I want one of those cigarette girls. You know the ones I’m talking about. You see them occasionally at bars or at restaurants. They’re alone. Dressed modestly but still with an air of sexiness. Thick, curly hair laying across the shoulders. She wears sunglasses regardless of the situation and no one questions them, or even considers the sunglasses out of place. She carries a small purse. Just big enough to carry the female essentials, a pack of cigarettes, and a book of matches. She doesn’t smile very often but is not rude. She is very polite to waiters but you can tell by the way she walks and moves her hands as she sits alone at the bar, that she expects to be treated like a lady. She commands this sort of respect and you feel obligated to give it to her but not forced in a snobbish, stuck-up sort of way.
She sits down at the bar and waits for the bartender to come over to her. She orders a drink, a gin and tonic, and then lights a cigarette while waiting for it. She just sits there smoking and sipping on her gin and leaving lipstick marks on everything. She finishes the drink and cigarette and orders another. She reapplies her lipstick and pulls out another cigarette. The man sitting next to her lights it for her. She thanks him and continues her business of sitting alone and drinking her gin and tonic. She finishes her second round and drops the butt in the ashtray without smothering it out. She lets out her last exhale and the smoke rolls slowly across her red lips and drifts upwards past her sunglasses. She probably can’t even see the smoke passing in front of her. Then she stands and straightens her clothes and walks out, the smoke from her still burning cigarettes gets pulled along in her wake and then she’s out the door. I wonder where she has gone and what she’s doing now. I wonder if she’s smoking again yet. I wonder about her for days and days.
