sammy!

“Oh, Sam, you and I both know very well that this isn’t about–” in mock baritone: “Dutch…”

       The sympathy in Diane’s tone reaches her smile, but it’s sharp along the edges– for there are feelings to dissect; lest Sam nearly kill himself with yet another one of his desperate grabs at youth. Chancing a step closer, she fastidiously folds the towel down onto the table where it espouses the tattered newspaper denigrating Mayday’s good name (in what she is quick to perceive as some sort of ironic symbolism: he’s never been comfortable with aging).

       “Not really.” Reaching out, her fingers butterfly to his wrist. “Come on, Sam, let’s you and I have a little chat in your office, huh?” Her hands ascend to his shoulders. Sturdy. She looks him square in the eye. “It’s important that you not let these feelings go unchecked.”

          “Of course it’s about Dutch!” Sam exclaims, vigorously scrubbing at one of the glasses, frown etching deeper into his features. “Stupid GEEZER shows up here and just thinks he can parade it around that I can’t strike him out. Well - well, I don’t need any of that; I’m just FINE.”

don’t!

          “Aw now, what makes -… what makes ya think I’m listenin’ to ‘em?” scratches the back of his neck as he SNIFFS, clearing his throat out of habit as he ignores the look of PITY he will certainly see from Diane if he looks up. “No, ha! Look, it’s fine, right? I mean…” shifts the weight of the balls of his feet from side to side. “– I’m not exactly in my PRIME anymore for playin’ BALL. It’s not a big DEAL.” Smiles, teeth showing, “I’m fine, Diane. I really am. I’m over it already.” The crunched up newspaper lays forlornly on the table, an AWFUL article on “MAYDAY CALLS A MAYDAY; THROWS CHARITY GAME.”

“Oh dear, I feared this would happen.” Diane shimmies out of her coat, uncoils her scarf, and secures each around the rack before starting her usual prance down to the bar– over which she clasps her hands; all while purposely, very purposely, maintaining an inscrutable expression. She shrugs in mock resignation. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this has gone on long enough. After all, Sam, we were up rather late last night. Perhaps our– nightly exertions, are having much too negative a bearing on our ability to, effectively and efficiently, perform our jobs.”

An air of deliberation is manufactured, from which a devastating conclusion is purportedly drawn. Nodding, she pats Sam’s hand in perfect unison. “Thank you, Sam, you’ve– helped me to see the light just now.” And floats off– to shroud the full bloom of a sly smile.

Thinks he’s finally made her see the LIGHT. A satisfied grin on his mug as he pours himself a fresh mug of coffee. “That’s RIGHT.” Sam drawls, leaning over on the bar to meet her. “I’m righ-...” and then he nearly spills the entire contents of his coffee down his shirt. 

          “Wh-...hang on. Hang on just a - a minute now here Diane,” Sam scrambles, looking around to put his coffee mug somewhere less...dangerous.. “Now, SWEETHEART,” Sam begins, jumping over the bar as he follows her, “I didn’t -... I didn’t mean that we--... you know,” Sam says, grinning nervously as he makes his way in front of her, hands on her shoulders. 

Jennifer Honey was hardly a drinker, especially given the fact that she was almost embarrassingly lightweight when it came to holding her alcohol. Knowing that, paired with the knowledge that she was going to have to make sure that both she and Matilda made it home safely later on this evening, Jenny knew BETTER than to have anything alcoholic to drink. So, more than anything else, it was merely a matter of CONVENIENCE that she was currently perched on a stool at the counter of a slightly rundown bar, rather than a desire for something to drink. All she’d intended to do was kill time, to simply order some tea and continue annotating her copy of Northanger Abbey until it was time to pickup Matilda from her art class.

What she hadn’t been accounting for was the young man standing in front of her, offering her his hand and a million dollar smile. She blinked a few times in surprise at his introduction before daintily taking his hand.

       “I’m Jennifer,” she offered him a shy smile as a flush of pink began to creep across her cheeks at his attempt to flirt with her, unsure of how else to respond to his advances.

In her limited experience thus far, American men seemed to be substantially more forward than the men at home in England. So, for someone as reserved and demure as Jenny, this blatant flirtation was incredibly out of her depth, leaving her to awkwardly gloss over the fact that it had even happened.

       “Hot tea would be lovely if you have it. Coffee would be fine if you don’t, thank you.”

          “Jennifer.” He repeats, smiling wide as he shakes her and watches the faint flush of pink spread across her cheeks. “Can I call ya Jenny? Now, don’t tell me! Definitely not from ‘round town then, hey? We’ve had a few BRITS around town - most of ‘em weren’t the FRIENDLY types, but maybe they just met the wrong bartender.” He grins, giving her a wink.

oh, she has him trained well !! there’s a well-characterized smugness behind the telling eyes of a woman not quite at her best, and yet as she settles in her stool she waits until she has taken her first  - satisfied - sip until she allows it to reach her lips. ❝ not BAD, i suppose. ❞ well. lucille bluth is a regular by now. sam must know that this is as good a compliment as he’s going to get.

❝ shame. i was hoping a good VERBAL SPAR would lift my mood. ❞ it only takes a glance around the bar - carefully avoiding the gaze of certain figures she’d rather avoid, and her expression falls into the frown which graced her features when she first entered. sam’s question certainly doesn’t impress her - does anything? - and the glance she gives him over the brim of her martini glass is almost chilling.  

❝ …i’m not going to respond to that. and you’re going to leave me to my alcoholic reverie, and ask yourself why you felt the need to ask me. ❞

Gives her his million dollar smile. He’s long since passed the era of trying to get Lucille to give his bartending skills more than a ‘ NOT BAD ’ rating. In the end, Lucille Bluth’s ‘ not bad ’ was an average person’s good, so Sam had come to terms with that. 

          “Oh, don’t count her out just yet. She had to run an ERRAND, so she’ll be back in a jiffy and you two gals can start the races and we’ll be placing the BETS as usual.” Takes a sip of his water before he feels Lucille’s very COLD gaze land on him. 

          “Well hi, there! I’m Sam.” Offers her a hand to shake. “What can I get ya? Some coffee? Wine? Me? Ha!”