobacco without seeming to stop for breath. He had to pass through her copious smoke cloud on his way to the gate -- not that he minded. Poor thing, he thought. She must be stocking up on nicotine for the flight.

She was an executive-type, he decided, with her brown hair carefully styled and her sexy shape tucked into a modest skirt and blouse. Late 20s, he guessed, a go-getter.

He passed on by and found his seat. 17-A. No one to share the row with. Good. He didn't much care for company. He settled down and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep and not linger in worry-land.

"Excuse me," said a glorious alto voice. "I've got 17-B."

He opened his eyes and there she stood. Up close and lovely and still soaked in the fragrance of her just-finished cigarette. She smiled. He noticed that her eyes were blue. He was staring.

"Um, can I get by?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," he said, standing up. She squeezed by in a warm gust of sweetness and sat down with a sigh.

"I hate these damn business flights," she said. "I had tickets to the Mariners game with my roommate this weekend. My shit-head boss just had to wreck all that with this new account I've got to cover. In a hell-hole place like Toledo."

He liked her a lot. He liked the fact that casual profanity had thrice crossed those soft, full lips.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault," she said, smiling again. "I just hope the food's better this time than last month."

They talked for a while, she leaning close in on the arm rest that he had happily surrendered to her. She was wearing some incredibly sexy perfume, Aspen maybe, that seemed to grow stronger as the scent of tobacco on her faded. She had a wonderfully expressive face, with small, girlish features -- except for those gorgeous lips.

The overhead movie was incredibly stupid so they just kept on talking. Dinner arrived, choice of beef or chicken. He ordered beef. She ordered chicken. He ordered soda. She ordered wine.

"This pot roast isn't too bad," he said, not because he cared, really, but more to keep the conversation going.

"Really," she said. And those lovely eyebrows lifted. "Let me try a bite." And he yielded, and her fork was suddenly jabbing into his dinner, selecting a nice piece of meat and sawing it loose. She popped the morsel into her mouth, pulling it free of the tines with those lovely lips.

"It's all right," she said, chewing a little. "Try the chicken." And it was her fork on which she offered the tidbit. Not that he minded.

So they shared back and forth, giggling like little kids. She finished with a fetching little burp and settled back in her seat. Life was good.

It was all about to change.

"May I have your attention, please? This is your captain. Due to a severe storm over the Rockies, we have altered our flight plan to Ohio. We will be detouring to Dallas, where a connecting flight will be available tommorow morning. We apologize for the inconvenience and ask that you continue to observe the no-smoking rule in spite of the lengthening of the flight. No smoking will be permitted in the lavatories, either."

He saw her stiffen and a flash of what looked like mixed anger and panic cross her face. He heard her curse softly.

"Dammit."

He tried to take her mind off the situation, but her mood had altered and she was barely answering, so he finally just shut up. She lifted her purse on her lap and he saw her fingers caressing the pack of Virginia Slims tucked within it.

She seemed to be breathing harder now.

"Would you like some more wine, ma'am?" the stewardess asked, leaning way over.

"I'd like a cigarette," the woman half-mumbled.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. American Airlines prohibits the consumption of tob --"

"Yeah, skip it," the woman almost grumbled. "I don't want anything more to drink."

They sat in uncomfortable silence. It seemed as if the craving might be passing but then the woman sat upright again, clenching her teeth. She took her cigarettes out of her pack and then put them back in. She punched the call-button.

The stewardess appeared, looming large again.

"How much longer to Dallas?" the woman said.

"Two hours," the stewardess said, smiling. She seemed to be enjoying the woman's torment.

"Isn't there some place on this plane I can smoke a cigarette?" the woman asked. "You smoke, don't you?

"Why, yes," the stewardess said, caught off guard. "But I can't allow you in the stewardess' lounge."

"Why the hell not?" the woman asked.

"American Airlines regulations prohibit --"

"Yeah, can it," the woman said, shifting irritably in her seat. "Go serve some peanuts or something."

The stewardess left, and the woman took out her cigarettes again.

"I have to go piss," she said. "Scuse me."

She shoved past , ramming her luscious rump into his face on her way by before he had a chance to move. Not that he minded.

Dave watched her out of the corner of his eye as she swayed down the aisle in that form-fitting skirt.

She stood outside the lavatory, watching the Ocupado sign with pure hate in her eyes.

"Can you hurry, please?" he heard her say to the Ocupado occupant. Finally a little girl emerged, giving the woman a dirty look.

"Geez, lady, how bad ya gotta go?"

"F... you," he distinctly heard his friend say.

"Hey, there's no call for that," some man said. "What's your problem, anyway?"

The woman ignored them, climbing inside the lavatory and slamming the door. In a moment, an alarm was shrieking and two stewardesses were banging on the door.

"Ma'am, you've triggered the smoke alarm. Get out immediately or we'll have to arrest you."

The woman emerged, humiliated, flustered and angry. Yet, she was still beautiful. She took a deep breath and raised her head.

"I'll be fine," she said. "I'm sorry I set off your alarm." She walked back to her seat with all the bearing of royalty, gently sliding by Dave this time. Apparently those one or two puffs had dulled the edge off her craving.

But her hands were still shaking. And people were still staring. Dave stared them down, one by one.

"We're almost there," he said, touching her hand gently. She looked at him with those beautiful blue eyes.

He had an idea. He got up and walked up the aisle, selecting a certain person he had seen there, someone else who had reacted to the pilot's unwelcome news. For Dave was an observant man. He returned to his seat, twenty dollars shorter in cash, but with a precious treasure clasped in his hand.

She took the nicotine gum with what almost seemed to be tears in her eyes.

And when they finally got to Dallas, she took out a single-room reservation for them, her credit card, at the nearest Holiday Inn. Smoking room.

Not that he minded.