deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 30: little doll

Cliff kept the vase of tulips nestled in between his bare naked legs. Sam reached and brushed his hair forward, over his shoulders, so those fine tips caressed the top of his chest. She backed up to the stool which she had set in the middle of the carpet in front of him. She plunked her journal upon her lap and held a hard graphite pencil over the page.
The late afternoon sunlight shone over his shoulders and the crown of his head so it looked as though he had an actual crown atop his head. The yellow petals of the tulips were as bright of a yellow as they had ever been to her. But she wanted to focus on the light about his head and bring that to the paper before her.
Her eyes fixated on the crown and, careful not to press too hard on the paper, she ran the side of the graphite near the top. Given it was such a hard piece of graphite, it left behind such a soft haze in its wake.
Every so often, she took a glimpse down at the paper to make sure it was the real thing and that she hadn't run off the page at some point.
She gazed into his eyes. At the shadows all around them, and all about his face and his bare strong looking neck.
"I feel like I should be wearing a flower crown on my head," he confessed at one point.
"A flower crown?" she laughed at that as she drew his long, callused fingers as they surrounded the smooth exterior of the vase.
"Yeah, like a laurel—like what Julius Caesar is known for wearing atop his head. I could wear something like that the next time Metallica goes on tour and we come here to New York City again. I could do that and sing like Geddy Lee at some point when James isn't looking."
Sam burst out laughing, so hard that she almost dropped her pencil. But she caught it and she kept on going, down his body, and towards his sinewy thighs and his slender knees. She thought about his bell bottoms and those pointed toe boots: and yet here he was, pounced nude before her with nothing more than the tulips to keep it all under wraps.
She thought about Joey and how he was doing back home. If he was taking care of himself and his parents all the while, as Anthrax were about to put out their record soon. His birthday soon approached, too, and she thought about what to do for him on that day. Every so often, Cliff cleared his throat or sighed through his nose, but the sole sound came from the grain of the graphite upon the grain of the paper.
She thought about the colored pencils in the next room, just for a bit of contrast against the cool, soft, smooth graphite before her. A soft touch of bright yellow and green for those tulips, given she had reached his slender ankles and his bare feet.
"I'm starting to itch a little bit," Cliff confessed to her.
"I was just gonna ask you—how are you feeling right now? I'm almost done so you can scratch or run your fingers through hair if you'd like. I just have to work on the flowers now, and I've got to get my colored pencils for those."
"Okay, good!" Cliff tipped his head back to show her his neck and then he raised his arms over his head to stretch his back.
"You're so thin," Sam remarked as she stood to her feet and set her journal down on the head of the stool. "But you're like—elegantly thin, though."
"Would you rather I be ripped as holy hell?" he cracked.
"Not at all," she said. "Like I said, you're elegantly thin. Nicely and perfectly thin, and—as I was sitting here drawing you, I couldn't help but—" She froze in her tracks.
"Couldn't help but what?" He moved the vase of tulips and set it back down on the coffee table before him. Sam nibbled on her bottom lip. She had led herself down an uncharted pathway she hadn't been down before with anyone; she lowered her gaze to his bare hips and thighs. He sat there before her, completely naked, and with his legs spread wide open as if he beckoned her.
"—couldn't help but fall in love with your skin."
"My skin?" He showed her a little smile at that.
"Yeah, your skin. You have unbelievably nice skin. It's like porcelain. And it's especially like that—" She gestured towards his thighs, and for the most part, all about the inside there. Even from there, she could tell the skin was silken and smooth, perfect and without a blemish one to be found.
"—I almost wanna touch it again," she confessed.
"Almost?"
"I've got tulips to color in."
"You gonna tiptoe through them?"
"You mean 'tippy toe,'" she corrected him.
"Nah, I mean 'tiptoe'. So you gonna tiptoe through them later?" That little, subtle smirk on his handsome face was obvious to her.
"Maybe when the tulips get to be a part of something outside of a drawing," she suggested, and the words just came rolling out of her, and he chuckled in response to that. A bit of warmth washed over her face as she padded out of the room for her colored pencils. She plunked the journal across her desk and she gazed on at the blank void in between Cliff's thighs. He sat right in front of her without a piece of clothing on for a good long time, and yet she never did anything beyond that until he moved it away from there.
Her eyes grazed over the faint lines of the tulips there underneath his chest, and the vase in between his thighs.
The sound of clothes rustling in the next room caught her ear, but she kept her eyes fixated on the journal before her. Add to this, the energy of the first day of school settled over her. She figured she could color in those flowers and then call it a day.
"Hey, Sam," Cliff called out to her from the next room.
"Yes?" she called back.
Silence.
She turned around in time to find him lingering there in her doorway. He had put his jeans back on, but he kept his shirt slung over his forearm as if it was a towel.
"What're you gonna have for dinner tonight?" he asked her.
"Not sure." She hesitated for a moment. "Why?"
"Chuck and Eric—you know, those guys from Legacy—invited me to dinner over at the Zazulas' place tonight."
"Well, I don't have class tomorrow," she started, "and even I did, I think I could probably work something out regardless."
"I could take you with me on the bus," he said, "because I got here on the subway."
"Well—can I color in those tulips first?"
"Of course! At this point, I want you to be the best artist you can."
"Like how you wanna be the best bassist you can," she recalled.
"Exactly!" He showed her that little Mona Lisa smile before he ducked out of there. Sam gave her dark hair a toss back and then she returned to her journal.
Bright yellow for the entirety of the petals. Goldenrod on top of that layer for the base of the flowers. Orange, scarlet, and a kiss of violet respectively on that layer for some extra depth in between the petals. Light green for the stems and the fledgling leaves, and dark green on top for some depth. A little touch of that violet again for the edges and the outside of the vase.
At one point, she lifted her head from the journal. Silence in the next room.
She padded in there to find Cliff there on the couch with a book sprawled over his lap. He raised his gaze to her and showed her that little Mona Lisa smile yet again.
"You want me to change my clothes first?" she asked him.
"If you want," he suggested, "you could go dressed like that, too. If you do change your clothes, I can call Jon and Marsha." Thus, Sam then bowed back into her room to change into a clean black sleeveless blouse and she headed into the bathroom to wet her hair under the shower faucet; she could catch the sound of his voice from the kitchen and she knew she was on the phone with someone. She spritzed of a bit of soft smelling perfume around her neck and her wrists before she returned to Cliff a second time.
"I think the bus is coming in a bit," she told him as she picked up her purse again and hoisted it over her shoulder.
"I'll carry you over there and run if I have to," he admitted as he tucked the book into the inside of his shirt. Sam locked the door and led him down the stairs and outside to the sidewalk. The late summer sun hung low over the city skyline, but she put her sunglasses on over her face.
"This way, Cliff," she commanded, and she led him up the block towards the corner. She could hear a bit of loose change jingling behind her; she peered over her shoulder at him. He took out a few dollar bills from his jeans pocket.
"I was just gonna ask you if you have any spare change," she admitted as they stopped in front of the bench there at the bus stop.
"I was just gonna ask you the same thing," he almost echoed to her.
"I've got some," she assured him as she reached into her purse for her wallet. "I don't think I've ever been to the Zazulas' house, come to think of it."
"It's a cute, cozy little place," he said, "and there's a couple of spare rooms for four guys like me and Metallica."
"Suddenly coming out here from the Golden State makes a lot more sense now," she remarked with a giggle. Within a minute or so, the big white and silver city bus lumbered up to the curb before them.
Sam paid the fare first followed by Cliff. Despite it being the city bus, they were the only ones onboard for the most part; but she stayed standing up with her free hand clasped onto the rung overhead. Cliff took his seat right next to her underneath the window. He set his hand upon the crown of his hat.
Sam glanced back at him and the denim in between his legs. It was such a strange sight to behold right there right next to her. He had just exposed himself for her right there, on display for her to see, before she colored in those flowers and that vase.
Every so often, they came to a complete halt to pick up someone along the way, but then, within time, as they reached the edge of the Bronx and the banks of the river, Cliff reached up for the bell.
Sam stepped off the bus first; Cliff almost dropped his hat as he climbed off onto the sidewalk. He fixed his hat and then he put his arm around her.
"Over here," he pointed to the cute little black and creamy white house straight down the block, the one surrounded by a trio of tall oak trees. She set her hand on the strap of her purse as they strode away from the bus stop and towards the house. She recognized Lars' little crown of fluffy light hair on the front porch, even from a distance. He had taken his seat next to the front door and rested his elbows upon his knees, but he wasn't holding anything to warrant a stare down. As far as Sam and Cliff knew, he had just been sitting there doing nothing for no reason.
"The Danish pastry is already here," Cliff declared in such a loud, booming enough voice for it to echo across the pavement. Lars stood to his feet, right before the screen door, and nudged his mirrored sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, and pressed his hands onto his hips.
"Danish Superman," Sam added as they came within better earshot.
"The song that closed Denmark," Lars stated with a break in his voice.
"'The song that closed Denmark,' I'm writing that down." Eric's voice floated out from the window next to him. The screen door swung open and swatted him right in back. Lars lunged forward and Chuck emerged from the inside of the house.
"Thought I recognized little Samantha," he declared; Cliff let go of Sam so she could give Chuck and Lars hugs hello; the latter planted a light little kiss on her cheek, which made her blush a bit.
"Oh, my," she muttered.
"I'm sorry, I'm European," he confessed with a shrug and a shake of his head. "A kiss upon greeting is a thing over there."
"You have really soft lips," she noted.
"I try my best," he shrugged his shoulders again.
"C'mon in, kids," Chuck encouraged her and Cliff into the cozy front foyer of the house, which smelled of that warm, welcoming aroma of freshly baked bread. Sam took off her sunglasses and she better spotted Eric reclined on the couch in the living room off to the left. He lifted his head and showed her a little grin.
"D'you get our letters?" he asked her with a raise of the eyebrows.
"I did! This guy—" She gestured back to Cliff, who rested his hat on the top of the recliner chair in the corner closest to them. "i—said it's for a fan club."
"And he would be right," Chuck said as he slipped around her.
"So how big is this fan club gonna be?" she asked Eric.
"I hope it'll be of considerate size," he confessed with an outstretch of his arms, which made Sam think of a kid laying on his back at his parents' house. "Present itself to of considerate size."
"I like the way you said 'considerate'," Sam added with a smirk.
"'Cause that is the goal, after all." He flashed her a wink and she chuckled at that.
"And I'm glad you guys could make it over here again, too," she continued.
"Hey, Jon's label is here in New York," Eric pointed out. "Until he gets a few more reps to go out to California and the Bay Area, it's trips out here between the five of us. Well, four of us rather, for the time being anyways."
"So are we officially gonna meet Alex at some point?" she asked him and she couldn't resist the grin on her face.
"Hopefully." He slid his hands underneath his head. "Like what Chuck and I both said back in Ithaca, he's still a kid in school. He's got another year left before we can actually do something with our music and perhaps go on tour. I called his dad just yesterday actually and he started his senior year literally about a week ago."
"Kid's got more balls than I do," Cliff said in a soft voice; he took his seat there in the recliner. The sound of metal clanked upon metal from the foyer caught Sam's attention, and she realized it was Lars with the screen door.
"Such a bint," he groaned under his breath.
"What's a bint?" she asked him.
"This lock on the screen door."
"You gotta jiggle it," Chuck called from the kitchen. Lars did just that and then he ambled into the living room and joined the three of them.
"So is this your first time here at the Zazulas' place?" he asked her as he took off his sunglasses and showed off those deep set green eyes to her.
"It is!"
"Aurora is showing up here soon, too. And oh! You are gonna love the food that Marsha makes."
"I've eaten pancakes from her before," she pointed out.
"But have you eaten dinner from her?"
"I haven't, no."
"You are in for a treat, min kaere."
"Huh?"
"Oh, forgive me." Lars brought a hand to his mouth. "Sometimes a little bit of the mother tongue slips out."
Indeed, it was an understatement on his part.
Even though Aurora didn't show up at all, Marsha made the five of them a pair of homemade pizzas, one with pepperoni and the other with vegetables on top. Sam couldn't resist with indulging a bit: she had a day off and she was with her new guy friends to boot. A brand new chapter of life that warranted a letting go for a little bit.
Alongside the pizza, Cliff had downed a whole two bottles of beer. By the time the sun had gone down, he stepped outside for a smoke, which took her aback.
"By the way, when did Cliff smoke?" she asked Lars who took his seat in the recliner and leaned back with a toothpick in hand.
"Earlier this year," he replied as he stuck the toothpick in between his smooth lips. "He doesn't do it much, though. So if it's any fairness to you at all, I never expect it, either."
Sam took a glimpse out the front window in time to catch the sight of a cloud of smoke. She thought about that night after the Legacy show where he and Alex were on the porch of the coffee house.
On one hand, he kept it away from her. But on the other hand, she wondered if he forced himself through it at times. She thought about the pair of beers he had kicked back over dinner, and then she thought about the softness and smoothness of his skin and his hair. A boy so soft and yet he did that all to himself. It almost didn't add up, and as a result it left her baffled, and to the point she couldn't exactly think about anything else.
The cherry from his cigarette burned through the darkness of the night and right onto her memory. The smell of the beer lingered on his breath on the ride back to the heart of the Bronx. She kept it all on her mind even through the night and the next day off from school as he came back over to her place with Charlie and Marla. She carried something wrapped up in a bit of brown paper towel.
"What you got there, by the way?" Charlie asked Marla, and she unraveled the paper towel. It was a stained glass unicorn about the size of her hand, and she held up to the window so the morning sunlight shone through the milky blue and pure rich blue and emerald green glass that made up its body. The fine delicate look of its legs. The point of its soft blue horn.
It looked as though it was about to gallop away on a dance of a rainbow.
"Bel made this," she said, "we got to talking about the stained glass windows at school and she remembered this. She lent this to me for today to show you guys."
"It's beautiful," Sam declared.
"Yeah, I love the colors she picked out," Charlie added.
"This is a true piece of art," Marla remarked, mystified by the unicorn in front of her face. "This is in essence, what art is all about. Combining pre established ideas into something new. I said that to Bel once and she kinda shrugged at it."
"She's like a little doll," Cliff said right behind them.
"Who is?" Sam asked him.
"Belinda. Just from what I saw from her yesterday when you and I were walking back to the subway."
"Oh, yeah!" That brought a slight laugh out of her, but she couldn't hardly muster anything further than that given she could see it on his face and in his eyes. He wanted to step outside for a smoke and a half. She shook her head at herself, at the thought that she had missed it this whole time until the night before.
"I think she's going upstate in a couple of days for some more of glass stuff," Marla was saying at one point; Sam wasn't properly paying attention and thus it came out of the blue to her. "She's still a teacher aide and all. I told her where we are, so she'll swing by soon enough to pick up her little unicorn here."
To take her mind off of Cliff's habits, Sam offered to take a look of the little stained glass creature for herself. She thought about the windows, how physical and rich art can be. She thought about the closet in Charlie's apartment, where she ran her fingers all through Frank's hair prior to drawing.
Marla made a note to her to wash her hands given the glass was held together with lead soldering, even though Belinda had cleaned up the glass after she had finished it. Sam turned it over and ran her fingers over the more grained side of the glass. All the texture. All the feeling.
Indeed, once Belinda showed up, she was quick to hand it back to her and clean off her hands in the kitchen.
"So I might not show up to school tomorrow," she was saying with a raise of her eyebrows, which in turn made her seem more of a little doll than the day before, "it's all upstate as far as I know. I might say hi to Joey on the way up there."
Sam returned to that thought she had had in the school hallway: the idea of making a stained glass rendition of Joey himself. She was about to tell Belinda about it but she had already left the apartment. But the more she thought about it, the more she needed to tell someone about it, and Marla and Charlie soon left afterwards as well.
Cliff had taken his seat on the couch with his hat placed on the seat right next to him. She turned to him with her hands clasped before her stomach. He leaned forward and reached into his shirt pocket for something: she spotted the edge of the little white box. It was such a habit that he had and yet it perturbed her without an extent.
She thought about Joey and his struggles as well. It was such a strange thing to suggest to him given they hadn't known each other for very long, but she had to tell someone, and she had to give their relationship something more than what was already presented to her.
"Cliff?" she blurted out, and he raised his head to her.
"Can I tell you something?"
"Sure. You can tell me anything."
"It's two things, actually."
He nodded his head. "Go right ahead, my lady."
That beckoned a smile from her and she moved in closer to him. She hovered above him, still her hands clasped right in front of her stomach as if it was upset.
"The first thing is—the glass," she started.
"Oh, yeah. That stuff is sick."
"Yesterday, at school, when the three of us were looking at the windows in the hallway, I thought of making a glass rendering of Joey at some point."
He raised his eyebrows at that.
"Really?"
"Wait. You don't think it's ridiculous?"
"Like I said, I want you to be the best artist you can be. Much like myself with my bass playing. That actually sounds really cool—like Joey's gonna love that if and when you get to do that."
"I'm thinking of drawing a full body thing of him, too," she continued, "kind of like what I did with you."
"Again, he's gonna love it. He'll probably freak, actually." Another crack of that Mona Lisa smile; he kept his fingers on the little white box nestled down in his shirt pocket.
"And the other thing is—" She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Silence. Neither of them moved.
"Is what?"
"I wish you wouldn't smoke," she said in a small voice. She kept her eyes closed. "You have too nice of skin and flesh. I wish you wouldn't do those things."
Silent still. She didn't move.
The sound of fabric rustling caught her attention. The feel of his lips on her forehead made her open her eyes; he towered over her with a thoughtful look on his handsome face.
"Funny," he started, "I've actually been trying to stop smoking. Drinking, too. I like eating too much and sometimes when I drink, I don't enjoy Marsha's food so much."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Blame Alex—hanging around him a little bit has made me reconsider it. He always chokes and gags at the smell of it. He's always like 'oh my god, holy shit!'" He lowered his voice to an almost cartoonish manner to where it brought a laugh out of her. "It's true! But now I see that—my girl isn't too crazy about it. I'll make a better effort to stop."
He then bowed forward and planted a kiss on her forehead yet again.
"It's best we take care of the little dolls of the world," he said in a low voice.
"You guys do love your female fans after all," she recalled.
"We do! We really do, such that we'll do anything for them. For the ones closest to us."