SUMMARY: Mercedes opens her own vocal coach business. Sam gives her a surprise. Sam's new assistant Ashley is efficient but may have feelings for him.
RATING: Mature. Sex. Cursing.
CHAPTER 32
One Year Later
GETTING BACK TO ME
Mercedes didn't know why she was so nervous, but she was. She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, scrutinizing her appearance; the tomato-red skirt and ruffled white blouse looked professional enough. She ironed it so much that she feared sitting down, not wanting to get even the slightest wrinkle on the smooth, starched fabric. Her hair was in a French twist adorned with a red rose hairpin that Sam bought for her. Everything was in place. Except for her nerves. Those damn nerves. She practiced her greeting.
"Hi, I'm Mercedes. How are you? I'm so pleased to meet you in person. Let's go to the studio and get started on the lessons." She smiled as she recited her new client greeting, but even though her voice was confident and her demeanor calm, her stomach clenched and her heartbeat fast. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
"I can do this," she murmured, "I can do this."
Mercedes felt muscular arms encircling her waist and a pair of familiar lips kissing her cheek, with a bottom bandaged lip, the smooth adhesive bandage pressed against her cheek, and she smelled citrus shaving cream.
"Yes, you can do this," Sam said, hugging her to his chest.
Mercedes opened her eyes, staring at their reflection in the mirror. He was still in his boxers and undershirt, and he kissed her again.
"Look at you all, beautiful," he said. "You're ready for this."
"I don't feel ready."
"You are ready. I believe in you. And you've worked hard for this. Besides, it's not like you haven't taught before."
Mercedes nodded, relaxing in his embrace. In the past year, she completed a vocal training certification program and practicing her own singing daily to be more efficient in coaching. Every morning she did her vocal exercises in the den downstairs that was now her studio, complete with her framed degrees and certifications on the walls. For her equipment, they purchased a piano, metronome, digital audio recorder, and a laptop with music software. The kids weren't allowed in the studio, which they called "Mommy's Space." Sam painted the room and door a rich shade of teal called Vardo, and simple white lace curtains hung on the large bay window facing the backyard.
"You're right. It's first-day jitters, that's all," Mercedes said.
Sam rocked her gently in his arms and said:
"But I will sing of your strength,
in the morning, I will sing of your love;
for you are my fortress,
my refuge in times of trouble."
Mercedes turned around, kissing him, careful not to hurt his injured bottom lip with little pressure. He cut it when he tripped and fell on a piece of broken glass in a house he was working on. Though Mercedes was being mindful not to make his injury worse, Sam thwarted her gentle efforts and kissed her back with more force, holding her close. It dazed her for a moment, and she had to catch her breath. When they pulled apart, she said:
"Now, you're quoting Psalms?"
"I see you paid attention in Sunday school."
"Oh, Sam," she said, laughing, "I do like that scripture, though."
"See, I made you feel better."
"You always do."
"You do the same for me."
"I know this isn't easy for you."
"Hey, we went over that," Sam said. "I want you to be happy."
"I know it's just — "
"I'm never holding you back."
Mercedes touched his face, her fingers tracing his bandaged lip.
"But in Hawaii, when I first—"
"Yeah, I felt some kind of way about you owning this business for a lot of reasons. I wanted to be the only one taking care of you. It's how I operate. But I also see your desire for this. It's your dream, and now it's my dream too. I want this for you. Am I still having conflicting feelings? Yes, but your happiness means more to me."
Mercedes kissed his cheek.
"My first client will be here soon. I'm going downstairs."
"I'll keep the kids occupied."
"Thank you."
"Baby?"
"Yes?"
"Make sure there's enough Jolly Ranchers in the candy dish. I got carried away when I was in there fixing the filing cabinet."
"Sam, are you serious?"
"I know it's ridiculous, but yeah."
Mercedes laughed, giving him a side hug.
"Ok, I'll go fill it."
They kissed, and Mercedes left the room, closing the door behind her. Sam had a sweet tooth, but she didn't realize he liked Jolly Ranchers so much. Grabbing a bag of candy from the kitchen cupboard, Mercedes went down the hall to the studio. For a moment, she stood and admired the sign on the door, which said Angel Voice Studios. Stacey hand-painted it in calligraphy with teal ink and painted black musical notes on the door, which contrasted nicely with the paint. Sam found a shiny brass door handle in the shape of a treble clef and installed it; Mercedes loved these personalized touches and smiled as she reached into her pocket for the key. Upon opening the door, Mercedes switched on the light. She saw that the candy dish was missing from the piano, but in its place was a beautiful blue crystal figurine of a Rubenesque woman with abundant curves and kinky hair. Then Mercedes realized it was her. All her features were immortalized in crystal, the doe eyes, full sensuous lips, generous bosom, rounded backside, even the broad nose. She couldn't believe it. The amount of detail was remarkable. The figurine wore a long gown, her arms outstretched, and she wore a serene smile.
Sam. He did this for her. She was his blue angel. Tears welled up in her eyes. She was so overcome with many emotions. Gratitude. Awe. Love. Joy. All ran through her as she looked at the statue. She yelled out his name.
"Sam!"
He walked into the studio a few minutes later, grinning at her.
"I see you found it."
She hugged him.
"Sam, how did you even… I can't… "
"Shhh, there now. I wanted to get something special for you. Something to show how I saw you and bless this new journey you're embarking on. I found an artist and gave her my vision."
She cried on his shoulder.
"You didn't have to do this. But I love this wonderful gift."
After more kisses and tears, Mercedes composed herself.
"Do you think it's safe for her to be on the piano like that?"
"Don't worry, I got a lighted display case for it. It's over there," Sam said, pointing to the glass box near the window.
"Thank you, Sam."
"You're welcome, angel."
"Jolly Ranchers, huh?"
"I know. Bad cover. It got here this morning while you were in the shower. I had to sign for it and everything. And I wanted you to see it before your lesson started, so I told a little lie."
Just then, the doorbell rang.
"I almost forgot my client," Mercedes said, kissing him again.
"It's showtime," he said, hugging her. "You got this."
"That I do, Mr. Hummel."
One Month Later
"Mr. Tracy wants to talk to you." Sam's part-time office assistant, Ashley, said to him as she stirred sugar into her cup of tea. "Your calendar is open Friday morning."
They were sitting in the Moonstone Restaurant for their weekly meeting. With all the projects he handled and the increased number of people working for him, Mercedes suggested he get an assistant. For now, Ashley was fully remote, but Sam enjoyed meeting in person on Wednesdays to go over scheduling, financial matters, and other tasks. He chose the Moonstone because the food was good. It was usually slow on weekday mornings, and the staff knew him and his family. The two-story yellow brick building with white trim and blue-shuttered windows was like a second home to the Hummels. Rosy loved the two bronze lions outside the restaurant and named them Jack and Jill, and she and Jake argued about whether one was female, with Jake convinced they should be called Jack and Joe. The family even had a favorite bright yellow booth near the window, where they could watch the passerby as they ate.
"What does he want?" Sam asked as he cut into a sausage link.
"He wants you to restore his great aunt's house. He says it has a lot of historical value for Star Pride, and he claims George Washington spent the night there."
"Whatever. Mr. Tracy rubs me the wrong way. Besides, he didn't think Thad and Franny's house should be a historical landmark."
"Why?"
"At the public hearing, he said their story didn't have any value and was a blemish on Star Pride's history."
Ashley sipped her tea.
"Yikes."
"Yeah," Sam said, taking another bite of sausage, "I don't want his business."
"Well, he wants to talk to you. What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Tell Mr. George Washington Slept Here that I'll call him back tomorrow."
"Are you going to call him back tomorrow?"
"No."
"Sam."
"Look, Ashley, tell him… tell him I'm tied up for the rest of the month, and I'll get back to him."
Ashley frowned, narrowing her blue eyes, as she typed on her laptop decorated with purple iris stickers. Her long, black hair was swept up in a tousled bun, and a few tendrils framed her angular face. While she concentrated on her work, staring at the screen, she twisted the loose strands around her fingers, her cat-eye-shaped glasses slipping on the bridge of her nose. When she finished typing her notes, she looked up and said:
"I found out something interesting about this restaurant."
"You did? What was it?"
"The Moonstone was a speakeasy during Prohibition run by a gangster named Calvin James."
"Damn, really?"
Ashley pushed up her glasses.
"Yes. And get this. Calvin James distilled his own bourbon and called it Pearly Gates."
Sam poured some cream into his coffee.
"Pearly Gates?"
"Yeah, he named it that because it was so good. You died and went to heaven."
"Death by bourbon. There are worse ways to die."
"I'll say. Nobody knew his secret recipe for the bourbon, and there's a rumor it's buried in a safe beneath this restaurant," she said, smiling at him, revealing perfect white teeth. She fiddled with the blue rhinestone sweater clip that held her cardigan together. The sparkling jewelry shined in the sunlight. "I knew you would find all this interesting. You should tell the owner. He could make this a tourist attraction or something…" her voice trailed off. She stared into her teacup. "I remember how you like bourbon and history and stuff." She gave a nervous laugh, looking back at him, her pale cheeks rosy.
Sam patted her hand.
"Yeah, I live for stuff like this. Thank you for telling me. I'll let Moe know, and he'll get a kick out of it. This could be a landmark too."
Moe was the owner of the Moonstone Restaurant, who welcomed Sam and his family with open arms when they came for Sunday brunch. He was bald and had a raspy voice from smoking cigars most of his life, and he jokingly referred to them as the Hungry Hummels.
Sam sipped his orange juice.
"How did you find out about Calvin James?"
"The Town Archives. I was researching Worthington Manor next door and came across it."
"Haven't been to the archives for a while. Not since Mercedes and I went there to look up stuff about Franny and Thad."
Ashley took a bite of her milk toast. Sam never understood Ashley's love for this weird breakfast meal. Two slices of toast sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, floating in hot buttered milk, did not look appetizing to him, but Ashley assured him it tasted better than Cinnamon Toast Crunch and was more filling.
"Oh, thank you for loaning me the book. I'm enjoying it," Ashley said. "I'll bring it back next week."
"You're welcome," Sam said, pouring syrup on his pancakes. "Not too many people would find the History of Preservation in America fun reading."
"You know I love that stuff, and it also helped with my research paper."
Ashley was in graduate school, getting her master's degree in historic preservation. When she applied for the assistant job, she impressed Sam with her knowledge of historical building restoration. Though she was only 22, she published some articles in well-respected trade journals.
"That book taught me a lot. Anyway, anything else on the agenda?"
She closed the laptop.
"Nope. That's it for work," she said as she twisted the ring on her finger. It was a vintage gold men's college ring with a sapphire gemstone. Sam noticed the blue thread wrapped around the band so that it would fit her skinny finger. He hadn't seen that since high school when girls wore their boyfriends' class rings. Ashley tapped her finger against the sapphire, lightly grazing the sparkling surface. "But I have an announcement. Today is my birthday."
"Really? Happy Birthday! Why didn't you say anything? We could've done something extra."
"I don't need extra. This is fine."
"Take the afternoon off. Are you going out with friends?"
"No."
"What about family?"
She shook her head, taking another bite of milk toast.
"They're on a cruise. But they sent a Blue Star fern."
"Sounds like a nice gift."
Ashley shrugged.
"I guess. But it has black spots on it. I think it has a fungal disease," she said.
"That's depressing," Sam said, taking a bite of grits. "You need to do something special. Diseased plants don't cut it."
Ashley chuckled.
"It's not that bad."
Sam shook his head.
"Whatever you say."
Ashley balled up her napkin and tossed it at him, hitting him on the forehead.
"Sam, stop," she said, laughing. "Anyway, I saw in the Pride Chronicle today that there's going to be a lecture about Calvin James tonight at the Town Archives. I'm going to go. I know it sounds dull, but I'll enjoy it."
"I don't think it's dull."
"You're the exception."
"Exceptionally geeky," He said, smiling at her, "But seriously, I think it sounds fun. Though I don't picture it as a birthday celebration, I'm sure you'll have a good time."
"Say, if you're not busy, why don't you—"
Sam's phone rang, interrupting her. It was Mercedes.
"Hi, angel," he said, smiling into the phone."
"Hey, I want to make sure you don't forget to go to Michaels and get silver glitter."
"I won't," Sam said, realizing he had forgotten because he'd been up working since 6AM and was just now taking a breather.
"Thank you. I'll order Ledo's for dinner. And you need a massage. I got the oil and everything."
"I do?"
"Yes. You're walking funny again."
"Only you notice that."
"Because I love you."
"I love you too."
They hung up, and Sam thought about his massage and smiled. Ashley rose from the table.
"I'm going to the ladies' room," she said, the full skirt of her purple swing dress swaying as she walked away. Even though Ashley dressed like a 1950s librarian, Sam had to admit the clothes flattered her. He finished eating and answered some texts. Ashley tripped and fell into their waitress, Nina, who carried a full water pitcher as she walked back to their table. Ashley's dress hitched up a little as she landed on the floor, exposing the crisp white petticoat underneath. Nina fell, too, dropping the pitcher and spilling water everywhere. Sam rushed over to them, offering them a hand as they struggled to get up.
"Are you alright?" He asked them, pulling them up from the floor.
"I think so," Ashley said.
"I'm fine, thanks, Sam," Nina said, picking up the pitcher and walking back to the kitchen.
Ashley held onto Sam's arm as they walked to the table.
"I took a tumble," she said as he pulled out her chair.
"At least you didn't hit your head," Sam said. "When Mercedes fell in the Target parking lot, she hit her head on the pavement. Thank God it was only a minor concussion. Scared me for a moment."
Ashley opened her pillbox purse and took out a white lace handkerchief and gold compact.
"Yes, thank God," she said, with a strained smile, while opening the compact and examining her face. She dabbed her flushed cheeks with the handkerchief. "It's funny how those things can escalate."
"You're telling me. I'm glad I was there and took Mercedes straight to the ER."
"Like you were here for me," Ashley said, glancing at him, her blue eyes bright. She rummaged through her purse and took out a tube of lipstick.
"Yeah, I suppose," Sam said, unsure where she was going with this. There was a big difference between Ashley falling and Mercedes hitting her head on the concrete in front of Target. He remembered how Rosy yelled Mommy fell, and Abby rushed to her side. Mercedes lay there for a few seconds, not moving; those were the longest seconds of his life. He looked at Ashley.
"Hey, what were you about to say earlier?"
Staring into the compact mirror, Ashley coated her thin lips with red lipstick. She glanced at him, shaking her head.
"Oh, it was nothing."
"You sure?"
She smiled at him.
"Positive. You know you should get out of here soon. Remember, you're meeting the lumber suppliers with Vincent."
"Damn, that's right," He said, finishing his coffee, "Let me pay our bill. Don't leave yet. Come with me. I have something for you in my truck."
"I'm not complaining, but you don't have to pay for me all the time."
"I'm old-fashioned, and I'm always going to pay," Sam said.
Ashley smiled. Tilting her head, she stared at him.
"I like that about you. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, that sort of thing."
Sam brushed it off.
"It's good manners, and that's how I was raised."
"Guys my age aren't like that."
"You just need to meet the right one," Sam said while slipping cash into the leather bill holder. "That should cover everything. Come on."
They walked outside to his truck, parked next to her Honda. Sam unlocked it and took a cardboard box off the front seat.
"Here," he said, handing it to her.
"What is it?"
"Open it."
Ashley opened the box and smiled at what she saw inside.
"A purple passion plant. It's beautiful," she said, holding it up. Soft purple hairs covered the leaves.
"You know how I do free contractor work for Green Hills, that non-profit nursing home?"
"Yes."
"Well, one resident thinks I'm her son. Her name is Greta, and she has dementia. Anyhow, she likes when I come to her room, and I will sit and talk to her for a bit. Every time I see her, she insists on giving me something. She gave me this plant when I dropped off some fiberglass this morning. We have enough plants at home, and I hate to throw it away."
Ashley stroked the plant's velvet leaves.
"Thank you. I got something good for my birthday, after all."
"You're welcome," Sam said, getting into the truck. "Have fun at the lecture.
"Sam, wait," Ashley said, tugging on his sleeve.
"Yeah?"
"I forgot to ask you. How did Mercedes like the figurine?"
"She loved it."
"It captured how she looked?"
"Yeah, it's beautiful. I'll send you some pics. You know the three of us should get together for dinner sometime. I can't believe you haven't met in person yet."
Ashley looked down, touching the plant's stem.
"That would be great. Let me know when."
"I will. Now go enjoy yourself. You have the afternoon off, and I don't want to get any texts, emails, or calls from you. Whatever it is, can wait. Happy Birthday!"
"Thank you, Sam," Ashley said, gazing at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her red mouth, "I appreciate it."
"So, you gave Ashley that purple passion plant?" Vincent asked Sam. They were driving back from the lumber supplier meeting and heading to Michaels for the glitter, and Sam figured they had time to do this before going to Lexington to get custom-made faucets.
"Yeah. Like I said, it's her birthday."
"Don't you think she's kind of… "Vincent's voice trailed off, and he paused.
Sam stopped at a red light.
"Kind of what?"
"Kind of clingy."
"Clingy? How?"
"Clingy with you. Following you around and shit."
"She's remote. I only see her once a week. How can she follow me around?"
"Not physically. Ashley is always calling you."
"She's my assistant."
"Have you ever noticed that she'll chit-chat a long time after you handle business?"
"So she's chatty. Some people are."
"My point is. Ashley gets off the phone mighty fast when I talk to her."
Sam sighed as he switched lanes and pulled into the Michael's parking lot.
"Maybe you haven't learned the art of conversation."
"Very funny."
"I don't know, Vincent. I know she's odd, but she's an excellent assistant, and I think she's lonesome."
"Yeah. Lonesome for you."
"That sounds like a country song."
"I'm just saying. Be careful."
"Oh please, I've got a million things to worry about, and Ashley is the least of my concern."
"Ok, I'll drop it, but don't say I didn't warn you."
Sam smiled.
"Thank you. Now, what was I supposed to get again?"
"Silver glitter."
"Right."
"You're getting old, Sam."
"Thanks a lot."
"Don't mention it."
Mercedes had gotten into the groove of running the studio and taking care of the family with Sam's help. At first, they thought they might need to get a part-time nanny, but that wasn't the case. Since they each owned their own business, they coordinated their schedules so that one had the kids, while the other worked. Through word of mouth and social media, Mercedes' business grew. She loved being a vocal coach. Each student brought something unique to the table, with different skills to be developed and nurtured.
Everyone admired the blue crystal figurine in the display case and commented on its beauty. Looking at it every day brought Mercedes such joy. Something powerful was in that crystal image. It was a constant reminder that she shined. Even in moments of darkness and doubt, her light radiated. Sam told her the artist was a black woman from Lexington named Tanisha Washington. Mercedes sent her a handwritten letter praising her for her work and telling her how much she cherished the masterpiece. Tanisha responded with a note so poignant that Mercedes framed it.
Dear Mercedes,
When your husband came to my studio one rainy afternoon, I was deep into working on pieces for my New York exhibition. I didn't want another project, and I was facing deadlines. Sam said he wanted to capture the beauty of the woman he loved; he saw my work online and at a local show in Star Pride and knew I would be the best artist to sculpt you in crystal. I asked why and he said:
"You see black women."
Ms. Mercedes, I wasn't expecting him to say something like that. I don't know what I was expecting, but his simple statement made me take pause. I've never shied away from celebrating our beauty, our grace, our fragility and hope. Every day, we turn coal into diamonds. And then he showed me your picture.
You stood on a beach, wearing a white dress, your hair in a fantastic, shiny Afro that spanned the universe, skin so smooth, dark, and rich, and a bright smile, one that reminded me of what love was supposed to look like. And he's standing there, showing me the picture on his phone, his eyes gazing at your image, and he said:
"This is my wife, Mercedes. Isn't she beautiful? She's my heart. I want a sculpture in blue crystal, and I know you will honor her image."
I remember thinking, this man is crazy for his woman, in love from head to toe as my mother would say (God rest her soul). He trusted me enough to give you honor and create a statue that showcased your beauty. I poured two cups of chicory coffee. He took off his jacket, sat down, and we talked for hours like old friends. I asked him a lot of questions. He told me how you met, your journey to each other. The life you built together. He said he looked at many artists' work, but mine spoke to him.
I learned all about you from that conversation, and the more Sam talked, his eyes shining at the mention of your name, I wanted to know you, sit down and have a meal with you, kick back and talk on Saturday night with you on the back porch, drinking wine, watching fireflies. Whether it was Sam's love, that picture, or maybe both, I felt like I knew you.
Back in the day, we used to say "soul sister" well, those days are in my rearview mirror, along with blow-out kits, bell bottoms, and Black power fists, but that's what I called you as I worked on the project. Then, between you and me, when I was finished, I gave you another name: Zawati. That means gift in Swahili. You truly are a gift. You are light.
Sam showed me a video of you singing. Now, Zawati, my light, why did you have to go and take me to church too?
The love I felt in the studio as I worked, capturing everything about you in the sculpture, from the physical to the spiritual, moved me. I admit I cried, and I let myself love you. I hope you don't mind. Then, of course, I let you go. On the day I finished, I watched you in the sunlight.
To hear my work, touched your soul as it did mine as I created it. Well, Zawati, Mercedes, Soul Sister, I can only say Thank You. The gratitude runs deeper than our ancestors' blood. It's immortal, timeless, and forever.
Yes, I see black women. I see you.
Much love from me and the Goddess,
Tanisha
Mercedes read the letter many times, and it never failed to move her. Tanisha was in Zaire at a three-month artist's retreat, but when she returned, she and Mercedes made plans to meet in person.
Mike and Tina had finally moved to Star Pride and lived only a few blocks away, which meant the two couples saw each other often with movie nights, dinner, and trips to the park. Mercedes didn't realize how much she missed them and was grateful they were nearby, along with Finn and the kids.
Mercedes thought about Tina, as she lit the sandalwood candles her best friend bought for her and placed them around the bedroom. Tina knew she loved sandalwood and bought them at the local candle shop, Stella Candela. Handing the box of candles to Mercedes, Tina said it was for her and Sam's "soft porn" adventures. Laughing to herself at the memory, Mercedes closed the blinds and turned off the lights.
Slipping out of her nightgown, she pulled back the teal green bedspread, revealing the cream silk sheets underneath, then checked the massage oil in the warmer, pumping some oil onto her wrist; she found the temperature was just right, not too hot or cold. She heard Sam singing in the shower, and she hummed along to the tune; it was an old 80s song his mother Carol liked, These Dreams by Heart.
She lay in the middle of the bed, closing her eyes, letting her body decompress after a long day, inhaling the scent of sweet sandalwood surrounded by yellow light. She imagined Sam watching her, and she touched herself. Opening her legs, she let her fingers graze the surface of her sex. Then she heard the bathroom door creak open. Sam walked out with damp hair, smelling like cucumber body wash, and his nude body almost glowed in the candlelight. Upon seeing her naked, with one hand between her legs, the other tweaking her nipple, he climbed onto the king-sized bed and hugged her, holding her close to his heart.
"So sexy and beautiful," he said, kissing a trail from her neck to her bosom, which wasn't as firm as before nursing the twins. With Abby, she regained some of the perkiness, but the twins doing double duty on her mammary glands wasn't something she fully recovered from, but Sam didn't care. He reveled in her breasts, fondling and caressing each mound, before taking her plump nipples between his teeth and gently biting down, giving her that pleasure and pain he knew she craved. Mercedes felt his hard length against her leg as Sam kissed his way down her chubby belly and squeezed the jiggling, stretch-marked flesh. Sam always said her stomach was beautiful because it carried their children and was his soft place to land, and now he kissed and stroked the wrinkled, deflated skin of her belly with loving reverence. He swirled his tongue around her navel and then dipped it inside, giving it a gentle poke.
She relished the slow, languid way he worshiped her body, and when he reached her vulva, Mercedes was ready for him. Her thick, quivering thighs opened, wanting more. He leaned down, licking around her outer labia lips, using a circular motion, and giving tiny kisses, blowing on them with quick puffs of air. Sam then opened the delicate lips and kissed her wet velvet center before giving slow, vertical licks and pushing his tongue inside with pulsating, rapid movements. He dragged his tongue across her clitoris, that white pearl of nerves, and Mercedes cried out, grabbing at the bedspread.
Sam was relentless, moving his tongue going side to side, creating an infinity symbol, using the perfect rhythm because he knew how she wanted it, and when he sucked her clit, Mercedes screamed, her body shaking, her clear essence landing on Sam's chin. When she released her thighs, freeing his head from her grip, he stroked her arms, face, belly, and breasts as she calmed down from the explosive orgasm. Then he leaned down and kissed her.
"You got Buzz Light Yeared," he said.
Mercedes opened her eyes, looking up at him, laughing.
"To infinity and beyond," she said.
Sam chuckled, gathering her in his arms, and she closed her eyes again. They dozed for a while, and when she woke up, she needed him, and he entered her, rolling his narrow hips, stretching out each stroke. Mercedes arched her back, crying out but controlling herself, waiting for permission to come undone. Her breathing grew shallow as she rocked with him, her breasts bounced with each thrust. He gazed down at her, nodding his head as he kissed her.
And she came again, and he orgasmed, too, covering her with his body, laying his head on her chest. After they rested for a few minutes, Mercedes said:
"Sam?"
"Hmm?"
"The massage."
"Schatzchen, you don't have to—"
"You need it."
"And you needed this."
He kissed her.
"Let's clean up first."
After washing up in the bathroom, they returned to the bedroom to begin the massage. Sam lay face down on the bed, a pillow beneath his head and chest. Soft candlelight shined on his firm, pale buttocks, muscular back, and legs. Remembering how their couple's massage started with a healing prayer in Hawaii, she did the same, and said a prayer, asking for Sam's healing; after saying "Amen," he grabbed her hand, pulled her down, and kissed her.
"Thank you," Sam whispered.
Mercedes touched his cheek, kissing him. Then she rubbed massage oil on her hands and [massaged his scalp] and temples with her fingertips, using a slow, circular motion. Over the past few days, Sam complained of more headaches. Holding his hand to his forehead, he'd reach for the Excedrin on the nightstand every evening before bed. She hoped this would help ease his pain. Mercedes moved downward, gently squeezing the base of his neck, then continued to his shoulders, kneading the tight muscles, relieving the tension.
She thought of Sam carrying Rosy on his shoulders when she wanted a better look at the Fourth of July parade. Their daughter clung to him, her pudgy legs dangled over his chest, excited by the horses. Or when he carried Jake on his shoulders to get the Spiderman kite, he and Jake made together. It was stuck in a tree. It overjoyed Jake to get that precious kite down from the branch, and hugged Sam afterward, telling him he was the "Best Papa. "
Mercedes smiled as the memories played in her mind like old home movies. Sam was just that kind of father; she thought of how he carried Abby over his shoulder when they spent the afternoon playing in the backyard, and it was time to come inside. And relishing the sound of Abby's laughter, something Mercedes thought she would never hear again before meeting Sam.
Mercedes recalled the many times he carried heavy bags of topsoil for her garden. Or when she rested her head on his shoulder after a hard day, they snuggled in bed. Thinking about how much he carried and loved on his shoulders, she took great care massaging them, using her fingers, knuckles, and thumbs with each compression movement.
Then she descended further down, placing her hands flat on his lower back, applying firm pressure in an upward motion, concentrating on his muscles.
Sam groaned.
"Yeah, right there, yes."
Mercedes smiled as his limbs loosened, freed from stress and pain. She worked at a slow, measured pace, massaging away the knots and kinks, thinking of how she would come up behind him in the morning when he brushed his teeth at the bathroom sink and she hugged him, kissing his back, pressing into him. Sam loved when she did this. He said it made his day better.
When she reached his derriere, she said, "Ah, the gluteus maximus."
"You know you love it," Sam said, looking over at her.
"Indeed, I do."
She squeezed each cheek, then pressed the mounds together and released them, letting them fall and shake. She gently rocked and jiggled his butt between her hands, remembering that cold winter day when he helped her move into the apartment seven years ago. Mercedes had admired his denim-clad rear end when he leaned over to pick up boxes and climbed the stairs. It was a sexual reawakening for her. She thought those emotions in her were dead, yet watching Sam that day, she felt a familiar ache, a longing that she was glad she explored because it led to their marriage.
Sam moaned into his pillow as Mercedes used her fists to knead his flesh, going deep into the muscles of his buttocks. She loved the effect she had on him. Seeing him writhe about on the bed gave her a rush. She moved further down his legs, touching the scar on his right thigh. He got it from a childhood injury when he fell on a broken glass bottle lying beneath the rocks in the Hummel's driveway. He and Finn were playing outside, and Finn convinced him they could fly like dragons if they ran fast enough and then jumped. The ill-fated dragon flight landed Sam in the ER with four stitches. Now his scar was a small puffy reddish lump, smooth on the surface. Whenever Mercedes touched it, she pictured Sam as a little boy, believing he could fly.
"Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea…" she sang softly, running her fingers across the scar.
"You won't let me live that down, will you? I was a kid."
"I know. But I think it's sweet."
Mercedes placed her hands on the back of his legs and glided them up and down his thighs and calves, applying pressure using the palms of her hands. As she gazed at his oil-slicked body shining in the candlelight, memories of the countless times they made love filled her mind, and the erotic bliss she experienced being trapped between his powerful thighs, feeling the heat of his skin.
She recalled how much he gave of himself and loved her and their family. Nothing was half-hearted with Sam. From carrying her up the stairs when she sprained her ankle, carrying the twins on his back for piggyback rides (even though he would be sore for days), to swimming with Abby for hours in the community pool, helping her improve her butterfly stroke. And at night, when the house was quiet, he loved Mercedes beneath the covers, kissing and praising every inch of her skin.
Moving on to his feet, she rubbed each toe with her thumb, using a slow, circular motion. Then she carefully pressed the pads of each calloused foot, which no amount of loofah scrubs and exfoliants could soften, only making his feet "less rough" but never smooth. Mercedes blamed the heavy work boots he wore.
"You cut your toenails, finally." She said, smirking.
"Enough of that, woman," Sam said, teasing her. He raised his head a little, "I'll have you know that–"
He stopped speaking and moaned as Mercedes glided her hand down the arch of his left foot, pressing into the curve, then repeating the process with his right foot. Sam's arches were one of his many hidden sweet spots, which included cracking his big toe, which Mercedes loathed to do so since it sounded gross to her.
When she finished his feet, she helped him turn over, looking down at him and the erection he had. It wasn't easy to continue because her desire was building, and so was his. He pulled her down for a kiss, but she stopped after a few moments, much to her husband's frustration.
"I can't wait much longer," He said.
Mercedes nodded, smiling down at him.
"I promised you a full massage, and that's what you're getting."
Sam reached for her hand, squeezing it.
"Alright, schaztchen."
"Use some of that restraint you're so fond of me having."
Sam rubbed her behind, giving it a playful smack.
"I'm not the only one hot and bothered."
Mercedes bit her lower lip as he caressed her backside.
"I know, Mr. Hummel."
She massaged his pectoral muscles, then ran her hands across the expanse of his chest and torso. Sam moaned when Mercedes got between his legs, leaned down, and kissed the tip of his member, licking his shaft before taking him into her mouth and sucking.
"Fuck," he said, his hips raised up from the bed. "God, yes…"
She continued sucking him while fondling his balls. It wasn't long before he came, yelling out his release, and she took all that he gave her.
"Damn," Sam said, "I… wow…"
Mercedes raised her head, the evidence of his orgasm on her chest and lips. He sat up, pulled her toward him, and placed her on his lap. He kissed her.
"I saw another dimension," He said.
"Sam, stop it," Mercedes laughed.
He hugged her.
"I love you so much, angel. You outdid yourself."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"I loved it. Every part of me felt it." He said, wiping the residue from her mouth, then slipping his hand between her soft, abundant thighs, his fingers probing inside her. Mercedes' legs opened in response to his ministrations, and she moaned. "I'm taking care of you now." He said against her ear, "I want to see you come apart again." She gasped, unable to speak, as he pushed her back on the bed and slid into her.
Early the following day, Mercedes felt Sam shaking her shoulder.
"Baby, wake up," he said. "I have to tell you something."
"Can't it wait? I need my beauty sleep," she said, pulling the covers up to her chin.
"You're already beautiful."
"Flattery won't work, Sam."
"Come on, it's important."
Mercedes yawned and opened her eyes. Turning over, she saw Sam sitting up in bed, reading glasses perched on his nose. It took him a long time to admit that he needed them, and he said they made him feel old. A thick hardcover book was open on his lap.
"Aww, you got your glasses on."
Sam blushed.
"Don't embarrass me."
"You look cute."
"I'm not exactly going for cute."
Mercedes sat up, the covers slipping away, revealing her bare bosom. Sam leaned over, kissed her cheek, and fixed her silk hair bonnet, which was askew.
"Now, you're presentable," he said, teasing her.
"Ok, Mr. Hummel, why did you wake me up?"
"I found out something important in this book," he said, holding up the hardcover book titled: "Calvin James: Kentucky Bourbon Legend."
"Oh, that gangster Ashley told you about. Did you ever tell Moe about the speakeasy?"
Sam nodded.
"Yeah, I did. Moe is working with the historical society to get his restaurant named a landmark. "But listen to this," Sam said and read aloud from the book:
"Contrary to the belief that Calvin James created the recipe for Pearly Gates, according to bourbon historian Chave Leacham, Calvin's recipe was the genius of a black pharmacist named Christmas Tinsley. She taught Calvin about distilling bourbon and gave him the perfect mash bill."
"Did you say Christmas Tinsley?"
"Now, do you see why I woke you up?" Sam handed her the book. "Look, there's her picture."
Mercedes looked at the black-and-white photo of the dark-skinned black woman with Shane's eyes. She wore wire-rim glasses and a ruffled white Edwardian-style dress trimmed in lace. She stood in front of a storefront and looked rather solemn. When Mercedes and Shane were married, he told her about his great-great aunt named Christmas Tinsley, who went to Meharry Medical College and was the first black pharmacist in Kentucky. They had passed the name Christmas down for generations to the women in the family. However, some more progressive family members named their sons Christmas, so Shane and his father's middle name was Christmas. The story behind the name fascinated Mercedes. According to Shane, the name Christmas was in his family because his great-great-great-grandfather, Silas Tinsley, and his pregnant wife, Clementine, escaped from a Maryland plantation at midnight on Christmas Day. They eventually ended up in Ohio, where their first daughter was born, whom they named Christmas in honor of the day they escaped to freedom. When Abby did a genealogy presentation for school, she was proud to tell why she had so many women named Christmas in her family. Mercedes remembered how Sam helped Abby with the project. They spent hours hovering over Abby's desk, working together on the PowerPoint presentation.
"I knew Christmas Tinsley was a pharmacist in Kentucky, but I didn't know she lived in Star Pride and that she could distill bourbon. Shane never mentioned that."
"He probably didn't know either," Sam said.
"So, a black woman created Pearly Gates?"
"According to this author," Sam said, taking the book from her. "Listen, there's more." He turned a few pages and read aloud, "Christmas Tinsley worked in the family-owned Lion and Lamb Drugstore, named after her father's favorite Bible scripture. Most of their customers were African American, but James frequented the establishment. He was friendly with the blacks in Star Pride and employed them at his speakeasy. Tinsley's mother, Pearly Mae Tinsley, distilled her bourbon on the family farm outside of town and taught everything she knew to Tinsley and her younger sister Lillian, who was a nurse. Besides the drugstore and farm, the family also sold their bourbon (primarily to black customers). Still, with Prohibition and fear of local law enforcement, her father, Ezekial Tinsley, decided they should stop, and they only made it as a hobby, giving it as a gift to close friends and family. James was smitten with Tinsley and protected her family from the KKK. After her parents died, Tinsley continued distilling bourbon and improved her mother's methods and recipe. Everyone they gifted with the bourbon noticed a considerable difference. It was sweeter, with more oak notes, as documented in Tinsley's journals and letters from friends.
James suggested she sell her bourbon, but, like her father, she was also afraid of the police, and a woman selling alcohol was usually running a brothel, something which Tinsley did not want to be associated with. James devised a plan to sell the bourbon and share the profits with her. Tinsley agreed, and James sold the bourbon, telling no one the recipe, and built his distilleries. He wanted to call the bourbon "Chrissy's Kentucky Bourbon" since it was her recipe, but Tinsley wished to honor her mother instead and named it Pearly Gates. Gates was her mother's maiden name, and she was a distant relative of famed African American author Henry Louis Gates. Tinsley also created the slogan "died and gone to heaven after one taste." She wanted James to be the bourbon's face so they could increase sales and protect her family from the law. Most whites would not have bought the whiskey had they known a black woman created it."
"Damn, she completely erased her family from the product," Mercedes said.
"I wouldn't say completely erased. Christmas' mother's name is on the bottle," Sam said. "That counts for something."
"But people thought it was about heaven, not a real woman. Without her, his bourbon business wouldn't have happened. She even came up with the slogan, and I wonder what the recipe was?"
"Listen to this," Sam said as he turned the page and began reading aloud. "The recipe remains a mystery. There are rumors that James hid it in a safe and buried it beneath his speakeasy. Some believe this is unlikely because Tinsley never wrote it down; she memorized her recipe and passed it on to James orally, instructing him to never write it down."
"Somebody in the family must have known," Mercedes said. "How do we know James followed her instructions? I don't care how smitten he was. Were they even in a relationship?"
"Hold on, I'm getting to that," Sam said and continued to read. "From the written accounts of those who knew James and Tinsley, he honored her wishes. Her sister Lillian also knew the recipe. In family lore, since the Tinsley sisters loved puzzles, games, and scavenger hunts, there's a rumor the sisters left clues to the recipe for their descendants to find after their death. However, it's not proven and was more likely a story the family told since the recipe was forgotten. James proposed multiple times, but Tinsley refused to marry him because of his criminal background. He died during an FBI raid in downtown Star Pride, and she died a year later of tuberculosis."
"I wonder if Carter knew anything about this?" Mercedes asked.
"If he did, I'm sure he would've told Shane. I mean, that's something a father would tell his son." Sam said.
Mercedes laid her head on Sam's shoulder and thought about Carter's death [that happened] in the past year. Her father-in-law died of a sudden heart attack a few days before his 74th birthday. After Sam adopted Abby and she issued a restraining order, there was zero contact between her and Shane's parents. She found out Carter died when his lawyer called her to inform her that her father-in-law had included her and Abby in his will, which shocked Mercedes because of everything that happened.
She and Sam went back to Lima to the reading of the will. Carter's attorney revealed he left Abby a trust fund, and Mercedes inherited the Tinsley family home, his car, and assets. His attorney also said that after Pauline's suicide, Carter changed his will and wanted to leave everything to her and Abby. Mercedes sold the house and car and invested the money. When cleaning out the house, she made sure she kept the Tinsley family bible and other family heirlooms to pass on to Abby. Throughout the ordeal of getting everything in order, Sam was her rock. She couldn't imagine what she would've done had he not been by her side. Going through that house brought back some painful memories, but thankfully, she got through it. Sam closed the book and put it on the nightstand. Putting his arm around her, he kissed her temple.
"Are you ok?"
"I'm fine," she said, snuggling against him. "Thank you for telling me this stuff about Shane's family. I wish we had the bourbon recipe," she said.
"Me too. The way the author describes Pearly Gates, and no other bourbon since then, has come close to it."
They kissed, and Sam nuzzled her neck as he squeezed her bare breast. Mercedes gasped when he lowered his head and took her taut nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the nub and sucking it. She closed her eyes, leaned against the headboard, and Sam pulled the sheet away, displaying her nude body.
"Scoot down," he said.
Mercedes did as he asked. Sam grabbed the pillow beside her.
"Raise up."
She lifted her hips, and he put the pillow beneath her. The sun rose, and golden light filled the bedroom, shining on their bare skin. Sam looked down at her. Sunlight reflected off his glasses. He reminded Mercedes of a hot college professor the students all had a crush on. He was about to remove them, but she stopped him.
"No, keep them on."
"Why?"
"You look hot."
"I thought you said they made me look cute."
"That too."
Sam chuckled.
"Ok, I'll leave them on."
"Thank you."
He nudged her thighs open and got between them. He spread her labia lips, gazing down at her, he said, "Behold your Altar of Venus."
Mercedes laughed.
"What?"
"A slang term for vagina from the 1500s. It suits you."
"Cause I'm a Goddess?"
"Damn right."
She spread her legs wider, keeping her knees bent. Sam lay on his stomach, pulling her closer toward him, and then began licking her in a light, teasing manner. Before increasing the pressure and tempo, his tongue moving up and down, reaching the hood of her clitoris, switching gears, and using a horizontal pattern, building toward the crescendo, he was relentless.
Mercedes screamed. She felt euphoric, and her body shook with her orgasm. Sam's hands ran up and down her quivering thighs as she calmed down. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, she laughed.
"Your glasses fogged up."
They kissed, and Mercedes got on all fours, and Sam entered her from behind, going slow at first, then slamming into her until they both came again.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you for reading my story. Chapter 33 is forthcoming.
