Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 02 - The Cashmere Shroud by Ed Lynskey

put up her flat hand, detaining him.
    “But here’s what it is, darling,” she said, recalling how Isabel’s young son Cecil had died of cancer from his cigarette smoking habit. “Before we ever cha-cha back yonder again”—her nod went toward the boudoir doorway showing her ecru chenille bedspread—“you’ll have to quit the cigarettes. I kid you not.”
    He felt his jaws go slack , and his unhinged mouth suck in for air. “Mercy.” She was 100% for real. He knew she hadn’t cared for his tobacco habit since she was a reformed smoker. They were always the most entrenched of the anti-smoking crusaders.
    “ Does that mean you’re cutting me off like that?” he asked, chopping his vertical hand through the air. “Beginning this moment on Saturday morning?”
    “ Did the tin man need a brain?”
    Reynolds paused , sorting through the Oz cast of characters. “I thought he needed a heart, and the scarecrow is the straw-stuffed dude who was hard up for getting the brain.”
    “Whatever. You get my larger point being made.”
    Reynolds groaned like the mountain wind sluicing through the pine tops. “You’re a hard woman, Sammi Jo Garner. Hard as nails, you are to me.”
    Blank-faced, s he didn’t smirk or sneer in triumph as he expected to see her do. He decided to dig in a bit and try to gain a little wiggle room with her.
    “I tell you what let’s do. We’ll compromise and make it more reasonable. I’ll cut back and taper off on the number of cigarettes I smoke over the next two, no let’s make that three, weeks. How does that proposal sound to you?”
    “ It sounds like a clunker. It’s a no-go on the cigarettes, Reynolds, or it’s a no-go on the cha-cha. Straightforward as that. Which is it to be? I’m waiting to hear your final decision.”
    He spotted a sliver of daylight, figuring he could sneak in a cigarette when they weren’t together, and she’d never be any the wiser for it. He’d promise her the moon if it let him take a cigarette puff on his next drawn breath. Nobody at the drag race track would rat out Reynolds for smoking, or else they’d be finding themselves a different venue to indulge their need for speed. His pulling a fast one on her was as easy as taking a Sunday drive through the Piedmont. He’d guffaw like Joe Cool with his pals over his outfoxing her between taking all the cigarette puffs he felt like. He was so proud of his cunning scheme until she spoke again and torpedoed it.
    “Don’t go calculating you can be sneaking cigarettes behind my back,” she said. “My hypersensitive nose can pick up the fresh tobacco scent on you from a mile away.”
    He groaned louder. “Sammi Jo, you’re putting me in a terrible bind. Even a condemned man facing the firing squad is allowed to smoke a final cigarette. Surely you’d let me do that much.”
    “ Out of the question.”
    “You mentioned a pipe. I’ll just make the switch from cigarettes to using a pipe to smoke. I’ll look so professorial and distinguished.”
    “I was using a metaphor, Professor. Do I have to explain what it is to you?”
    “No , I’m aware of what metaphors are.” He commenced to rocking back and forth in the straight-back chair. “You should give me a little advice. How did you manage to quit? There must be a secret way you can give me to break the smoking habit.”
    “I’ve got two words for you, Reynolds: cold turkey .”
    He groaned again, only it came out as longer and louder before he got up and skulked out of her apartment.

Chapter 8
    I sabel had stopped short by the door exiting the florist shop to the bright sidewalk on Main Street.
    “Oh, for sweet gracious sake, I don’t believe this. It’s much too early to deal with the likes of them, Alma. I can’t do it, and I won’t do it.” Isabel pointed out the glass pane. “Look at who’s deigned to drag themselves out of bed and occupy their bench.”
    Alma didn’t bother to confirm who Isabel was referring to since they both