Chapter Six: Winter Strum
A/N: This is, like, three months late, but it's Samcedes week on Tumblr, so I figured what the hell. I tried to write a Christmas/ Winter musical. The songs used are "Snowfall" by Ingrid Michaelson, "Time of the Season" by The Zombies, "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)" by Darlene Love, "Purple Snowflakes" by Marvin Gaye, and "A Snowflake Fell and it Felt Like a Kiss" by Glasvegas.
God help us all.
The alarm buzzed at 5am, stirring a knackered Sam out of his slumber. He shook off the three layers of blankets and grabbed the top flannel to wrap around himself, as he hit the head. He wouldn't have been shocked if his pee turned into icicles mid-stream, knowing full well he needed to complain to the landlord about the heat, but that was a different problem for a different day. The blessing of a hot shower, a clean pair of thermal underwear and a pair of wool socks that his grandma had knitted him a few years back, became his morning ritual. He sniffed a pair of jeans on the floor and, with a meager shrug, got dressed. Dusk hadn't even broken yet and already he was outside.
A fresh coat of snow bedded the wooden stairs descending from the apartment above the Hummel's garage. Sam crept down the stairs, wincing at every creak, because the least bit of noise would be sure to wake… "'Morning, Burt." Sam paused at the bottom step to see the imposing older man leaning against his railing, seemingly impervious to the cold.
"Good morning, Sam," Burt boomed. Sam bypassed him and headed for his truck. "You're avoiding me, son," the man, clad in his trademark baseball cap and fleece vest, called out.
Sam paused and turned towards him, "I'm not, sir. I promise, I will make rent by the end of the week."
"That's what you said last week."
"Well this week, I'm telling the truth." Sam tossed his guitar case in the passenger seat, before sliding in. Three turns and the ignition finally kicked over.
Sam parked behind the Lima Squeeze Bakery, just in time for the streetlights to turn off and to let the flour guy in for his weekly delivery. His boss ran a tight ship and firmly believed life wasn't worth living without the town waking up to the smell of pastries, which meant Sam arriving at work at ungodly hours for an extra $30 in pay to set a batch of gingerbread cookies in the oven for the town to wake up to. Mornings like this, it didn't seem worth it. The only saving grace was the two hours that Sam go off early because of his diligence. Those hours were his to do what he loved, and from outside of the bakery's window he could look right at it— the lamppost across the street where he could sing his songs. On a good day, around rush hour, Sam was a local god, getting passersby to sing along and dance with him, and most importantly, toss a few bucks into his guitar case.
The bakery was the best job a minimum wager could ask for, but music was his dream. Sam didn't have much ambition, he knew he was dealt the short stick of the Lima Loser, but he was fine with that, as long as he got those few hours in the afternoon.
The timer buzzed on his second batch of cookies, when he thought he heard the faint sound of guitar strings. He shook off the feeling and wiped down the display case beside the cash register. The words softly crept in from outside.
I want a snowfall kind of love
The kind of love that quiets the world
I want a snowfall kind of love
'Cause I'm a snowfall kind of girl
I want a snowfall kind of love
That lights up the sky from below
I want a snowfall kind of love
That brings people to their window
Sam followed the sound at the front window, and noticed the woman beneath the lamppost, carelessly strumming her guitar.
Won't you bury me in your quiet love?
Oh bury me in your quiet love
Oh bury me in your quiet love
And we will blow away
Sam grabbed a gingerbread cookie in a napkin. He unlocked the front door, and towards the siren across the street. Attempting gracefulness as he trudged through the slick freshly plowed street only to slip a little, as his trademarked Chucks weren't exactly weather appropriate. Her voice was soft and full of yearning.
I want a snowfall kind of love
The kind of love that keeps you in bed all day
Oh I want to look through with you
And watch it all melt away
Won't you bury—
"Can I help you?" The short young woman asked, taken aback by how close the blond had entered inside her personal space. She stepped back and asked again. "Can I help you?"
San returned his concentration to her. "I'm sorry. Your voice is just… exquisite."
She smirked, "I've never heard it called that before. Thanks."
"You from here?" He asked.
She shook her head, hiding her lips beneath the oversized wool scarf wrapped around her neck.
Sam stuck out his hand with the napkin in it. He offered, "Want a cookie?"
The dark-skinned girl looked suspiciously at him, and caught a glimpse at the head of the gingerbread man and its frosting-drawn smile. She cordially broke off the head and nibbled on it. "Thanks," she mumbled.
Always the gentleman, Sam swiped the brown beanie off of his head, and stuck out his hand. "I'm Sam," he offered.
She dryly responded, "How do you do?"
He waited for her name, only to be greeted with the swipe of her hair, as she turned to take off her guitar, and set it back into her case.
"Where are you going?"
"The Lima Bean? The guys by the bus depot said they got a public bathroom, and…"
"You— you could use mine. I mean, the shop's. I'd be heartbroken if you gave your business to the Lima Bean. Please?" His olive eyes pleaded for her to stay.
She gnawed on her bottom lip, contemplating her chances of being murdered once inside the bakery. His eyes looked honest, and that lopsided grin of his reassured her.
The girl picked up the guitar and the duffle bag beside her. "Fine. Lead the way."
Sam's smirk morphed into a full grin, as he kindly took her bag and threw it over his shoulder.
The warmth of the bakery was comfort to her. She shoved her fingerless gloves into her coat pockets, before shaking off her burgundy peacoat and tossing it on some random table. She pointed around to figure out her destination.
"Oh," Sam replied. "Right. Bathroom's over there."
The girl ruffled through her duffle for her cosmetics bag, and headed towards the single stall in the back.
Sam stood there, his hands fondling the edges of the guitar case on the table. He felt bold and opened the case. He knew he was overstepping, but he was curious about the enigmatic woman in his restroom. His fingertips grazed the purple velvet interior, tracing the black stitching of the word "JONES" in cursive. Sam looked behind him to see if she was there. In the clear, he pulled out her guitar. Worn with an actual hole in the hull below the high E. He placed the wood o his lap and plucked a few of strings lightly, and instinctually a tune drifted from his heart into his fingers. The chords came alive. His eyes fluttered shut and the simple lyrics came out.
It's the time of the season
When love runs high
And this time, give it to me easy
And let me try with pleasured hands
To take you to the sun to (promised lands)
To show you every one
It's the time of the season for loving
He felt the presence behind him. The short and intrigued girl looked different. Her hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders. Her mahogany skin glowed under the shop lights. He caught her brown doe eyes with his.
What's your name? Who's your daddy?
He rich. Is he rich like me?
Has he taken anytime
(To show) To show what you need to live
Tell it to me slowly (tell me what)
I really want to know
It's the time of the season for loving
She sat down in front of him. Her tempestuous eyes turned into a glare. "You wanna put my guitar back?"
With a fresh set of nerves, Sam quickly yet delicately set the guitar back down into the case, and shut it, clicking back the locks.
"That's not a Christmas carol," she demurred.
"What's your name?"
"Is that song even holiday appropriate?"
"My dad liked to play it when we trimmed the tree, so it's holiday appropriate for me… What's your name?"
"Why do you wanna know, Sam?"
"So, you're just some girl who magically appears in the snow. No name. No hometown."
"I didn't magically appear. I came by bus."
Sam pressed, "From where?"
"Indiana."
"What's in Indiana?"
"An assload of Jacksons. If I'd have known a cookie and a washbowl meant enduring the Spanish Inquisition, I would've just melted snow."
Sam paused, immediately struck with guilt. "I'm sorry. I'm only… curious."
"Good morning," sang the tiny blonde woman, as she pushed through the front door. "How's my favorite overextended employee?"
Sam finally tore his eyes away from the girl in front of him and greeted April Rhodes, the lady behind the shop and its saccharine nature met her.
"'Morning, Boss Lady."
April bypassed him and headed towards the girl. "And who might this little angel be?" She asked with delight.
The young woman was disconcerted by April's enthusiastic nature and simply responded, "Mercedes."
"Mercedes," April chimed. "Would you like one of my world famous gingerbread cookies?"
Mercedes smiled. "Oh, no thank you. Sam here already gave me one."
April reached and pinched his chubby cheek. "Of course he did."
In the comfortable silence of the early morning, Mercedes reached for her coat. "Um, thank you… both, but I'm gonna be on my way."
"Oh, no," the blonde woman moped. "Stay a while. We've got hot cocoa. You want hot cocoa? Sam, get her some hot cocoa."
He almost leapt towards the counter at the request, only for Mercedes to raise her hand in protest. "No, no, no. I'm fine. No hot chocolate." She wrapped herself in her coat, and grabbed her guitar case. "Thanks again."
April gently extended for the girl, "Aw, well, don't be a stranger."
The ding of the door rang as a goodbye instead of hello, with Mercedes drifting off in the newly risen sunlight.
"I like her," April smiled at the boy, who responded with a mournful nod.
The day went by slower than usual. The minute hand on the Felix the cat clock seemed to taunt him by the freezer. The only saving grace was three o'clock. Sam ran through the cupcake order, spreading the strawberry frosting on top. At the strike at the top of the hour, he dumped the sweets on the counter, rushed for his guitar case and out of the door before April could even wish him her obligatory "Have fun." But from out of the front door, Sam halted. His spot was already occupied. The rollicking thrum of a guitar at the start of her holiday anthem.
The snow's coming down
I'm watching it fall
Lot's of people around
Baby, please come home
Slowly but surely, a crowd gathered around the lamppost, hanging on every melodic syllable.
The church belles in town
They're ringing a song
What a happy sound
Baby, please come home
They're singing "Deck the Halls"
But it's not like Christmas at all
'Cause I remember when you were here
And all the fun we had last year
The crowd clapped along. Her voice belted with such passion, such grace, such control. For a moment, he savored her voice before hitching his guitar case on his shoulder and heading for the pizza shop next door.
He sat in the window, enjoying his slice, staring at Mercedes counting up her tips. A pang of jealousy hit him, but also of pride. He couldn't quite explain it. But none of that really mattered, when he saw her getting hassled by Officer Chang. Sam tried to follow their bickering through the glass as Mercedes started waving her money at the man in blue. It wasn't until the cuffs came out that Sam fled from his seat and outside amid the squabble.
"I have every right to be here. Same as everyone else," Mercedes protested.
"Not without a permit, no," the young officer proclaimed.
"Mike?" The officer turned at his name, only to see the blond. "What's the problem?"
Officer Chang was thankful to see a friendly face. "Hey, Sam. This lady-"
"Mercedes," she interjected.
"Mercedes. Can't perform out here without a permit."
"I told you, I didn't know I needed one. I'm not from here, you ass."
Sam put out his hands, "Mercedes, please, let me handle it."
She shook her head, "I don't need you to handle anything."
The blond looked at her, confused, "So you want to get arrested?" He ignored her objection. "Mike, she's with me. We're a… duo. And you know I've got a permit. It's fine, man. I was on break, getting pizza."
Officer Chang looked at them suspiciously, not believing any of the story. Especially with the overdrawn smile on Mercedes' part. But his eyes relented and he stood back. "Fine."
Sam shook the man's hand. "Thanks, man. There's a butterscotch cupcake with your name on it at the Lima Squeeze."
"Aw, dude, there's no need. Just take a special request tomorrow."
"I beg your pardon," Mercedes asked.
"When you guys perform tomorrow, which I expect you will, I want a song."
The young woman shook her head in refusal, while Sam responded a surefire "Will do."
She gasped as Officer Chang walked away, "Like hell I am. I'm not gonna be here tomorrow."
"Why not?"
"Because I won't be here."
"Look, I just stuck my neck out for you-"
"Hey! No one asked you to do that-"
"I wanted to!" With that, both grew silent. "And I can't really afford a fine if Mike finds out I'm full of shit."
Her doe eyes relented. "Fine... I'll stay for tomorrow."
Sam beamed at her response. "Thank you. Maybe we can meet up later. Practice a few songs. Where are you staying?"
Mercedes hesitated in her answer, "Um... around."
"Well, I have my truck, I can take you."
"No, that's alright."
"It's really not a problem, Mercedes."
"It's just- I didn't-"
He offered her his hand, "Come on."
She stared at his glove-laddened hand and all that he had to offer. Mercedes cautiously planted her hand in his, struck by how quickly he latched on and led them to the parking lot of the Lima Squeeze.
Mercedes didn't know what she expected, but walking up the snow-covered steps to his apartment wasn't it.
Sam instructed, "Stand here for a second. Please."
She nodded at his command, watching him go behind his front door. Certain he was straightening up the place for his unexpected guest, Mercedes heard rustling on the other side of the door and tapped her toes in anticipation. She leapt when the door opened again and Sam spoke, "Fair warning, it's a little cold in here."
The young woman understood, but being inside was better than the frosty exterior. Or at least that's what she thought until Sam closed the door behind her, and the smoke from her breath remained in clear view. He led her into his small kitchen where the oven door laid open, its heat warming the small space. "Might be a little more rustic than you're used to," he mumbled.
"This is fine, Sam. Thank you." She shrugged off her coat, and stretched over the sink towards a cabinet. He admired her curves in the tight, shapely jeans with everyone of her petite movements. "Pots? Sam?"
"Huh?" Sam asked, shaking his focus away from her ass and back to her.
"Do you have any pots? You know, to boil water?"
"Oh, yeah. I have-" He slid behind her, his hands briefly placed upon her full hips as he reached over her. His touch was brief but struck her with a great warmth. Pulling down several pots, he handed them to her.
Mercedes gladly took the rusty old pots. "This'll warm things up a bit. Do you have any tea?"
"If I did, it wouldn't be on purpose. I think there's some coffee in here from the shop."
"That'll work too."
Sam reached over her, more intentionally this time, pulling down a tin of coffee with April's shining face on the label. With that, he sat down at his tiny wooden table in the corner, watching Mercedes' little dance to keep warm. A soft smile grew on his face that forced him to clear his throat. "So, what were you thinking about performing tomorrow? From what I saw today, you were really good with the classics. Would you want to duet or something..."
"I'm not singing," Mercedes demurred.
"I thought- I thought that's what we agreed upon."
"No, you agreed upon. I'm on the next bus out of here in the morning. Got a friend meeting me in Pittsburgh."
Sam smirked, finding her comments amusing. "Really? And these plans are for tomorrow?"
She shrugged towards him. "What can I say? I go where the money is."
"And helping me wouldn't be a part of that plan?"
"Why would I want to help you?"
"Oh, I don't know, me getting you out of a jam? Me giving you a place to stay?"
"In an igloo."
"Free cookie."
"I only ate the gingerbread man's head."
"I sang you a song."
"With my guitar without my permission."
"About that, so is your last name Jones?"
Mercedes paused.
He explained, "I saw it. On the case, and I was just curious."
Caught off guard, Mercedes sat back, "Yes, it's my last name. But the guitar isn't mine. It is now. But, it was my father's."
"Oh, it seemed kind of... old. Is.. is your dad back in Indiana?"
"His ashes are," she replied, oh so meekly.
"I'm sorry, Mercedes." he reached over, placing his hand on top of hers. The rough pad of his thumb caressed her skin. The high-pitched whistle of steam from the kettle ruptured the tender moment. She vaulted her feet and lifted the kettle from the eye, pouring the hot water into their mugs that she rested beside each other on the kitchen table.
"So, what's in Pittsburgh?" Sam asked, easing the unsteadiness of his heart.
"My friend Puck works at a country club. Caddie. They need evening performers. Could be a little bit of fun."
"And that's what you're gonna do?"
"Yeah. There's nothing else for me in this part of the world... Are you from here?"
He shook his head. "Tennessee. Came here when I was a kid. My folks left a while back for work. I stayed for a girl."
"And where's the girl?"
He took a sip from his mug, "With another girl."
Mercedes' eyebrows rose. Intrigued.
"Settle down, Jones. It's not that juicy. She just fell in love. It happens."
She leaned over. "Were you heartbroken?"
Lost in his thoughts, "Was. You miss your dad?"
"Everyday. Do you miss her?"
"Not so much. Not anymore."
"Good." Mercedes rose from her seat. Gathering her coat, she walked over towards the hallway until she reached an open door to a room. He slowly followed behind, catching her stare as she entered his room.
"What are you doing?" Sam stood at the doorframe.
Mercedes let her coat fall to the floor, and sauntered over towards him. His grip on the doorframe grew firm. "Would you mind if I kissed you?" She asked . Biting the inside of her jaw, she waited for his response.
He slowly shook his head, his peridot eyes locked on her brown. "No," he whispered. "I don't mind."
She cupped his rosy cheeks with her fingerless mittens. Her tiptoes propelled her up for a gentle kiss. Soft, sweet, warm. With her eyes still closed, Mercedes stood down. Her lips sucked into her mouth, savoring his spearmint chapstick. The pause was brief as Sam grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her into a deeper kiss. A tangle of tongues and hands roaming, found them on top of his bed. She tore the beanie off of his head, fingering the blond nape of his neck.
His hands reached the button of her jeans, but paused. The heat of the moment made way for sense, and for him to ask, "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," she mewled. "Don't stop, Sam." A free hand played with his abs under his many layers. "Don't stop."
His lips travelled to her neck as he reached the hymn of her lavender sweater. Fumbling as he pulled it over her head. He tweaked her puckered buds beneath her cotton bra. The feel of cold ever present. He quickly jumped off of the bed at the spark of a thought.
Mercedes covered herself with her sweater. "Now is not the time for thoughts, Sam!" She shouted at the empty doorway from the bed. He returned with a space heater in his unkempt state. Plugging it into the wall, Sam jumped back onto the bed, greeted by warm giggles and tender caresses.
Mercedes strum her guitar in the afterglow. Her luscious nude form was covered by the wooden base, as she lazily played a tune. Though easily distracted by the pink pout that planted lingering kisses on her bare shoulder. Through soft moans, she sang.
Here in our midst, we're surely blessed (chestnuts roasting)
Over the heat, gee ain't life sweet? (tempters toasting)
Drifting all year, without a care (purple snowflakes)
Cover the ground, without a sound (love the snowflakes)
I'm sure that snowflakes, fall from the gloom
And we'll always remember this night, here with you
He laid his head on her shoulder, letting the song flow through him. Her velvety tone was a godsend. Each pluck of a string lulled him until he was asleep with dreams of her at his side.
When he woke up, she was gone.
Her bags were no longer in the hallway, nor her coat on his floor. He ran from room to room in his longjohns with a tightness in his chest. This couldn't have been it. She couldn't have disappeared, but the small descending footprints down the snowy staircase were his answer.
The day was exhausting. His head hung with every cupcake, every cookie, every coffee he sold. Searching the face of every patron, in hopes of seeing his mahogany siren. April would pat his back, ever so often, unsure of the cause of his sullen state, but her heart breaking for him all the same.
The lamppost held him up, as he leaned, defeated with his guitar. Each song sprang out of him with a melancholy twang, as he thought of lost opportunities. The crowd was meager and so was his interest, until the streetlights came on, illuminating the day-old snow. No longer fresh and pure, but covered in tire tracks and exhaust.
Maybe she wasn't real. Maybe his mind had conjured her up in the wintry abyss. All he knew was that he needed her. $10.34 and a stick of gum were his reward for the day, and a final song strum out of him... for her.
The prayers from the graveyard keeps mumblin' death
Too much time hobbles lost in hurt
Now I'm compelled to care about my future going nowhere
As I stand here all alone in the cold wonderin' where I'm going today
Then a snowflake fell and it felt like a kiss now I'm okay
The ringin' from the bells keep screamin' out love
As snow fell from heavens above
Directionless no more. Emptiness no more.
Now I don't feel so all alone in the cold wonderin' where I'm going today
For a snowflake fell and it felt like a kiss now I'm okay-
Sam stopped at the thud of something into his guitar case, not cash or change. A cookie? A headless gingerbread man.
"Please. Continue. Your voice is... exquisite."
He looked up at the small frame before him. "Only if you sing with me," he replied.
She shrugged, "Okay." A sweet smile spread across her features, "I'm not going anywhere."
A/N: Well, there was a snow storm this week, so I thought it might still be relevant. This was truly a fool's journey, but it was fun. Leave a review if you'd like.