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 ^{(it's beta!)}

She was thirty when she took up smoking, a rare coup for the cigarette companies. Healthy, well-educated, no past history of mental disorders. Marketing patted each other on the back, and bought her a drink. She reached self-consciously for a cigarette, puffed on it to hide her discomfort at the attention. They thought this was delightful, and bought her another drink. She'd come so far, it was remarkable. From zero to nervous tic in a week. Wasn't it grand? Just grand, they all agreed, and patted each other on the back some more.

Marketing invited her to speak at their next meeting, to explain what convinced her. Two of them had a gentleman's bet going, strictly friendly, as to if it was the new print ads, or the Beautiful Men campaign. She laughed, awkwardly, and sipped at her dry vermouth, as the two leaned in closer, with a slightly ungentlemanly glint in their eyes. It was neither, she finally managed to say. Neither one. The Beautiful Men proponent slumped, and the print man leaned back, tense. A third man laughed, slapped them both jovially, told them to buck up. Tough luck, boys. It had to have been television.

She'd been asked to speak to their competition, too, to explain where they went wrong in reaching her demographic. Ladies of a certain age, is how they had phrased it. She'd never thought of herself as of a certain age, and she hated public speaking, but she had agreed, stammering slightly on the phone. Marketing had been amused to hear this, and, laughing, bought another round. Just think of those chaps over there, pulling their hair out over what had worked. Oh, they must be mad. The two who had the failed bet offered her a fifty if she would put them on the wrong track. Say it was print, one suggested ruefully, and we might get some good out of the campaign after all. They were very good natured about the whole thing.

The drinks were stiff, and she relaxed a little. They were all such nice people. It was rare to have anyone so interested in her. They all laughed, wholeheartedly, when she asked if they minded if she smoked, and then realizing, she giggled, too. Of course they didn't. Of course. One even offered to smoke as well, to make her feel more companionable. Did company make her feel more inclined to smoke? They leaned forward again as they asked, and one, the television man, surreptitiously took a note of her answer, but she didn't mind. It was just their job, after all. Ceci n'est pas une pipe, she ventured, smiling slightly, and they all nodded encouragingly. She was very well-educated indeed. It was wonderfully strange, a puzzle. They were looking forward ever so much to her presentation. One of them, the youngest looking, even wanted to sneak in to see her speak to the competitors. They had all taken such an interest in her that it was very flattering.

The young one complimented her sweater, and asked if she kept a cat. Demographics, he half apologized. You know how it is. She didn't, but pretended. No, no cat. The rest of marketing shoved him to the back of the group, and offered her a third drink. They'd pay for a cab, she didn't have to worry about driving. It was the least they could do. After all, they didn't want to have her taking any risks. One of them laughed at this, but the others looked so sympathetic that she couldn't refuse. They were such great listeners, all of them. The newspaper man signaled the bartender, and brought her something with an umbrella this time. It tasted strange with the tobacco, so she put out her cigarette. The young one had found his way to sit beside her again, on her left, and asked, rather boldly, why she had really started. Started what? She was honestly confused for a moment, before remembering what they all worked for. They all seemed more alert at this, like they had tensed up without moving at all. She wasn't sure why she felt that way, as they were all lounging sightly, all unstudiedly calm and cheerful. One of them quite casually laid an arm across the bar, just on her right side.

Truth was, she didn't quite know. One day, over a morning cup of coffee, she explained, she had simply felt the impulse. This didn't seem to be enough, though, with the nice men all watching her, one with a not quite hidden notepad at the ready. She supposed the fact that her young nieces and nephews smoked helped. It seemed fine for them. Marketing relaxed, as she was silent for a few seconds, thinking of how to please them with a fuller story. The newspaper man grinned, broke the silence, scolding the young one for getting impatient. Can't rush the revelations. It'll all come clear at the presentation, that's enough.

At the thought of the presentation, she winced slightly. It was getting late, and she had to figure out what she was going to say in front of all those people. Marketing closed ranks around her, as she shifted as if to get up, and bought her another vermouth. She liked vermouth better than the fruity drink they had brought earlier. She lit a third cigarette, and they all smiled at her. Such friendly people. She wondered if they always drank this much on a night out, though. She had never been a heavy drinker, even back in college, but they were all on their third or fourth drinks, too. They all were very indulgent with her. The young one looked like someone famous, and they all made suggestions to help her figure out whom. Someone she had seen on television, she thought. The newspaper man was amused at this, and the Beautiful Men designer was too. They were both so self-deprecating over it now. Everyone watched television.

She had never thought of herself as interesting, she admitted. Certainly not enough for a, what was this, a focus group? Perish the thought, they all assured her. She was fascinating. And no history of mental illness at all. Not even a psychiatrist, and everyone had a psychiatrist. Not her, of course. Perish the thought. They laughed at her almost unconscious repetition. And they were all so nice to her. She took another drag off her cigarette, then stubbed it out and stretched. They're very good people in marketing