Page 52 of Where There's Smoke

Less privacy.

Less opportunity.

Jesse glanced at me, locking eyes for a split second before he turned his attention back to a conversation with his uncle.

I shifted my own gaze away and took a long drink. When my mouth had gone dry, I couldn’t say, but a deep swallow of champagne didn’t help at all. After tonight, the odds of getting Jesse alone for any length of time, in any kind of setting where we could finally do something about all this maddening tension, would decrease exponentially.

Which left us with…tonight.

Now or never, Anthony.

Before I realized what I was doing, I reached for my back pocket. As my fingertips met the edge of my pack of cigarettes, I paused.

Okay, now or never, but afteronecigarette.

I pushed my chair back. “If you’ll all excuse me for a few minutes, I’m going to step outside.”

No one objected, and Jesse only offered the most fleeting glance, so I made a quick escape to the stairwell leading up to the rooftop terrace.

California’s ever-tightening antismoking laws made it difficult as all hell for restaurants to accommodate horrible human beings like myself who still bowed to the nicotine gods. This place, however, had set aside one half of the terrace as a smoking section. Several concrete and metal sculptures formed a wall between the two halves, keeping the offensive fumes away from those who preferred their smog unseasoned.

A chest-high railing encased the terrace, and I leaned on that railing instead of taking one of the unoccupied umbrella-sheltered tables, though I did swipe an ashtray off one. Resting my forearms on the twisted wrought-iron bar, I stared out at the setting sun, loosely clasping my fingers together to keep my cigarettes from tumbling to the pavement three stories below me. The nicotine craving still simmered beneath the surface, unsatisfied and unwilling to be ignored forever, but at least for a minute or two, I was contentto breathe in the evening air. To catch my breath, I realized, as I took in one deep lungful after the other. Even the champagne couldn’t relax me tonight. Nor could the knowledge that Jesse had cleared one of the major hurdles between him and a victory in November.

About that cigarette…

I pulled one out, pocketed the pack, and withdrew my lighter. As I took a drag, a set of approaching footsteps fell into sync with my heartbeat. Closing my eyes, I pushed out a smoky breath, and suddenly there wasn’t nearly enough nicotine in my possession to calm me down.

“You know,” Jesse said, his voice reverberating down the length of my spine, “sometimes I wonder if smokers aren’t really addicted.”

I took another drag, then turned just as he leaned against the railing a little more than arm’s length away from me.

“Is that so?” I asked.

He nodded, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Seems like an awfully convenient excuse to step out of stuffy, uncomfortable social affairs.”

I laughed and gestured with the cigarette. “Well, it certainly is a convenient habit for things like that.”

“Maybe I’ll have to start.”

“I’ve got plenty if you want one.”

Jesse laughed and put up a hand. “No, no, I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrugged and pulled in another breath of smoke. Now that he was out here, I’d probably need a second one. Especially if I stood a chance of proposing we get the fuck out of here and go somewhere we wouldn’t go if we knew what was good for us and this campaign.

Oblivious to my nerves, he said, “Did you see the look on Dad’s face when you made the nomination comment? That swipe was well played.”

“Maybe a little impolite.” I tried not to looktoosmug.

He shrugged. “Fuck him. He could’ve kept his mouth shut.”

I watched Jesse for a moment, searching his expression through the thin cloud of smoke. He was more relaxed now, away from his father, but obviously didn’t like this subject. With people around us, though, it was a safer topic than the one I really wanted to discuss, so as I raised my cigarette to my lips, I said, “You and your dad don’t have a great relationship, then?”

Jesse rested his elbow on the railing. “You’ve heard what the papers say.”

“Yeah.” I tapped my cigarette into the ashtray. “But I also know the papers are full of shit most of the time.”

He laughed dryly. “Yeah, well, when it comes to Dad and me, they’re pretty much right on the money.”

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