Sam heard the whistles, the cheers and stood there, entranced.  She was amazing.  The stage loved her- so much so that it reflected to a damn good night of tips when he tended bar. He outdid himself tonight.  No question.

It turned out his boss Artie sent the alarm that he needed a new singer for the house band. The last chick Artie hired, Rachel-(yeah, that was her name) Sam tried to block her out.  Within the few weeks she hit the stage, not only did the patrons drink less, but quickly hauled ass. Damn, how he dreaded working those nights. She messed with his tips and his income. Not an option. Apparently, Artie caught on and booted her. Good thing Sam listened to his sixth sense and stayed to "assist" his boss with the auditions. One by one the frauds strolled in, thinking "looks" would get them the gig. Those lipstick dolls never counted on Artie being the second coming of Simon Cowell or that he knew his shit.  Sam remembered two of them left in tears.  Another slashed the tires on Artie's new Aston Martin.  Then Miss Mercedes Jones walked in.

The minute those stilettos sauntered through the door, her sassy strut stopped all movement around her.  Mercedes walked onto the stage.  Her hips sashayed slightly as she grabbed the mike stand and closed her eyes.  

"I don't want nobody..."

Sam watched her caress the mike, like she was seducing a lover:

"Always sitting around me and my man.

I don't want nobody

Always sitting right there

Looking at me and that man."

Mercedes cocooned the room into a trance. Artie squealed, clutching his hand to his chest. Even Karofsky and Puckerman, Artie's two best bouncers seemed ensnared in her web. Dammit, this girl...Sam licked his lips.  Why did his mouth feel so dry? Sam envisioned her hips swaying; imagined her body in tuned with his, her bountiful breasts bouncing up and down-

"Hey buddy," a voice piped up. "Can I get a Labatt's and an Appletini?"

 Sam gave a halfhearted grin and strolled over to the register.

 "Thank you, thank you," Mercedes announced as she settled the crowd. "Is everyone having a good time?" She heard the cheers and smiled.  "So, you're telling me that you want one more?  What you think guys?" She turned to her bandmates.  More cheers piped up. 

Mercedes laughed.  "Well, let's slow it down, shall we?" She gave two quick nods. Suddenly the stage light dimmed.

"When your baby leaves you all alone..."

 A smoky guitar riff wailed through the silence.

 "And nobody calls you on the phone. Don't ya feel like cryin', don't ya feel like cryin'-

  Well, here I am honey, c'mon, you cry to me."

  She winked at her band mates and continued.

"When you're all alone in your lonely room

 And there's nothing but the smell of her perfume

 Don't ya feel like cryin', don't ya feel like cryin'

Don't ya feel like cryin', c'mon, c'mon, you cry to me."

She smiled as the lead guitar wailed out its bluesy lament.  Its melody channeled through the stage, captured by the sheer fierceness of her voice. She zeroed in on Sam.

"Nothin' can be sadder than a glass of wine alone

Loneliness, loneliness, such a waste of time, oh yeah

You don't ever have to walk alone, oh you see, oh c'mon

Take my hand, baby won't ya walk with me? Oh yeah."

The din of the crowd faded. Sam recognized that familiar tingling of his ears.

"When you're waitin' for a voice to come

Late, Late in the night but there is no one

Don't ya feel like cryin'? (Cry to me) Don't ya feel like cryin'?(Cry to me)"

Sam experienced chills as Mercedes caressed the final note. Her pillow talk confession left him spellbound. Meanwhile, the audience went ballistic.

Time to let the swag bomb explode, Evans.  His mind began to race.  He knew he needed to start with flowers- a killer combination of orchids and roses maybe? Dinner at the new restaurant everyone clamored to be seen in? Sam searched his memory- what the hell was it called? Oh yeah.  Heliotrope. Good thing his friend Joe worked there. Joe owed him a favor anyway...

"She's exquisite, isn't she?" a deep male voice dropped in.  "Breathtaking. The most beautiful rose among the thorns."

Sam turned toward the owner of that ludicrous voice.   Was he for real?   

"Good evening, barkeep," the stranger stated with a salute. "I say, old friend... might you possibly know the name of that enchanting nightingale that graced us onstage?"

"I sure as hell am not your friend." Sam responded under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" the patron inquired.

Sam sized him up.  The jerkoff reminded him of those wannabe basic "Hollywood Types".  The perfectly coifed Young Hollywood hairstyle; the right amount of facial hair.  He displayed an acceptable quantity of muscles but not too much.  Add the accent and for most women, it was a wrap.  Yeah, he didn't like this asshole at all.  No way in hell was a punk ass like him going to add Ms. Pretty to his collection.

"I said, what'll you have?" Sam asked.

"Sorry mate, got distracted there."

Sam knew that look.  The universal look all men get when they sense new punani in the woods-

"Hi, Sam. Usual please." Mercedes said as she reached for the stool. She peeked over as the gentleman moved her chair.  "Thank you."

"Nice set, Miss Jones-"Sam replied.

"Yes, quite." his competition cut in, "So, does an alluring temptress go by last name only or is the first name kept secret?"

How dare he come in my bar and jump claim?  Sam watched as a smile caressed her face. She can't be falling for the bullshit?  Don't do it, don't do it, he silently begged.

Mercedes flipped a curl back. "Only to strangers."

Damn, she fell for it. This motha-

"I ask your forgiveness then.  How rude of me."

The mysterious admirer reached for her hand.

"Remington Ravensdale.  Only my true friends call me Remy." He gently kissed her hand. "Might I be so bold to consider you a personal acquaintance?  Please, if you will allow me?  Scotch and soda, barkeep and whatever the lady is having."

"Oh no, I... I couldn't," Mercedes stammered.

"I insist.  It would be the least I can do, Miss Jones, is it?"

She grinned.  "Mercedes."

Sam had enough. It took him nearly two months to lay the groundwork and now this ignorant fuck swoops in and thinks he can get the panties to drop just like that?   Bitch, this is my house and you gone learn today...

He quickly mixed the drinks and set them on the bar.

"Did you want to get a tab going?" Sam asked, hoping the charm he displayed would not rise like bile in his throat.

His rival nodded, whipped out a credit card, still directing all of his attention to Mercedes.

"Thank you, barkeep... now where were we?  Oh yes, you were about to reveal all that is Mercedes Jones."

Sam turned to the register and rolled his eyes.  This fuckery was past ridiculous.  An impish smile played on Sam's lips.

Sam faced his adversary.  "I'm sorry sir, but it's been declined."

"Impossible."

Sam shrugged.  "Sorry, I tried it twice..."

Sam saw the asshole's face deflate a bit.  How's that trick for your ass?

However, it was short lived by the charmer's abrupt recovery. "No worries."

Another card surfaced.  "Miss Mercedes, perhaps we can continue this conversation in a more remote location? May I impose on your time?"

Mercedes seemed enthralled.  Sam tried desperately to ignore the knots in his stomach.   

"I might have a few minutes." she replied, her brown orbs brightening and sparkling.

Not today. Sam let a few seconds tick by.

"Seems this one suffered the same fate.  I'm sorry."

"Must be some mistake. Try it again." the challenger hissed.

"No problem."

 Sam complied; making sure there was no knowledge of the sleight of hand about to go down.  He realized it didn't matter because they were too wrapped up in each other to notice.  Sam gave the best sympathetic head shake he could muster. 

"It appears the card's been declined as well."

 Damn, he was enjoying the hell out of this. He sensed the guy's anger on the bubble.  Time to twist the knife. "Perhaps the gentleman has another method of payment?"

"Um," Mercedes began, pointing to the stage.  "I gotta go. The band's calling me."

"Must you?" Remington asked. 

Mercedes nodded and shook his hand.  "It was nice to meet you."

Remy returned the nod, supplementing a pathetic smile in the process.

Both men had no choice but to be enraptured as Mercedes walked away.  They sighed and shook their heads in appreciation.

"Maybe next time," Sam said as he wiped the bar down.

"Thanks," Remy answered.  "I'm not sure what happened there."

You tried to fuck up my swag.  Payback and karma go hand in hand, asshole.

Sam waved his hand. "Don't worry.  It happens to the best of us.  Since you had a bad night, why don't I just let it slide?"

Sam anticipated the answer.  "It's alright."

Remy gave a questionable glance.

"We're good." Sam added reassuringly.

"Thanks, man."

Remy shook Sam's hand.  "I owe you, old friend.  Let me know if there's anything you need. Consider it handled."

Sam nodded in acceptance.  Sam watched his opponent shuffle out the door. He signaled one of the bouncers.

"Yeah bro, what up?" Puck asked.

"Did you get a good look at the guy who just left?"

Puck scanned the entryway and then back at Sam. "Why?"

"Cause, he tried to stiff me on the tab.  If he shows up here, you know what to do."

"Done."

They bumped fists, clinching the deal.