How Francis Met Sam (PG-13)
Posted: Mon May 04, 2009 4:31 am
This is a short novel of only 2 chapters. Two years before Mick met Sam at the Vanguard, Francis met Sam in the same place. The difference is Francis was looking for him. This tells how they met. Please read and comment. Thank you.
Rating: PG-13
Finding Sam – Chapter 1
Penina Spinka
The night was dark. A cold drizzle moistened hats, coats, and cheeks, but the lights and the music were cheery enough to drive away the gloom. The vampire had been looking for Sammik for more than 20 years. He didn’t know Sammik’s name or if he would be a man or a woman this time. He only knew Sammik loved music and based on his previous lives, he was likely to have the kind of looks that drew positive attention. He wondered how old the object of his search would be. He’d found Sammik in different incarnations for 4000 years -- from a little girl of four to a man in his forties. Sammik could be anyone, but whoever he or she was now, Francis Radu would find him tonight. He felt his younger twin brother’s soul calling him.
He had come across seas and oceans. Now, he traced the call psychically to a jazz club in Greenwich Village, a neighborhood in lower Manhattan, and finally to a club called the Village Vanguard. It was for this that Francis had taken the position of special envoy and attaché to the U.N. from Romania. It was his first visit to New York City. Francis Radu looked over the marquee. The neon lights spelled out no names he had heard of back in Bucharest. The word Vanguard stood alone in bright orange-yellow neon at the top.
The names wouldn’t tell him much, but he knew Sammik must be here. He would know him the moment the two of them were in the same room. Francis made his way to the ticket window and asked for a seat near the front.
“Are you a visitor to our city?” asked the young woman, alerted by his accent.
“Yes; I am.” She waited, but as there were other people behind him, and he declined to be more specific, she pointed behind her to the schedule of performers. The tickets were for one performance. The price for a Thursday night was twenty-five dollars.
“All of them,” Francis said. “United Nations.” He showed her his embassy pass. They would pay for any parking tickets or transportation fees, but entertainment was not included. Still – his pass greased palms in its own way. He handed over his credit card.
“The box office accepts only cash only, Sir. Credit cards are only accepted on line.”
He handed her a hundred dollar bill. “If you can give me a seat near the front, you can keep the change.”
“Certainly, Sir. Enjoy your visit to the Big Apple.” She handed him a VIP ticket. Francis thanked her, then walked though the wooden doors and down the stairs.
The host looked at his ticket and at Francis. “May I check your coat for you, Sir?”
Francis nodded. It was still early. Once he reached his seat, he handed the host his coat and ordered a brandy. The price covered drinks and he didn’t know how long he’d be sitting here, or when his long dead brother, whom he did not know in this incarnation, would come out on stage.
Man or woman? Francis thought to himself. Young or old? Not in a relationship, please. He looked heavenward. Where did the Fates live?
There was a piano player. No. A small band came on next. Francis looked at the schedule. Only the guitar player’s name was mentioned. It was a trio. He sipped his brandy while he looked over the players – guitar, base and drum, all men. The guitar player was flamboyant, shaking his hair and smiling to the audience. The base player hugged his instrument, relaxing into the rhythm. It was a good piece.
The drummer had a sure hand on his sticks and an impeccable sense of rhythm, but he could hardly be seen behind the others. Francis felt, no knew, the young man was capable of so much more. Francis moved his chair slightly to better see the drummer, and then sat back. Copper colored skin, long black hair, straight nose and high cheeks bones, with dark brown eyes - he was an Indian! He supposed he should be politically correct and call him a Native American. Are you my brother? he thought. The young man turned his head and let his gaze touch Francis.
Come to me after the set, Francis thought. If he could have said the words aloud, this wasn’t the time to say them. He would frighten the young musician.
As if the young man could hear thoughts, he winked at Francis and nodded. Francis didn’t know what to make of it. During the next piece, he did another intricate section of the drumming between the vocalist’s parts. He was good, but Francis expected him to be. The guitarist was the main performer in the trio. The drummer was young. Francis guessed him to be about 23. By his excitement, he also guessed the young man was new to the Village Vanguard and glad just to be performing on the same stage where the greats of the jazz world had played.
Francis felt all this from the young drummer. At the end of the set, the announcer gave their names. Each bowed to his name. They bowed together before they walked off the stage, going in separate directions until their next set. Sam. Sam Birchtree, Francis thought. He headed toward Francis’s table on the side of the stage. Had Sam actually read his mind? Francis never said anything aloud to him. He wasn’t ready for Sam to know everything about him yet. That could be dangerous to both of them.
For the first time in a long while, actually not since the last time he met his former brother in a different incarnation, had the vampire felt this nervous. How would he tell Sam what he was and who he was? Did he dare to tell him anything this soon? The drummer came over to him. “You wanted me?”
Francis switched his thinking to Romanian. You have no idea. “Yes,” he said in English, stressing his accent. “Please join me. Let me buy you a drink.”
“I’m Sam Birchtree,” the young man said, sitting down.
“I know. The announcer said your name. I’ve been looking for you.” He put his hand over Sam’s and felt the familiar connection he had not felt in decades. “I’m Francis Radu. I’m from Bucharest, in Romania.”
“Mohawk,” Sam responded. “Do I know you?”
“In a way,” Francis said. “I hope you let me stay with you for a while tonight while we discuss it.”
Rating: PG-13
Finding Sam – Chapter 1
Penina Spinka
The night was dark. A cold drizzle moistened hats, coats, and cheeks, but the lights and the music were cheery enough to drive away the gloom. The vampire had been looking for Sammik for more than 20 years. He didn’t know Sammik’s name or if he would be a man or a woman this time. He only knew Sammik loved music and based on his previous lives, he was likely to have the kind of looks that drew positive attention. He wondered how old the object of his search would be. He’d found Sammik in different incarnations for 4000 years -- from a little girl of four to a man in his forties. Sammik could be anyone, but whoever he or she was now, Francis Radu would find him tonight. He felt his younger twin brother’s soul calling him.
He had come across seas and oceans. Now, he traced the call psychically to a jazz club in Greenwich Village, a neighborhood in lower Manhattan, and finally to a club called the Village Vanguard. It was for this that Francis had taken the position of special envoy and attaché to the U.N. from Romania. It was his first visit to New York City. Francis Radu looked over the marquee. The neon lights spelled out no names he had heard of back in Bucharest. The word Vanguard stood alone in bright orange-yellow neon at the top.
The names wouldn’t tell him much, but he knew Sammik must be here. He would know him the moment the two of them were in the same room. Francis made his way to the ticket window and asked for a seat near the front.
“Are you a visitor to our city?” asked the young woman, alerted by his accent.
“Yes; I am.” She waited, but as there were other people behind him, and he declined to be more specific, she pointed behind her to the schedule of performers. The tickets were for one performance. The price for a Thursday night was twenty-five dollars.
“All of them,” Francis said. “United Nations.” He showed her his embassy pass. They would pay for any parking tickets or transportation fees, but entertainment was not included. Still – his pass greased palms in its own way. He handed over his credit card.
“The box office accepts only cash only, Sir. Credit cards are only accepted on line.”
He handed her a hundred dollar bill. “If you can give me a seat near the front, you can keep the change.”
“Certainly, Sir. Enjoy your visit to the Big Apple.” She handed him a VIP ticket. Francis thanked her, then walked though the wooden doors and down the stairs.
The host looked at his ticket and at Francis. “May I check your coat for you, Sir?”
Francis nodded. It was still early. Once he reached his seat, he handed the host his coat and ordered a brandy. The price covered drinks and he didn’t know how long he’d be sitting here, or when his long dead brother, whom he did not know in this incarnation, would come out on stage.
Man or woman? Francis thought to himself. Young or old? Not in a relationship, please. He looked heavenward. Where did the Fates live?
There was a piano player. No. A small band came on next. Francis looked at the schedule. Only the guitar player’s name was mentioned. It was a trio. He sipped his brandy while he looked over the players – guitar, base and drum, all men. The guitar player was flamboyant, shaking his hair and smiling to the audience. The base player hugged his instrument, relaxing into the rhythm. It was a good piece.
The drummer had a sure hand on his sticks and an impeccable sense of rhythm, but he could hardly be seen behind the others. Francis felt, no knew, the young man was capable of so much more. Francis moved his chair slightly to better see the drummer, and then sat back. Copper colored skin, long black hair, straight nose and high cheeks bones, with dark brown eyes - he was an Indian! He supposed he should be politically correct and call him a Native American. Are you my brother? he thought. The young man turned his head and let his gaze touch Francis.
Come to me after the set, Francis thought. If he could have said the words aloud, this wasn’t the time to say them. He would frighten the young musician.
As if the young man could hear thoughts, he winked at Francis and nodded. Francis didn’t know what to make of it. During the next piece, he did another intricate section of the drumming between the vocalist’s parts. He was good, but Francis expected him to be. The guitarist was the main performer in the trio. The drummer was young. Francis guessed him to be about 23. By his excitement, he also guessed the young man was new to the Village Vanguard and glad just to be performing on the same stage where the greats of the jazz world had played.
Francis felt all this from the young drummer. At the end of the set, the announcer gave their names. Each bowed to his name. They bowed together before they walked off the stage, going in separate directions until their next set. Sam. Sam Birchtree, Francis thought. He headed toward Francis’s table on the side of the stage. Had Sam actually read his mind? Francis never said anything aloud to him. He wasn’t ready for Sam to know everything about him yet. That could be dangerous to both of them.
For the first time in a long while, actually not since the last time he met his former brother in a different incarnation, had the vampire felt this nervous. How would he tell Sam what he was and who he was? Did he dare to tell him anything this soon? The drummer came over to him. “You wanted me?”
Francis switched his thinking to Romanian. You have no idea. “Yes,” he said in English, stressing his accent. “Please join me. Let me buy you a drink.”
“I’m Sam Birchtree,” the young man said, sitting down.
“I know. The announcer said your name. I’ve been looking for you.” He put his hand over Sam’s and felt the familiar connection he had not felt in decades. “I’m Francis Radu. I’m from Bucharest, in Romania.”
“Mohawk,” Sam responded. “Do I know you?”
“In a way,” Francis said. “I hope you let me stay with you for a while tonight while we discuss it.”
