(no subject)
She smoked to stay thin. She liked to ride horses and hike with her dogs and the adrenaline rush she felt from connecting to the right wave at just the wrong time kept her going longer than her three black coffees a day ever could. But she smoked to stay thin. She didn't eat meat, not because of the calories or her love of small furry things with faces, but because the taste, the texture, the smell of meat on her tongue brought her back home, back to factory farms in Jefferson County New York where dairy cows lined up for their lifetimes, attached to milkers pulling on forever distended udders while calves were ripped from their mothers before they had a first sip, or even took a first step. Meat was her mother's distance, her father's disapproval, and nights stolen away behind the pasteurization room with the high school principal's daughter and the Lutheran minister's son.
No, she smoked to stay thin because she hated the chomp, chomp of gum in her mouth, the cloying, sweet flavor that trickled down her throat while climbing into her sinuses. Gum made her a cow, endlessly chewing her cud. And despite modern morals and attitudes regarding smoking, an actress with gum was only sexy when splayed out to titillate the masses, a grown woman in a little girl getup, a big bubble blowing where the men wished their cocks could be. Yet, an actress with a cigarette was frozen in time, a flash back to the glory days of Hollywood when women held cigarettes in elegant poses and sipped vodka or whiskey with three ice cubes, while light filtered through the hazy smoke around their heads.
While some argued she was too thin, others told the world that being too thin was an impossibility for a woman. He had said it their first day together on set, before costumes had been donned. She'd been in tight jeans and a black tank top and her bra strap was showing and they were rehearsing alone. He'd slipped his hand up her arm and under the strap on her top and down again, leaning in far closer than what the scene called for. He'd been happy when she had been cast, he said. He'd fought for her, he said. She was perfect, he said, as his fingers brushed the side of her breast.
It was not the last time she'd been unable to pull away.
She smoked to stay thin and wanted to quit but at least makeup artists never had to worry about covering track marks on the inside of her arms. Her paychecks didn't disappear up her nose. She smoked. She drank vodka with three ice cubes. She had sex with beautiful people and slipped away before the sun rose lest there be a hint of commitment later.
Save, of course, for one.
No, she smoked to stay thin because she hated the chomp, chomp of gum in her mouth, the cloying, sweet flavor that trickled down her throat while climbing into her sinuses. Gum made her a cow, endlessly chewing her cud. And despite modern morals and attitudes regarding smoking, an actress with gum was only sexy when splayed out to titillate the masses, a grown woman in a little girl getup, a big bubble blowing where the men wished their cocks could be. Yet, an actress with a cigarette was frozen in time, a flash back to the glory days of Hollywood when women held cigarettes in elegant poses and sipped vodka or whiskey with three ice cubes, while light filtered through the hazy smoke around their heads.
While some argued she was too thin, others told the world that being too thin was an impossibility for a woman. He had said it their first day together on set, before costumes had been donned. She'd been in tight jeans and a black tank top and her bra strap was showing and they were rehearsing alone. He'd slipped his hand up her arm and under the strap on her top and down again, leaning in far closer than what the scene called for. He'd been happy when she had been cast, he said. He'd fought for her, he said. She was perfect, he said, as his fingers brushed the side of her breast.
It was not the last time she'd been unable to pull away.
She smoked to stay thin and wanted to quit but at least makeup artists never had to worry about covering track marks on the inside of her arms. Her paychecks didn't disappear up her nose. She smoked. She drank vodka with three ice cubes. She had sex with beautiful people and slipped away before the sun rose lest there be a hint of commitment later.
Save, of course, for one.