Sunday, 7:53 PM

Phillipe's was not the fanciest restaurant in town, but the buzz about the food was excellent. The owner, Phillipe Alphonso, had been the head chef at one of the best hotels in Shelbyville when he decided to strike out on his own. He had a desire to open a restaurant that was comfortable, not stuffy, and served the best he could cook. He purchased an old seafood restaurant when the previous owner had mysteriously sold it and left town. His new establishment had been open less than a month but already the diners were flocking to the large structure. At the rate the business was going, he hoped to make a return on his investment in less than a year.

The building had been completely rennovated and redecorated into the Italian kitchen of Phillipe's dreams and he had kept much the same waitstaff as the old restaurant. Pictures of Napoli, Sicilly and Rome hung on the walls, harkening back to what people assumed was Phillipe's ancestral homeland (Phillipe was, truth be told, born in Ohio to a family named O'Brien and had never even been to Europe, but he knew what people expected from him and acted accordingly.)

William Faust was an architect and had made the blueprints of the building when it was first constructed, some 20 years ago. He and Phillipe had struck up a friendship of sorts when he had been called in to redesign the kitchen at the hotel where the chef worked. When Phillipe bought the old Trilby's Seafood, he asked William to draw up new plans.

Unfortunately, that friendship was not going to do William and Marta any good tonight. Phillipe wasn't around and the place was packed. The hostess, Carole, was apologetic, but she simply couldn't accommodate the Fausts' request for a non-smoking table.

"I'm sorry," she said, obviously sincere. "But the wait's going to be about thirty minutes for non-smoking."

"We'll take smoking then," Marta insisted, not to be put off from her desire to try the food.

William, a militant anti-smoker, rolled his eyes. "Wait a minute. I'm not going to choke on cigarette smoke while I'm trying to eat and I don't want you tempted to start smoking again. It took me five years to get you to quit."

Carole interjected, "I'm sorry, Mr. Faust. But we could put you close to the air-conditioning vent. It should blow the smoke away from you."

"I don't know," William huffed. "I don't like smoking. Especially when I'd trying to eat."

"Oh come on," Marta insisted. "Just one time. I'm famished and I really want to try the Ravioli Portabello here."

"All right," he relented. "But at the first whiff of smoke, we're out of here."

Carole beamed and, grabbing two menus, led the couple to their table.

Carole had been right. The air conditioner, while a tad chilly, kept the smoke away beautifully. Marta got her desired dish and William ordered the chicken parmisana. They enjoyed their meal and idle chit-chat over wine in the course of about an hour. Marta pushed her plate away and commented that she didn't even want a cigarette, even after a good meal.

Almost on cue at that point, the air conditioner shut off and the smoke began drifting toward the table. William made a sour face as he detected the despised smoke. But then there was something else in with the smoke. Something indefinable. William had never smelled anything quite like it and he found himself inhaling deeply. He suddenly felt languid, as if he had been awake for days. His thoughts became disjointed and he slipped into a mild daze.

Marta, meanwhile, was making a face of her own. "Eww. Cigar smoke! I always did hate cigars."

William snapped out of the strange torpor that had filled his senses and looked around. He scanned the dining room until his eyes came upon a heavy-set black woman, her back to them. She was seated alone, smoking a big cigar. "There," he said, indicating the table where she sat.

Marta touched her husband's hand. "William, go and ask her to put out the cigar."

Faust nodded, absently. He was usually an easygoing person, but somehow the idea of going over there and giving the woman a piece of his mind appealed to him greatly. He stood up and placed his napkin on the table by his plate. "I'll be right back, dear."

Not even looking at his wife, William moved toward the offending odor. His legs seemed to move of their own volition and he made a beeline for the table where the woman sat. He crossed to the other side and faced her, clearing his throat. She looked up and a smile flashed across her face. She pulled back slightly from the table, as if giving William a better view of herself.

The woman looked about thirty, with long, light-brown hair that cascaded in long ringlets down the back and sides. At first he thought that she was fat, but now William could see that she was Rubenesque, with very large breasts and hips, but a smallish waist. She wore a tight, low-cut red silk dress with black lace up the sides. It was a short piece of clothing that barely covered her unmentionables and her crossed legs travelled from beneath it to black sky-high heels with laces that ran halfway up her surprisingly-shapely gams. The dresstop was very low-cut, showcasing her huge, pendulous breasts, which threatened to pop out of her push-up bra. She wore heavy, almost theatrical makeup and when she looked at him, her exotic eyes seemed to bore right through him. She had on dark, purple lipstick that drew attention to her large lips. In her hand, she had a long, thick cigar in a short, brown-and-black cigar holder between fingers manicured with extremely long nails. There was some pattern on the nails, but William couldn't quite make them out. They flashed and glittered like jewelry.

Faust stood there, gaping, until finally she spoke first, in a voice both husky and feminine. "Hello."

"Hi," William started, suddenly aware of himself again. "I couldn't help noticing that you're smoking a cigar."

"Yes," she agreed, blowing smoke at his face. Even from the distance between them, William could smell the oddly-enticing aroma. "And you came to say how much the smell pleases you."

"Yes. No. I don't know." William felt himself slipping into a daze again. His mouth was dry and his knees weak. He suddenly realized that he had a raging boner protruding inside his pants, tenting in a most embarrassing way.

The woman looked down and noticed it but chose not to mention it to him. "Have a seat," she purred, pointing at the chair next to hers with her long cigar. "Before you crumple where you stand."

William nodded and sat down, oblivious to his wife's expression of curiosity across the room. He was glad of the cover the table gave him, because the hard on was not going away. The woman again looked down at it and again said nothing about it.

"My name is Tatiana," she said in her silky voice. "What do they call you?"

"Faust," he whispered. "William Faust."

"Well, Faust William Faust," Tatiana chuckled. "What would you will of me?"

"My... My wife and I were enjoying our meal," he stumbled, "but, but your-uh, your cigar smoke..." His voice trailed off as he realized that those penetrating eyes were staring at him again. He lost his train of thought and just stared back a sheepish smile flicking at the corners of his mouth.

"And you came over here to give me a pice of your mind," she stated calmly, as if she had read his earlier thoughts. He nodded.

"What an interesting phrase," she commented thoughtfully. "A piece of your mind... Very well, William, do give me a piece of your mind."

Tatiana had a bemused smile on her purple lips. She drew from the end of the cigar holder and blew the smoke toward him again. This time the distance was short and William was caught full in the face. "Your wife doesn't like the scent."

"No," he whispered, savoring the smoke that clouded his face and, it seemed, his mind.

"But you like it, don't you, William?" she asked, her hand reaching up to his face. She traced the side of it with a long fingernail.

"Yes," he said softly, unable to deny it.

The black woman smiled wider at this. She indicated the cigar she held in the short holder. "This is an Onyx Reserve. A Churchill. Do you know much about cigars, William?"

"No," he breathed. "Nothing."

She seemed genuinely surprised. "A handsome man like you? Why, you should learn all about fine cigars. You should be smoking them yourself."

"Me?"

She smiled even more at him. It was now a big, wide, sexy grin. "Yes. You should be smoking at least one a day to start off with, I would think." She reached up again and gently rubbed the side of William's face as he involuntarily nodded at her comments.

Tatiana's head was blocking William's from Marta's sight, and the married woman couldn't see what was happening. It seemed as if her husband and the strange woman were chatting like old friends.

There was a pile of business cards beside Tatiana's plate and she placed a long fingernail on the stack and gently slid the top one across to William. "Now is not the time or place to discuss cigar smoking," she whispered, watching William's eyelids flicker but not close; his head bob and weave, "but you do wish to discuss such things with me. You will call me tomorrow, during the day, when you have time. Perhaps we can have lunch."

William nodded and absently put the card into his shirt pocket, his heavy-lidded eyes never once leaving hers. "Yes, of course."

Tatiana pulled out a cigar clip and cut the lit end of the cigar, letting it fall into an ashtray. "Go back to your wife," she said throatily. "Tell her: Mission accomplished."

William stood up and walked back to his own table in a slightly staggered manner. When he got there, he smiled a dopey smile at Marta. "Mission accomplished."

"Oh, good," Marta said, noting the strange expression on his face. "You talked to her for a bit. Who was she?"

William sat back down, his mind clearing rapidly. "Oh, no one. She was very polite when I explained how we felt about cigar smoking."

Marta mentally shrugged as she sensed her husband returning to normal. "Ok, cool. Do you want dessert?"

"No," he replied. "No, I think I'm ready to go home."

They gathered their things and walked out of the dining room. As they left, William glanced back at Tatiana to find the black woman staring at him. She almost imperceptively winked at him, then reached for her cigar to relight it.

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