PHOTO SERIES NUMBER TWO STORY BY FUMEFRIEND PHOTO BY ROOTDOG

Daniella Wilson eased her way through the county fair crowd and into the refreshment pavilion, seeking refuge from the sun's glare and the noise.

She dug into the pocket of her jeans for change to buy a Coke. All gone. She'd spent her last buck on the chance to win a Pokemon plush toy for Josh, the neighbor kid. He was like the son she'd love to have, if her husband ever mustered the desire to have one.

Thinking of Matt, her husband of three years now, made her angry. He was lazy -- only managed to find himself part time jobs that rarely lasted. He spent most of his time and money with his buddies. The only good thing he had done, was to force her to quit smoking.

Then again, maybe that wasn't so good. She'd gained ten pounds and lost a good excuse to take breaks at work.

Daniella could have had anybody she'd wanted in life. But it was Matt she'd fallen for. Her dark eyes and auburn hair still turned heads, and though she had gained a few pounds since her days as a high school cheerleader, she was still proud of her figure. She'd chosen a nice snug pair of jeans for today, that hugged her hips like a lover, and a skimpy top that showed off her still firm breasts.

As she entered the refreshment tent, she passed by some lady who was just exhaling a lungful of cigarette smoke. The old, familiar fragrance awoke a longing deep within her. The woman didn't apologize and Daniella didn't ask her to.

She sat down at a table. She couldn't buy anything but she could sit for a little while and maybe that would calm her nerves.

Presently she became aware of something, half hidden by a heap of napkins that the table's previous occupant had left behind. It was a pack of Benson and Hedges. Probably empty, she thought, and gave it a flick. The flick only succeeded in sending it a few inches, for the pack was almost full. Her heart began to race as temptation began to whisper.

Just one. Just one. Matt won't know if you just have one.

Daniella had smoked ever since she was 12. And she had loved it, loved everything about it. Smoking had helped her keep her weight down through school. It had brought her the attention of virtually all the boys she ended up dating; as well as earned her a firm spot with the in-crowd.

She remembered the first time she had dared to smoke, behind the gym with a bunch of other girls, the cool ones. The cigarette they handed to her had felt natural on her lips, like a grown-up lollipop, and she had hardly coughed when she inhaled -- a legacy, perhaps, of her years of exposure to second-hand smoke, courtesy of her smoking dad.

What a day that had been! Her lips, which had never yet kissed a boy, had clamped tightly around the filter tip as she had concentrated and sucked in a breath. Her mouth had flooded with a sudden surge of smoke -- her very own smoke, for the very first time -- strong and rich, not the faint and faded secondhand stuff -- and she had felt almost possessive of it as she swirled it over her tongue, thinking absurdly that she had never before tasted anything stronger than sour candy -- and here she was, all of twelve, smoking. Her last molars hadn't even come in yet. She felt, naturally, quite grown-up.

The smoke had been surprisingly bitter and after she carefully exhaled, knowing the rest of the girls were watching her intently, she gathered her saliva and spat, but as if she wanted to, not as if she needed to. She had aimed at a grasshopper flexing its antenna on a nearby weed, and, surprising herself, she nailed it head-on.

Then she had inhaled again, more confidently this time, and for the first time, she swallowed it. Her lungs fought against the invasion, her stomach heaved, but she held it in until she couldn't stand it anymore and even managed one weak smoke ring before her lungs betrayed her and she'd gone into a fit of coughing.

The others were coughing, too, and didn't pick on her. And after a few more days, they were experts, inhalers all and confidantes of their shared smoking experience.

***

But she had quit. For Matt. Damn him. She'd abandoned her daily best friend for a man who had turned out not to be.

Daniella waited fifteen minutes at the table in case the owners of the cigarettes returned. They didn't. Time, she decided, was up.

She scooped up the pack and wandered to the edge of the pavilion, leaning over a railing that faced the Midway. Her heart raced like that 12 year old she'd once been, all over again, as she fished a cigarette from the pack and put it to her lips. She reached for her lighter and remembered that she didn't have one anymore.

"Like a light?" someone said. A tall man with short, sandy-blonde hair and rugged, Crocodile Dundee features was smiling at her, holding a silver lighter.

She just nodded, and held the cigarette still in her lips for the flame. Like old times, she drew in a careful breath -- and like old times, her lungs resisted all over again and she couldn't help it, she coughed her smoke right into the stranger's face.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, through the remnants of the smoke. "This isn't my normal brand."

"I hardly mind," he said. "There are worse things in the world than to have a beautiful lady blow a little smoke in one's face."

Lord, he was a good-looking man, she thought. And sweet-talking, in all the ways Matt wasn't.

But her head, not her heart, answered.

"I'm married."

"All the best ones always are," he said. "Look me up if it ever changes. I run a photography business in town -- Nature Studios. Mind doing me one last favor though, before your hubbie comes by and I end up fighting him?"

"What--t-t?" she purred, playfully, feeling strongly tempted and almost hoping he'd ask her out or something.

"Blow me one last little puff of pretty smoke. It looks good on you," he said.

She smiled. She took a nice deep drag, welcoming the warm, rich fumes back into her lungs. Then she pursed her lips and leaned close and slowly exhaled across his face, shifting her lips ever so slightly to angle the smoke back and forth from his eyes to his nose to his luscious lips.

He drank it in. Then he was gone.

Daniella stood by the rail a while longer, watching the people go by and enjoying her cigarette. A woman with two girls came by at one point, and the little toddler of the trio made a yucky face and pointed rudely at Daniella.

"Smoking, yucky, look mom, at that lady."

The lady said:

"Looks ugly, doesn't it?"

How rude.

Daniella took a deep drag and blew out three perfect smoke rings. And she had the deep satisfaction of watching the little girl's face change from revulsion to awe, and of seeing the older girl, who appeared to be at that magic age of 12, studying her technique and acting it out with her soda straw as they walked away.

Time to go find Matt.

She dropped the cigarette on the ground. And experienced again the pleasure of crushing it out underfoot.

You may drive me crazy with desire. But when I get my hands on you, I burn you down and then I step on you like a bug and grind out your hot little life, she thought.

Matt wouldn't like her smoking again. Tough.

***

Epilogue:

Daniella had her own lighter, her own cigarettes -- and her words -- ready when Matt finally returned to the car.

"Did you enjoy the fair, honey?" she asked. He smelled of beer and hay. Who knows what he had been doing? Who cared?

"I'll drive us home," she added.

"Suits me," he said.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her fresh new pack of cigarettes. She stripped off the cellophane and dropped it casually out the window, along with the empty old pack.

"Hey, what the hell ya' doin?" Matt said.

"Littering. If you give a damn, go pick it up 'cause I don't," she said.

"Not that. You ain't smoking' again. You better not be smokin' again," he growled.

Daniella put the car in drive and eased out of the parking lot. She held the lighter flame to her cigarette and took a deep, satisfying drag. As her lungs filled with the thick, creamy smoke of a Virginia Slims and the nicotine flooded her body in that wonderful way she had so long missed, she made a vow never to quit again. Not for Matt. Not for anyone.

"Put it out," Matt said, and he reached out and pinched her arm, hard.

A surge of anger rose within Daniella, and she struck the side of Matt's face, a stinging slap that knocked his head to within an inch of the passenger-side window.

"Don't you ever hurt me again!" she said. "Don't you even think about it."

He stole a finger towards his window, intending to roll it down.

Triumphantly, Daniella hit the window lock button on her side of the car. Then she took another deep, drag, holding it in her lungs until it burned and then exhaling it in a perfect cone that reached the windshield and then curled around and diffused through the car.

"I smoke," Daniella said, liking the sound of the words. "Love me, love my cigarettes. From now on, I'm going to smoke anywhere I want. In the car, in the bath, at dinner, in the living room. You don't like it, go away. Go outside. Or leave for good. See how long you last in the real world without a real job. See who'll have you.

"Otherwise, accept that I'm in charge from now on. I want you to take every penny you make on your silly jobs and use it for my cigarettes, my lighters and an ashtray for every room, table and shelf in the house. If you have any money left after that, you can use it to go hang with your stupid friends.

"I want every one of those ashtrays cleaned every night or you'll be cleaning them with your tongue.

"If I ask you to light me up, you'd better jump to do it.

"And for heaven's sake, get some Viagra or something. I need a whole lot more than you put out and if you don't start giving, I know where to go to get it."

Then she took another drag, clamping her lips lovingly around the filter and holding the smoke in her mouth this time to shape three perfect rings. She pressed her foot onto the accelator, hard, and the car surged past the speed limit as they hit the highway.

She felt like twelve years old all over again. And she turned the radio on, to her station, not his.