On a 10+, Anne talks willingly, take +1 forward

"Ms. Campion, you look a little sad today," you say. "Would you tell me about it?"

Anne looks at you, then surveys the staff and volunteers around the front desk area. "Actually Joe, there's another thing you might be able to help me with," she says. "Do you happen to be carrying a lighter?"

"Sure." The Pick-Up Artists' Guide advises always being ready to light a woman's fire -- cigarette, candle, or fireplace -- and so you do.

"This way," she says. She leads you to the loading dock behind the gymnasium/pool complex and sits down, dangling her feet over the edge. She takes a flat box of fancy looking cigarettes from her purse and extracts one. "Light me up?"

You dig in your pocket for a lighter. It catches on the second try. You light the tip of her slim brown cigarette and she sucks air, getting it well lit.

"Thanks Joe," she says with a little cloud of smoke. "Did you want one?"

"No thanks."

"Good on you. Filthy habit," Anne says. "I quit ten years ago." She squints at the hand holding her cigarette. "Wasn't so hard. Should be over them again in a few weeks."

You sit down next to her on the edge of the loading dock. The smoke of her cigarette is rich and sweet, not harsh.

"So what's going on?" you ask.

Anne raises her left hand and clenches it into a fist, shaking it in the air. "That bastard John," she begins. "Pardon me, my LOVING HUSBAND of FIFTEEN YEARS, has been dipping it in one of the CRAZY LITTLE BITCHES he has for psychology clients. Probably not the first one. But this one is preggers and oh well, he has to BE RESPONSIBLE." She takes a deep drag of her cigarette. She laughs. "I didn't break his neck. Not even his balls. She should be grateful I took it out on those poor innocent shipping pallets."

You follow Anne's gaze to the corner of the loading dock. There's a pile of broken boards and protruding nails that could have been a couple of shipping pallets, back before someone had taken out a rage on them.

She rubs the edge of her hand. "I'm a little out of practice. Had to switch to my feet."

The recent bruise in the middle of your chest throbs in sympathy. "You did a job on them."

"That I did," she says. "Would you be a dear and tidy them into the bin?" She takes another drag and exhales a plume of sweet blue smoke.

You take the broken pieces of the shipping pallets and toss them into the dumpster as Anne lets out her feelings about the situation. When you're done, you sit back down beside her as she nurses the end of the cigarette.

"Don't let on to the staff, Joe. None of their business, and I don't need their lip," Anne says. She rolls her eyes upwards, then looks to you. "So how's YOUR love life?"

"Sharon dumped me at the beginning of summer break," you say. "I've been kind of kicking around since then, nothing much."

Anne laughs and stubs out her cigarette. "So you'd be free to drive me round tonight if I wanted to go get drunk and watch male strippers? John never did that for me."

You say, "I have a better idea. Let's get some take-out and stay here after lock-up. There's the pool, the showers, the steam room, the massage tables."

"Ooh hoo hoo, look who's swooping right in," Anne says, laughing. "Maybe, maybe. Just what would you be willing to do for me?"