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True Blood S4

Chapter 46 Damn Fine Chicken Salad

It was slow for a Thursday night at Merlotte's. The dinner rush had been robust but by nine pm foot traffic had come to a screeching halt. There were only a couple of guys from the road crew at the pool table and one young woman at the end of the bar working on her second shot of tequila.

"Hey, Sam, is it okay if I knock off after I clean the grill?" Terry called out from the kitchen.

"Sure, Terry. It's slow as molasses in here—probably because we ran out that fantastic haul of bass you and Andy brought in," Sam called to him. Sam got up off of his stool behind the bar, put his magazine down and went to him. "Thanks for that, man, that fresh bass sold like hotcakes today," he smiled appreciatively at his buddy. Terry's chest swelled with pride.

"My pleasure, Sam," he beamed at him.

Sam went back to the bar, retrieved his magazine and took his seat on the stool again. He wasn't really reading it as much as he was checking out the woman, who, at that moment, was reading something on her cell phone. She was a golden brown-skinned beauty looking gorgeous in a simple but stunning red, curve-hugging short-sleeved knit dress that stopped just below her knees; Sam found himself lost in the curve of her calves and continued the tour of her legs until it ended in the sinful seduction of her strappy gold high heels. On the back of her chair hung a black leather motorcycle jacket. Another interesting thing about her was that she had no purse. Sam noticed it when she paid for her first round of drinks and pulled her small wallet from the inside breast pocket of her jacket—a man's jacket. He saw no rings on her fingers. The only jewelry she had on was a pair of hoop-type tiered silver dangling earrings that framed her sweet little heart-shaped face as they emerged from the wispy, tousled intrigue that was her short, razor-cut jet black hair. Very suddenly she snapped her phone shut.

Sam gave up the pretense and put his magazine down for good. She appeared to be lost deep in thought and hadn't noticed at all the he had been watching her nor the two men at the pool table who had been unnecessarily loud and boisterous as they played. Sam walked over to her quietly.

"Hey there, can I get you another, miss?"

"Oh, huh? Uh, no thanks, two is my limit," she said amiably, as she cast off the worried look that had been on her face.

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but are you okay?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, don't mind me...I had a funeral today...I mean, I went to a funeral today. My grandmother passed."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he said sincerely.

"Thank you."

"You look like you're from out of town. Maybe your grandmother was someone I knew?"

"And why would that be? Because this is a small town and everybody knows everybody?" She sounded a touch insulted, which threw him off a bit.

"Well, no and yes. I'm sorry if I made you angry," he began apologetically.

"Elenora Camp?" she said as she shrugged her shoulders and threw up her hands in question.

"Uh, no. I don't think I knew her."

"How about Evelyn Camp—that's my auntie...her daughter."

"Evelyn? I know Evelyn," he said then. "She was just in here for lunch today but she didn't say anything about her mother passing," Sam said, a touch bewildered.

"Well, she wouldn't have. She and her mother had been estranged for most of her life."

"Oh, that's...I'm sorry to hear that. So Evelyn is your aunt..." Sam was still confused.

"Really? That look, in the Twenty-first century? You have heard of inter-racial marriage, haven't you? She's my father's sister."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything," he began, apologizing again.

"Okay, so you know who I am now...must we do the run down?"

"The run down'?"

"Yes, the run down; the one that all Southern folks must do when they meet: my grandma, your grandma; my daddy, yours; who lived in what parish, who went to what schools; until we narrow it all down to a common aunt or uncle, find out we're cousins and confirm that all we can ever be is friends, because all small-town Southern folk are related, right?"

"Okay, I'm not originally from here, so your 'run down' would be kinda pointless with us. But apparently I've made you really angry or you're just distraught—or both—and I'm gonna go back to my end of the bar and leave you alone now." Sam backed pointedly away from her and proceeded to do exactly that.

"No, no, no...come back here," she crooked her finger at him. He approached her again, but with his hands up.

"Please don't shoot."

"Oh, put your hands down, already. I promise I'm not schizo. And I'm not armed." she began when he stood before her again. "I'm not really angry or distraught. I'm just sitting here reconciling myself with the fact I'm going to hell, and I'll deserve it...because I'm relieved; relieved that the funeral is over; relieved that she's dead."

"Oh," Sam said, taken aback.

"You don't understand; she was a horrible woman; aunt Evelyn is my favorite aunt and she really suffered a lot in life because her. I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but...well, I'm not a perfect person and let's just say that I know that real well about myself."

"Well, the last time I checked, I found out that this world is chock full of imperfect people...and some of 'em are the nicest people you'll ever meet," he said softly to her. "But I suppose if you really think you're goin' to hell when it's all over then I'm real sure I'll be meeting you there."

"Sounds like a date to me," she said then as their eyes really met for the first time. Sam smiled and held out his hand to her. She returned both gestures.

"Sam Merlotte," he shook her hand.

"Zola Camp. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Pleasure's all mine." He released her hand reluctantly. "Hey, I'm sorry the grill is closed now, but if you're hungry I can rustle up something," he said as he went to grab an apron from under the counter cabinet.

"Oh, no, please don't put yourself out. I'm not hungry at all. Pretzels...they're what's for dinner..." she joked as she showed him the empty bowl before her.

"Oh, that ain't right...c'mon, let me fix you something right quick?"

"No, really," she protested sweetly. Just then Terry came out of the kitchen with a plate of chicken salad on a bed of fresh, crisp iceberg lettuce, sliced beefsteak tomatoes and basket filled with a sliced sourdough baguette. He set it before her, left, and then came back with a pitcher of sun tea.

"Ma'am," he nodded his head respectfully at her. "It ain't a hot meal, but it's damn fine chicken salad made fresh this evening. That's all we got left that's prepared. Please enjoy."

"Why, thank you very much," she said, very pleasantly surprised and touched by his concerned demeanor.

"I'm sorry Sam, I overheard you two out here. Thanks for letting me have the night off early."

"Thank you, Terry, thank you so much for everything," Sam gave him an appreciative pat on his back to which Terry responded by grabbing Sam's hand and pulling him into a strong, manly embrace. He then held his friend at arm's length and looked him square in his eyes.

"Anytime, buddy. You all have a good night, now. Ma'am," he nodded at her again and then left.

"Wow. That was...intense. And very sweet," she said incredulously.

"He's one of the best men I know, I can tell you that," Sam smiled at her. "Go on, eat up."

"I feel funny eating alone—why don't you join me?"

"Well, sure..." Just as Sam was about to go get a plate of his own the two men at the pool table began shouting heatedly at one another. "Oh, now what?" Sam said irritatedly as he headed over to them but not before a first punch could be thrown. "Alright, boys, not havin' it...take it outside."

"But Sam, he cheated and I want my money..."

"You're a damn lie, Buck, and you know it," retorted the other man as he made to throw another punch.

"Arlen, that's enough...both of you. I don't know why y'all even bother to shoot pool together, you end up fightin' every damn time and I'm tired of it. Both of you get on outta here. You can come shoot pool separately but if I see you both toolin' up to my door together again you ain't coming in."

"You don't have to worry about that," snorted Buck in a huff. "I ain't never playin' with him again in my LIFE!" he lunged at the other man then and Sam held him back.

"Both of you...out...now," he said as he continued to push them towards the door. When they were finally out he turned over the closed sign and locked the door. He rejoined Zola at the bar, a look of apology on is face.

"Wow. Again I say...that was intense."

"Not really; those two harmless idiots are brothers," he explained.

Zola laughed out loud. "I love it. I don't know why my parents ever left here."

"I think I can figure it out easy," he said from the other side of the counter. "How's that salad?"

"I don't know yet...I was kind of distracted there, for a minute," she cocked her head at him and smiled.

Sam cocked his head at her and smiled, as well. "Hmmph, imagine that," he put his elbows on the counter, leaned in to her, picked up her fork and dipped into her plate; when he had a delicate helping upon it he brought it up to her lips and looked into her eyes with a challenge. "Well, I think it's high time you gave me your informed opinion, ma'am..."

Zola allowed him to feed her the first forkful, then took it from him gingerly and set it quietly on her plate.

"Well?" he asked her when she finished chewing and brought his face even closer to hers. Before she could answer he said, "Oh wait, it's missing something..."

He took her hand and pulled her closer then kissed her sweetly. He broke away just long enough to look at her and confirm that she wanted more and then gave it to her. He grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of her neck, pulled her closer in to him and then kissed her deeply, savagely and, to his delight, she met him with her own passionate abandon.

When they finally released each other Zola leaned back in her chair, breathless and over-heated. "Wow. That's some damn fine chicken salad, alright. Does it always come with a side of you?" she asked as she fanned herself.

Sam only answered her with a sexy, knowing grin.

Then, as if it had just hit her out of the blue, she looked at him nonplussed and said, "And they just let your sexy ass run free around here? How many poor women have you done this to?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

"Only one that matters," he kept smiling at her.

"No way, I'm not falling for that..."

"What?" he asked her innocently.

"It should be against the law for you to be able to go around kissing women like that, that's all I'm sayin'."

"Tell you what, Zola: tell me you don't belong to anyone and then it'll be against the law for me to kiss anyone but you like that." Sam came from behind the counter and approached her slowly.

"Okay, hold up—you know absolutely nothing about me and I know absolutely nothing about you—why would you even say something like that?" she asked as she got up off of her bar stool and backed away from him.

"Let's just say I've been inspired," came his low, sexy drawl. Never taking his eyes away from hers as he advanced he picked up her jacket as he passed her chair. "This your boyfriend's jacket? Or are you one of those women that got hip a long time ago to the fact that mens fine leather products are typically better made, way cooler and cost a lot less than what they try to sell you in the womens department?" His previously playful tone was replaced then by one of dead seriousness as he drew ever closer.

"It was my ex-boyfriend's jacket, but thank you for that priceless shopping tip," she said nervously as she bumped into the entryway behind her leading to the pool room.

"Oh, you're a comedian, I see..." He trapped her body against the entryway with his own.

"Only when I'm nervous."

"Don't be nervous, Zola...be mine," he said as he dropped her jacket to the floor, took her face in his hands and descended upon her sweet, waiting lips hungrily with his own.