The Cost of Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of an Old Stogie : Enjoying a fine cigar doesn’t come easy, what with public smoking bans and spouses unsympathetic to the aroma. It’s enough to make one start a rebellion.

In June I got a call from my good friend Vincent. “How much is it going to cost us?” my wife asked as she handed me the phone.

Vincent only calls when he wants me to join him in a new and expensive hobby. In our 13-year friendship I have spend more than $1,000 on golf clubs and accessories, at least $2,000 on memberships to health clubs and more than $3,000 on ski equipment, ski vacations and subscriptions to ski magazines. Thanks, Vincent.

“Stan, don’t worry,” Vincent suggested as he dug deep into my pocket. “This isn’t going to cost much.” He said the new hobby would provide me with breathtaking moments of tranquillity. That’s what he said when we took up golf, weight training and skiing.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Cigar smoking.”

*

Cigar smoking? I thought those things went out with wearing suits and ties to baseball games. “Don’t you have to be an old guy to smoke cigars?” I asked. He said, “No. A lot of guys our age are doing it.” “Our age?” Oh, that’s right. We’re old now.

My father started smoking cigars in his mid-30s. My father also started losing his hair in his mid-30s. I figured I would try to keep one family tradition alive. I lost my hair in my 20s. And besides, cigars can’t be that expensive. And they’re trendy.

My spending began at the Cigar Warehouse on Ventura Boulevard in Sherman Oaks. Cost: 25 cents for parking. It advertises a “500-square-foot climate-controlled walk-in humidor.” I had no idea what that was, but it sounded like it could make my hair grow.

I walked inside and inhaled a third stage smog alert. A couple of mustached old guys wearing suits and ties and smoking stogies eyed me as if to say, “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” One salesman sold me three cigars, none of which I could pronounce. Cost: $9.

I asked for some matches and scurried to leave. “You want me to cut that for you?” asked the salesman. Apparently before smoking a cigar you have to perform circumcision on the end with a tool called a guillotine cutter. For the faint of heart this operation can also be performed with a wedge cutter or a piercer. I chose the guillotine cutter. Cost: $10. Later I purchased a cigar ashtray. Cost: $5. And a lighter. Cost: $5.

Since I had my wallet out, I also purchased a copy of the magazine Cigar Aficionado. Initial cost: $4. Two-year subscription: $22.95. It had 190 glossy pages of cigar ads, cigar information, interviews with cigar smokers Fidel Castro and Red Auerbach and ads for expensive products made by Range Rover, Rolex and Louis Vuitton. There were blind taste tests on 56 cigars. The highest-rated cigar cost $1.70. Who can afford expensive cigars when you’re driving a Range Rover?

Now that smoking is illegal every place including your own car, where do I smoke this thing? Jeez, I haven’t said that since I was 17. My wife said I could not smoke it in the house. Funny, I hadn’t heard that since I was 17. Everywhere you look there’s a No Smoking sign. And even when smoking is allowed there is always an addendum: NO PIPE OR CIGAR SMOKING! You’ve gotta be pretty deadly when cigarette smokers don’t want you around. Don’t they realize the first word in cigarettes is cigar?

I once read a story about a guy who rented a public storage space that he visited every week to smoke his cigar and read the paper. And I thought I was married to Attila the Hon. I could venture back to the Cigar Warehouse and smoke it there, but then I’d have to inhale all that secondhand smoke. I decided to take a drive one night and smoke it in my car: a 1989 Honda. No Louis Vuitton luggage or Rolex wristwatch. Cost: $3 for gas; $3 for air freshener .

My cigar magazine reported about cigar-smoking nights held at various locations. I called around and located one put on by Vendome Wine and Spirits of Toluca Lake on July 28. For $25 you got dinner, coffee, dessert, cognac and cigars. I immediately called Vincent. Cost $2: for 30-minute call to Area Code 213.

Since our last conversation Vincent had smoked 10 cigars. El Productos. His cost: $6. I had purchased a box of Macanudos. My cost: $115. Needing a place to store the cigars, I purchased a humidor. Cost: $162. Vincent kept his cigars in his glove compartment.

The event was held at the Smoke House Restaurant in Burbank, on the patio. With all of the buses, cars and trucks passing, it was hard to tell whose fumes were killing whom. Cost for dinner and drinks: $30 . Valet parking and tip: $5. Vincent parked on the street.

For three hours I, along with 40 other men and two women ate, drank and were merry. One fellow said he smokes and listens to classical music (Cost later: $16 for CD) . For a guy who hates working smoke-filled comedy clubs, I didn’t mind being among these swirls. Given all the smoking bans, there was something rebellious about being here. I felt as if we were telling the state Assembly what they could with their smoking regulations. I felt an urge to don a leather jacket ($650), hop on a Harley ($12,000), drive to Sacramento ($50 in gas) and shout, “Smoke this, Gov. Wilson!” But I was out of money.

That night, as we walked back to our cars clutching our free cigars, cutter, lighters and the ashtray I won in the raffle, I thanked Vincent. He was right. This new hobby has provided me with breathtaking moments of tranquillity. The next day I sent him a bill for $392.20.