A/N Outtakes do not always move the main story forward. They often serve as small peeks into the varied facets of the story. This outtake is just an aside, a chance to pull back the curtain and see another perspective. It's could be viewed as a gentle reminder that as we go busily through our lives each connection, no matter how random, has impact.
Sam's Night~A Chapter Twelve Outtake
Sam Uley steps out of the yellow cab in front of Normande's only to be hit by a wall of wind. He pulls the collar of his knee length, cashmere, topcoat around his neck and briskly walks to the front doors. He unlocks them as he enters; locking them again once he is inside.
"Good morning, sir," a new member of the wait staff calls out as she passes him with a cart of linens and silverware.
"Good morning, Leah?" He hesitates.
"Yes, sir," she smiles brightly, pleased that he remembers her.
He inwardly groans.
"How do you like your new employment so far?"
"I like it very much, Mr. Uley, thank you," she says quickly blushing and looking away.
"Any concerns?"
"No, sir."
"Very good, do your best and you will get on very well here," He says briskly before continuing back to the office.
He hangs his coat in the closet and settles behind the large oak desk. He and the owner share the space though Mr. Bachand was seldom here, trusting Sam to handle his restaurant as if it was his own. And to Sam it is. He has been working here for fifteen years as Manager, ever since his own restaurant had closed.
He sighs and leans back in the large leather chair closing his eyes. His lovely Monique had been so melancholy today. It's so hard to lift the one you love when you, yourself, are struggling to keep you head above water. She deserves better than life had given her. They had lost their way, choosing the grey of life, finding comfort in the mourning clothes that still shrouded them.
His heart beats slow and heavy in his chest.
He rubs his face with both hands and sits forward.
This will not do.
He pushes out of the chair to find vocation, and throws open the door, kitchen bound, to ferret out how Carlos and his staff are getting on with their preparations.
~o0o~
The doors are open and the front areas are filling quickly. Two of the three private reserved rooms are occupied with assigned wait staff scurrying about like ants in a stirred bed. The Cullen party would be arriving shortly, so he stops by to make sure the staff is in preparation for their arrival.
He walks to the front in time to see Dr. Cullen and his lovely wife step in from the windy night to be greeted by Michael, the concierge. They are followed by a sweet family of three. He notes designer, Ms. Alice Whitlock, a regular patron, within the party. With some circular reasoning to separate the little cherub from her miniature coat, the outerwear is taken and they are led en masse back to the last private room.
He returns to the kitchen to touch base with Carlos. As he is walking the hallway to the offices, Michael overtakes him.
"Sir, we have a special request that I am unsure how to handle," Michael says, slightly winded.
"Come in and explain," Sam says opening the door and ushering in his valued employee.
"Well, sir, the Cullen party has arrived and is seated."
"Good," Sam encourages.
"However, Dr. Cullen's son has just arrived with his new bride and wishes to have a waiter assigned to her service. He has offered to generously compensate for the service."
This was unusual, but not unheard of; Sam waits for Michael to continue.
"Well, sir, with the three private rooms full I don't have any experienced staff to spare," Michael sags at the last.
Sam pats Michael on the shoulder, "Don't worry yourself, Michael. I will go and speak with Mr. Cullen and assure him the trained staff assigned to his room will meet all his new wife's needs."
"Thank you, sir. I hate to disappoint," Michael frowns.
Sam nods and follows Michael down the hall to a waiting Mr. Cullen. He is a handsome young man, broad shouldered and confident. His attention seems fixed on something in the private room he stands outside.
When Sam joins him, curiosity has him follow the young Mr. Cullen's gaze. There sitting demurely at the table is a lighter, younger version of his Monique. Although there is no familial resemblance, this girl triggers such flashes of young summer love and delicate longing that his heart stops in his chest and his knees buckle slightly.
Their beloved daughter, Emily, would have been eighteen this year, close to this young woman's age, had her defective heart allowed her more time. He watches, transfixed, as she raises her hand to brush the handle of the salad fork with her delicate finger before self-consciously returning her hand to her lap.
"Mr. Cullen this is Sam Uley, our …"
"I will be your waiter for this evening, Mr. Cullen. Please follow me to the office so that we might discuss your particular needs."
Mr. Cullen's face flashes a bright smile as he holds out his hand.
"Thank you, Sam. It means the world to me that tonight be a success," he says shaking Sam's hand vigorously.
"Then that will be our goal. Please follow me." Sam waves for a confused Michael to return to his station as Mr. Cullen steps down the hallway.
~o0o~
She is lovely. Not carrying the airs of the privileged class, she, instead, has a natural grace that money cannot buy. She is very much like his lovely Monique, and very much what they had dreamed of for their sweet Emily.
Sam stands against the wall watching the room revolve around her. The family takes turns drawing her into conversation, but she seems shy in openly participating, graciously sitting back and enjoying the free flow of familiar conversation. Perhaps she is new to the family.
Sam smiles watching Mr. Cullen keep vigil over her. He would have wanted this from his son-in-law.
In the conversation with Mr. Cullen, Sam found that the young couple is not married. Yet, to be in the same room with Mr. Cullen and his lovely Miss Swan is to know they are passionate, devoted lovers.
~o0o~
Sam moves to hold the door for Miss Swan and the little one as they companionably bounce and sway out of the room.
As he closes the door, it begins.
"Alice, don't." Mr. Cullen's voice cuts the thickening air of the room.
"Oh come on Edward, I just have two words for you—Boone's Farm."
Sam turns to see Alice Whitlock laughing with her arms crossed over her chest.
A storm rolls across Mr. Cullen's face and Sam sees him swallow thickly in frustration.
"Alice, we've been over this, she chooses not to drink," Mr. Cullen says choosing his words and tone carefully.
"Because she's a child," Alice laughs.
"—because she has valuable reasons to abstain. It's her choice and I respect her greatly for it." Mr. Cullen leans over the table toward his sister.
"Here, Here," Dr. Cullen agrees.
Sam is greatly disturbed by the barbed comments made at Miss Swan's expense and steps in before he can calculate his actions.
Grabbing five flutes and the chilled bottle, he approaches the table.
"Sirs, may I?" Sam holds up his hands filled with glassware and wine.
Dr. Cullen speaks first, "Of course, Sam, I was curious when you were pouring Bella's earlier."
Sam looks to the younger Mr. Cullen and he nods with a kind relief in his eyes.
Sam goes about the business of setting a glass in front of each person, and as he begins to pour samples he educates them on the wine. After all, information dispels ignorance.
"This is Weinkonig's Pearl Rose, a de-alcoholized wine imported from Germany. The alcohol was removed by reverse osmosis, instead of heating. It leaves a fuller range of flavor and a slight bouquet." Glancing at Mrs. Whitlock, he continues, "Although its label is a fourth of the price of the Rose Champagne of which the rest of the table partook, it holds its own in light bubbles and refreshing palate."
"Oh, Carlisle, I like this. It's light and slightly sweet. Sam, can you get me the label before we leave? I'd like to serve it at our spring lawn party," Esme enthuses.
Sam bows slightly, "of course, ma'am," and moves to return the bottle to its chilling bucket.
As he passes, Mrs. Whitlock holds up her flute. "A bit more please, Sam," she smiles sweetly as he fills her flute with great flourish.
"It's nice," she admits to the table.
"Thank you, Sam," Mr. Cullen adds.
"Of course, sir," Sam says before motioning for the first course to be laid.
~o0o~
Sam watches as course after course she infuses the formal atmosphere of the room with lightness, slowly moving the party into a casual dining reserved for family and intimate gatherings. His Monique, back when life was celebrated, would throw summer dinner parties that made the lowliest feel like a prince. This girl has the same gift.
When the evening comes to an end, Sam feels his heart slipping into its original heaviness.
"Sam, I want to thank you for all you did tonight. Bella had a wonderful time. I am greatly indebted to you," Mr. Cullen says shaking his hand with his other hand on his shoulder.
"It was my pleasure, Mr. Cullen. She is a rare jewel, like my Monique," Sam said, clearing his throat.
"She is. We are blessed men, I think," Mr. Cullen agrees.
"Blessed—exactly that, sir," Sam says softly.
~o0o~
He can't bring himself to delegate this last step of service, so he personally gathers Mr. Cullen's and Miss Swan's coats from the coat room.
When Miss Swan steps forward and wraps her slender arms gently around him in thanks, visions of Emily float airily around them.
Emily
Sam feels the understanding behind Mr. Cullen's pat as he turns the lovely Miss Swan, Bella, toward the door.
As he watches, Mr. Cullen tucks Miss Swan into the truck kissing her lightly on the lips, cherished, treasured.
A desperate need to fly to his Monique washes over him.
Michael will close tonight, for he must rush home. Over a French press of coffee and croissants from Floriole, he must share with his lovely Monique the vision of Emily he witnessed this evening.
Putting on his coat, he nods in decision.
He will take his Monique away to a sunny place. Wrapped in each other's arms, they will leave behind the shadows of mourning what they have lost, and in the sun's glow they will remember how to celebrate the riches life has given them.