Old Songs- Sammy x Jack

Band Stand

The click off Sammy's dress shoes stood out amongst the clatter of voices in the busy Chicago streets. He had just left another awards party, which would explain his foul mood. Another pompous rich party filled with people who would just as soon kick me into the streets as award me, he grumbled to himself. Sammy had always hated such parties, in case you couldn't tell. The people had no appreciation for the depth of music and the meaning behind each piano key. They only cared that Sammy's songs made them rich. To Sammy, all of his songs told a story; about his childhood, his career, his emotions (though he rarely shared those last ones). Anyone could make a song that sounded nice, but I took someone with real skill to put any meaning behind those pretty sounds. But awards built reputation, which was exactly what Sammy needed. So he had accepted the invite, sat through the entire show, and promptly left before he worked up the nerve to punch those snobs in the face.

Sammy was strolling alongside the river now, taking in the scenery. Steam boats chugged along and tour guides called out to the crowds gathered on deck. Continuing down the sidewalk, he heard music coming from up ahead. Intrigued, he picked up his pace towards a crowd of people and the source of the music. Once he reached the outskirts of the crowd, he began straining his neck to see. The music was coming from a bandstand, the gazebo covered by a white picket roof. Little vines covered in pink flowers trailed along the edges and the entrance. A band stood on stage, cheerfully playing a ragtime tune. The sounds of piano, trumpet, and saxophone filled the air. Sammy's eyes scanned the stage, but when they reached the left side, he froze.

His eyes caught on the fiddler. He was tapping his foot and swaying back and forth to the tempo of the music. His fingers deftly flew up and down the fiddle, catching every note perfectly. He radiated laughter and music, and the crowd seemed drawn to him. Black hair framed the freckles on his face. Hidden underneath were green eyes, sparkling with confidence and joy. And his smile. That was what caught Sammy's attention. It was bright and happy and real. It was perfect. The fiddler was the most vivid thing on that stage, and Sammy couldn't tear his eyes away. The fiddler's forest eyes scanned the crowd and locked with Sammy's. They held each other's gaze for a fraction of a moment, but it was enough to make Sammy's heart skip and his face burn. He whipped his head around and almost sprinted down the street, eyes on the ground. He could feel the fiddler's eyes following him down the street, but he didn't dare look back. Crossing the busy road, he turned a corner and out of sight of the band stand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sammy sat in his hotel room, silently yelling at himself. He laid on his back on the dusty mattress, staring at the peeling ceiling. I can't believe I just walked away like that. What was I thinking? Why didn't I ask his name? These were the thoughts that had been circling Sammy's mind for the past hour. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the fiddler out of his head. It was late at night, almost 11 o'clock, but he was still in his day clothes. Maybe I should take a walk. Clear my head. I've got another gig to play tomorrow, and I've got to sleep at some point. Feeling better now that he had a plan, Sammy slipped on his shoes and took the rickety elevator to the lobby. He ignored the woman at the front desk and stepped quickly out the door. He inhaled the cool night air and took a left down the street.

Sammy realized where he walking only once the band stand came into view. Shit, he thought. Now how was he supposed to focus? He glance into the gazebo, the busy crowd now gone. It was empty. The stage looked lifeless without the fiddler's grin. Only a few chairs and the piano remained, it's solitary keys sitting still and silent. He wasn't quite sure what came over him, but Sammy moved up the steps and sat on the paino bench. His fingers hovered, above the keys, then began to play. It was a song he had written when he first came to New York. He had run away from his parents and his farm, finally working up the courage to escape his father's abuse. He had written about New York as a runaway, not a tourist. About how he couldn't be dazzled by the lights because he was to busy trying to find a place to sleep. He wrote about how he didn't visit Lady Liberty or the Empire State Building because he was to worried about finding his next meal. It was a sad song, but Sammy had always been proud of it. It had been his first big break. The soulful tune echoed in the night. For the first time in hours, Sammy's head was clear. He was focused on nothing but the music and the movement of his hands across the keys. He closed his eyes, knowing the movements of the song by heart.

"That's a pretty nifty tune you got there!" a chipper voice sounded from behind him. Sammy faltered, causing the keys to make a distorted note, and whipped around. Staring back at him were the laughing, cheerful eyes of the fiddler. "You write that yourself?" The tilt of the fiddler's head almost made Sammy grin, but he shoved down the urge.

"Y-yes, I did," Sammy stuttered. He had never fallen of his words like this before, but something about the fiddler's smile made it hard to focus.

"It's mighty impressive. Mind if I sing?" Before Sammy could answer the fiddler had already seated himself on a chair and gesturing for Sammy to continue. Not knowing what else to say, he turned back to the keys and resumed the song.

Once the fiddler's voice began following the notes, Sammy was swept back into the music. He was impressed that the fiddler could make up lyrics on the spot, but the shock came when he registered what the fiddler was singing. He talked about city lights, the roll of the river, and the smell of frying food. He talked about freedom, about running far away into the night to places unknown. His voice sounded like bells, fast and sweet. Had he deciphered Sammy's song just from listening?

As the music flourished to a close, Sammy worked up the nerve to look over at the fiddler. He was grinning brightly, eyes focused on Sammy.

"Hey now, we make a pretty good team, don't we Stranger?"

"Sammy," Sammy blurted. He said it almost to quickly, confusing the fiddler. "M-my name is Sammy. Sammy Lawrence."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Sams!" Name's Jack Fain." He stuck out hand, and the two shook. Jack's hands were warm, despite the chill in the air. "Where did you learn to play like that?"

"I was self taught." Sammy was grateful for the darkness, so Jack couldn't see him blush.

"I saw you in the crowd earlier." Sammy froze, then averted his gaze, mumbling some half formed apology. Jack chuckled. "No need to apologize! It's just you took off in such a hurry and I didn't get a chance to talk to you." Sammy gave Jack a shocked look. He wanted to talk to me?

"Do you want to grab a drink?" The words were out of Sammy's mouth before he could stop himself. But Jack only smiled.

"Now you're speaking my language! Come on, the night's still young!" Jack hopped out of the chair and out of the gazebo. Sammy's exhaled with relief and got up to follow his strange new friend.