Snow Job
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written as part of a raffle prize for the people made donations to CancerCare in honor of Dean Stockwell's 70th birthday. Five hundred dollars was collected. This donation helps sustain this worthwhile organization that provides online support to cancer patients and their families. Congratulations to the winner whose generosity allows me to publish Snow Job here.While written as a raffle prize, the story was inspired by an overnight stay made by the author and a traveling companion. Some of what you will read isn't that far from the truth.
SPECIAL THANKS - The story was inspired by an overnight stay made by the author and a traveling companion, "the brunette in Delaware" whose "whimsical" sense of humor created many a scenario in this story.
DISCLAIMER: This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights are intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and are not for profit. All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author.
Part Two
Alone for the first time and able to relax his bravado, Al got up off the bed and began pacing. Confinement wasn't his favorite thing and being confined with his best buddy was okay, but still confinement was confinement. He pulled the faded drape from the window and watched snow blow across the Indiana plains. They were stuck. In all his years, he had never seen this kind of winter. After a few minutes of studying the endless snowfall, the television caught his eye. No doubt the appliance had seen better days, but if he was lucky, maybe it would work. He turned it on and waited. There was a faint hum and the old faded screen glowed in shades of gray. Local news was talking about the snow and it wasn't encouraging.
"We are in the middle of the storm of the century. Indiana State Police has asked everyone to remain home. No businesses in our viewing area are open. The roads are treacherous and visibility is barely ten feet. The National Weather Service indicates that the snow will continue for at least another eight to ten hours with accumulations of 30 inches or more expected before it ends. High winds could make drifts reach more than 10 feet in some areas. Be careful. This is dangerous weather." The anchor smiled as if nothing was wrong. He looked to his left. "Now for sports. So Jim, any games being played?"
The sports reporter's laugh was as real as the turf in the Astrodome, "Not in Indiana, Howard, but out in California . . ."
Al left the television on, but tuned his mind out of the news. He found out what he wanted to know and hoped beyond all hope that there would be food available. Maybe Sam was having some luck with the vending machines.
Sam would have enjoyed some luck. The machine didn't have much in it and even if it had, the choices were limited. Many of the items weren't for ingestion and Sam blushed. The bottom row of candy wasn't candy unless the definition of sweet things expanded to include afternoon delights in a room rented by the quarter hour.
There wasn't much left and Sam had no clue how long it had been in the vending machine, but he dropped two quarters into the slot. He decided on the Planter's Peanuts. They looked well-sealed and would fill his belly better than smashed bags of potato chips or Fritos. He listened to more coins ka-ching and bought three more bags of nuts and knowing his companions love of chocolate, bought two Hershey Bars. At that point, he had change left for two cans of soda. Somehow, out here in the middle of nowhere the soda machine had root beer. Sam smiled. Al loved his chocolate, but his all-time favorite was root beer. A nice cold glass of root beer might just keep the admiral from picking on him more. The food and drink were packed into various pockets and Sam made his way through the snow back to the room.
Winds and blowing snow made the twenty feet seem like half a mile. Sam thought back to the walk from the car. It was hard enough for all 175 pounds of him to get through it. Al was a head shorter and almost 35 pounds lighter. Another inch or more of snow during their trudge to the Lick Me Lodge and Sam would have had an Admiral sitting on his shoulders crabbing at the situation and blaming his ride over and over again. Thanking God for small favors, Sam finally reached their room. In only the time it took him to get to the vending machine and back, the snow had drifted again and the door was blocked. At least it wasn't that high and a few kicks with his feet cleared enough to open the door without dumping too much into the room.
Again, the key wasn't cooperating and Sam's frustration was growing until he got some help from inside the room. Al heard the commotion and pulled the door open from inside. "I was about to come out and look for you. It's getting worse out there, isn't it?"
"I didn't think it could, but yeah. Seems like it's windier. The machine didn't have too much, but I bought what I could. Hope you like peanuts and Hershey Bars."
"Two of the major food groups as far as I'm concerned. Good shopping, Sam." While Al was praising the food choices, Sam was emptying his pockets and pulled the root beer out. The Admiral's face turned seven-years-old. "Root beer, the machine had root beer?"
It was Sam's turn. "No, I brewed a tub of it and had it canned just for you."
Al knew he had the upper hand and he wasn't going to waste his ammunition too early, but he had to say, "No need to be huffy. I was just making small talk." The can of root beer was enshrined on the windowsill. "I'm going to save this for later when I'm really needing something to drink."
Sam unloaded the rest of the junk food, walked back to the hooks posing as a closet and hung his coat. "You know, it's getting even worse out there. It was a good idea to walk back here. We'd be in real trouble if we were still in the car. Stranded out on the road in these drifts would be dangerous."
"So you're admitting that you made a mistake in starting out this morning?"
His clenched jaw jutted forward and he took a deep breath through angry teeth. "I have to do that. You won't let me alone until I say it out loud." A quick glance at his reluctant roommate verified the statement. A mea-culpa fist pounded his heart, "Okay, okay, I made a mistake. We never should have left my cousin's campgrounds today. We should have stayed there and been snowed in for about two weeks until the county decided to dig out one last road. So, yes, we should have stayed there and been happy for another 14 days of camp songs." Dropping to his knees, he raised his hands to the sky, "Forgive me!"
Finally getting his confession, Al sat back in the folding chair, throwing his feet onto the table. "That's all I wanted to hear, but you know the camp songs weren't so bad and the food was terrific. Fried chicken, real mashed potatoes, succotash, chocolate cake and homemade cornbread; what's not to like?"
Sam dusted off his soggy knees and knocked Al's feet off the table. "At least be polite."
"You grew up around too many women." Al sorted through the candy and peanuts. "You hungry?"
The other chair was unfolded and Sam sat down holding his hands in front of the heat. "At least we have heat."
"As long as it lasts."
"Are you going to be contrary all night?"
"Not all night." There were only two opportunities on the table. "Hm, what to start with? You getting hungry, yet"
Finally able to relax, Sam just sighed. "I don't want anything yet. I'm not sure how long we're going to be here."
Al unwrapped a Hershey bar. "Was this all there was?"
"I didn't have any more money, but there was a lot of stuff in there."
Chomping down on the chocolate Al mumbled, "Good." The candy melted as he chewed. "Damn, whoever discovered how to make this stuff should get a Nobel Prize posthumously."
Sam held his cold hands in front of the heater. "I don't know anyone over the age of six who likes candy as much as you. You're still a child."
"Damn straight." He reconsidered, "Well, in some ways. There are things just for grownups, if you catch my drift."
"What's not to catch? You drift that way every 15 seconds."
The Admiral snickered and had to agree as he enjoyed his Hershey bar. "Chocolate is a wonderful aphrodisiac, Sam, and thanks to you, and your remarkable common sense, we're stuck here and there's no one here for me to . . . drift with." He sighed and they looked at each other. They were trying to come up with something to talk about when a muted sound interrupted their quiet. A soft thud whacked at the wall between their room and room three. They stared at each other and the thud came again. Al smiled while Sam was still puzzled. A steady thud, thud, thud, thud rang out and Al started laughing. "Looks like I'm not the only one who drifts, "his laughter grew and turned into a squeal of a laugh, "and in a nice, steady rhythm yet." Thud, thud, thud. "Sounds like someone in Lick Me is having fun." Sam hadn't caught the significance of the continuing thuds. "They're going to need a nap soon. That's a lot of exercise."
Finally, Sam caught on and he blushed from the tips of his toes all the way to the edge of his ears. "Oh no, please don't tell me what they're doing."
Al was having too much fun. "You DO know what they're doing, right? I mean, your dad explained it to you, didn't he? Or maybe your little sister did?"
The blush had trouble fading. "Of course, he did and Katie would never . . ." Thud, thud, thud, thud. "How long do you think they're going to be doing that?"
"Well, if it was me . . ."
"Fortunately, it isn't you. A normal man should be done soon." Thud, thud, thud, thud. "Dear God, let him be a normal man."
"Normal is overrated, kid." Al got up and tried to get the television tuned into something they might like to see. "Maybe there's a game on." Only two stations decided to cooperate and neither would keep him entertained. Turning off the TV, Al sat back down and said, "So tell me something about you that I don't know."
"Not on your life."
The thuds continued, but a new sound entered the chorus. The thin walls made it hard to distinguish. Al tilted his head like the RCA Victor dog. The muffled sound was the gasping of a very happy woman. "Spike! Spike! Spike!"
The Admiral laughed so hard he slipped off the chair and bounced onto the floor, but the ungraceful thump of his butt on the thin carpet couldn't stop his giggling. "Damn, his name is Spike. That's perfect, just perfect." He got up brushing away the gunk adhered to his Armani jeans.
From beyond the wall, the woman kept the mantra going. She called out, "Spike!" in ever increasing speed and volume. "Spike!" Thud, thud, thud, thud, and then a final, "Oh SPIKE!" and the show ended much to Sam's relief. A final long sigh and longer moan ended the performance.
Sam tried the television again. "There has to be something on." He wiggled the knobs a little and finally the obnoxious music of Jeopardy clipped in. "This will do."
The categories revealed themselves. Sam read along with Alex Trebek. "The 'I's Have It, Ancient Greece, General Store, Science Matters, Kiddie Lit, and Italian Opera." He groaned. "Am I going to have to listen to you spout off now about Italian opera?"
"Just be grateful that you're stuck with the only Italian who realizes he can't sing." Another chunk of chocolate flew into his mouth. "You know, it's a pity I'm wasting chocolate calories with you."
Sam looked over to his friend and shook his head with a smile and completely blank eyes. "What in the world are you talking about?"
Thud, thud, thud, thud. It started again. Al popped more chocolate. "Ask Spike."
Not again. "Al, there is no proof that chocolate is an aphrodisiac."
Swallowing the tidbit, he had to disagree. "You keep forgetting that it doesn't matter whether it works chemically or not. It's what chocolate does to the mind. It's the sweetness," thud, thud, thud, "how it melts," thud, thud, thud, thud, "the mouth feel on your tongue," thud, thud, thud.
From beyond a deep, booming man's voice passed through the wall, "Bambi!"
It was Sam's turn. He jumped to his feet. "Bambi? Her name is Bambi? For Pete's sake."
Al smiled a little too big. "Oh, I think it's for Spike's sake."
Sam's long arm pointed to the offending wall. Hi voice rose a little too loud. "You mean to tell me Spike and Bambi are going to be doing that all night?"
Al started coughing when a piece of chocolate went the wrong way as he laughed again. The laughter kept on as he gently slapped his chest a few times. "Hey, you do what you can."
The thud was replaced by the sound of a fist pounding against the wall. Spike's muffled voice yelled, "You two want to keep it down in there? We're trying to . . ." Spike searched for the right words.
Sam interrupted and yelled back. "Yeah, we know. Have a time!" He was almost done, "Spike!"
The Bambi and Spike Show highly amused the Admiral who was still hacking out the errant bit of chocolate he nearly choked on. "Have a time? What the hell does that mean?"
Sitting back down, Sam sighed. "I haven't a clue."
The television sounded out, "I'll take Opera for 500, Alex."
In his most officious voice, Alex read, "This Verdi opera is sometimes set in Boston."
Al didn't move and barely realized he was speaking. "What is Un Ballo in Maschera?"
"Boston? Verdi wrote an opera about Boston?"
"Not really, but it was considered too politically charged. He had to change the location so he could get it produced." Thud, thud, thud. "Sounds like Spike is producing, though."
Sam stomped to the television and cranked up the volume. "I don't want to listen to Spike and Bambi." His finger had been wagging a lot and it kept wagging. "And you! Just don't talk. Don't answer any questions. Don't talk to Bambi or Spike. And especially, don't talk to me!"
Al's two hands went up like puppet heads. He flapped the right hand. "He's cranky, isn't he?" Left hand answered, "He gets like this sometimes. It's best to leave him alone when he does." Righty agreed, "Yeah, I think we'll go take a shower. What do you think?"
Before Al had the opportunity to continue his musings, Sam took off a shoe and heaved it at the admiral. "Go shower! Leave me some peace."
Al stood up and tossed the chocolate wrapper in the trash can. "Good idea, Sam. See you, later." When he got to his duffel, Al pulled out his robe. "Take a nap, would you, kid? You're tense."
The Admiral disappeared into the bathroom and Sam let out a sigh of relief. As much as he loved the guy, this was exactly the kind of thing that gave Sam grief and that Al found hysterical. The young scientist hadn't developed much skill for inconvenience while the admiral was far too adept at making do with what he had. He reached for the root beer then thought better of it. As much as he hated to admit to it, Al might be right. They were here for a lot longer than he anticipated and all his stuff was a quarter mile away in a deserted car covered in snow. There was going to be a lot of unspoken "I told you so" action and all of it would be well-earned. Sam blew it. With Al in the shower, he had a little time to figure out how he was going to survive five days in a closed room with the world's most annoying and endearing man. So he had to smile. It would definitely be something he could tell the grandkids about someday.
The Jeopardy contestant nervously stammered, "Science Ma-Matters for $400, Alex."
"This American's work in Quantum Physics won a Nobel Prize in 1984."
Sam smiled and jumped up. "Hey! I'm a Jeopardy question!" He was about to call out for Al but he was in the shower and wasn't going to hear him. "Damn, I'm a Jeopardy question and he won't believe me."
The contestants looked at Alex and at each other. No one rang in. Alex filled in the empty sounds. "How quickly they forget. Who is Dr. Samuel Beckett? Not the playwright of course. That would be a different category. Choose another question."
The contestant asked for General Store for $200 leaving one last science question. Sam's ego felt abandoned. He whispered, "He said, 'How quickly they forget.' I can't believe it. It's only been four years." Thank God, the admiral was out of earshot of the television.
Then Sam heard, "Alex, I'll take Science Matters for $500."
"A former POW whose Apollo mission investigated ways to use Einstein's Theories of Relativity in space flight."
All three contestants tried to buzz in. The returning champion won the right to answer. She sighed, "Who is Al Calavicci?"
"Right!"
She continued talking, "And can you introduce me to him?" Everyone in the studio laughed as the woman turned beet red.
Sam hung his head. "Why? Why? Why? I just don't get it." Then he started to laugh out loud. "But then Al seems to get it a lot." He popped the top off the root beer. "He'd better start teaching me how he does it."
In his list of favorite things, right after sex with a hot woman, Al liked showering with hot water. The spray pounded down on his head, straightening his curly hair. He needed to get to the salon and get his military haircut back, but there was no going to a barber for the admiral. He had his stylist and let whoever make fun of it. The warm jet pelted the back of his neck when through the walls he heard the neighbor on the other side. Spike and Bambi lent one kind of ambience to the place. This other guy had a completely different outlook.
Muffled, but still intelligible the admiral heard a really bad tenor singing, "What a friend we have in Jesus. All our sins and hopes to bear."
He let his head fall forward into the wall of the shower. "Just what I need."
In reverence beyond the understanding of mortal man, the voice kept singing, "What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer."
When the cliché hits the fan, you got to go with it. If you can't beat' em, join 'em. In full, somewhat not so good voice, Al sang along. "Oh, what peace we often forfeit, Oh what needless pain we bear, All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer!"
The last line was a Calavicci solo as his partner heard the echo on his side of the paper thin shower wall. "Who is that? Who's there?"
Why not? If he had to be stuck at the Lick Me motel, he'd have his fun. "Just a fellow traveler on the path to glory."
The brain not more than three feet from him didn't quite understand. All he knew was that a voice from heaven heard his hymn of praise. "Lord, God, is that you?"
Oh yeah, that's exactly who he was. Just ask his five ex-wives. "Hell, no, brother. Just snowbound here with the likes of you." But hymns weren't on his top ten at the moment. "That was great. Know anything by the Stones?"
The voice agitated into near frenzy. "Be still, oh, son of Satan! oh, ye who cringes at the sound of praises to our Lord!"
He flung his gaze toward the yellowed, peeling ceiling. "Please, not one of these. Please, please, please." He said his own prayer. "Listen, I can deal with Bambi and Spike. I'll even promise not to tease Sam so much. Just let this guy go away quietly, okay?"
The answer he got dropped his chin to his chest. His neighbor began, "If you want to hear the songs of Zion coming from the land of endless spring. Get in touch with God. Turn your radio on."
One eye scrunched up totally puzzled. "Turn your radio on?"
The singing grew louder. "Turn the lights down low and listen to the Master's radio. Get in touch with God. Turn your radio on."
He rinsed off the last of the soap, turned off the water and as he dried himself, he made his offering to the voice beyond. With a voice sounding as if it traveled over forty miles of gravel, he started, "I don't care if it rains or freezes long as I have my plastic Jesus riding on the dashboard of my car, but I think he'll have to go. His magnet stops my radio and if we have a wreck he'll cause a scar."
"Blasphemer! Blasphemer!" The guy kept yelling until Al swore at himself for starting something he really didn't want to put up with.
When he left the bathroom, Sam was at the door. "What the hell is going on in there?"
"We got Sodom and Gomorrah on one side and over there," he pointed to the opposite wall, "we got Reverend Earl."
"Reverend Earl?"
He continued to dry off his hair. "I don't know what his name is, but he loves old timey hymns. Sounds like your kind of guy."
Sam nodded. "I thought I heard Turn Your Radio On."
"You mean that's a real song?" He dug through the duffel for clean underwear.
"Finally! I know something you don't." Sam smiled in relief.
The Admiral pulled out a pair of regulation Navy boxer shorts and slipped them on. "When I was growing up, if it wasn't in Latin, you didn't sing it in church." Clean sweats came out of the duffel next. Across the chest, great big gold letters announced his allegiance to the Navy. "Well," he ran his fingers through his curly hair, "I'm dressed for the night." He spotted the open root beer. "You going to make a run to the vending machine for more?"
"I'm out of change."
"So, go to the office and get some." He hung the towel on the rack in the bathroom. "Listen, kid, worse comes to worse, break the damn thing."
They walked back toward the chairs. Sam admitted, "Al, I'm not sure I can do that."
"Wimp."
"Not being able to destroy private property makes me a wimp?"
"In some circles, it will get you singing soprano for the rest of your life."
As if on cue, Reverend Earl started pounding on the wall and singing at the top of his voice. "Just a closer walk with Thee. Grant it, Jesus, is my plea." Then the rhythm section started on the other wall. Thud, thud, thud, thud.
Sam threw his hands in the air. "I'm going back to the car." Grabbing his coat, he took three huge steps toward the door before Al caught up with him.
The Admiral's fingers caught the edge of Sam's sleeve. "Mr. Smart Guy, what the hell do you think you're doing? You're not going to the car. In case you haven't noticed, it's snowing!" Pulling more on the sleeve, he managed to get Sam seated in a chair. "Now, you done running?" Sam rolled his eyes. "Good. That means you can get more root beer." Dagger eyes shot at the admiral who threw his own hands into the air. "Hey, you're the one wearing a coat. Go get more food. Who knows? By the time you get back maybe Bambi and Spike will need a rest and Rev Earl there will decide to stop singing."
There was no way to get back to the car and embarrassed, Sam whispered, "You're telling me to cool my heels, aren't you."
Al thought, bunched his eyebrows a bit and twisted his mouth a bit to the side, "No, but if it helps to think of it like that, then sure. Cool your heels. Go buy more food and root beer." Sam still dawdled. "Go and while you're at it, tell the Rev that I'm not the son of Satan."
Smiling a little too big, Sam started for the door. "Don't know if I can do that, Al." Making sure he had a chance to bolt as fast as he could into the mounds of blowing snow, Sam teased "I don't like to lie." He darted out more for the effect than the retribution he might encounter.
