The gold Rolls Royce pulled up at the closed driveway gate of a house that resembled a miniature Versailles -- or maybe the palatial aspect was due to the sheer amplitude of illumination set up around the place. Spotlights, neon, incandescent, halogen and florescent glittered from every possible angle out and about the dwelling. A sea of vehicles was awash across the front lawn: an auto show had arrived at the palace.
Giles' blond abductress had been on the cell phone since she'd slammed the door on the pursuing vampires. The Watcher felt as though he'd been force fed a telephone course on Hollywood business deals, publicity planning, and the sexual mores of the rich and famous. All the while the black Thunderbird had remained centered in the rear view mirror. At least Spike hadn't lost his mind to the point of trying to take on the Rolls Royce.
Roland, the chauffeur, triggered open an electronic gate and drove in. The gate promptly clanged shut behind them, almost taking out the front bumper of Spike's car.
"Are we here, finally?" the Material Girl said as Roland pulled the car up to the front door. "Thank Gawd. Did you see Andre's Porsche?"
"Don't think he's here yet," Roland said.
"Bastard. I go to all this trouble to line up a date for tonight and my fiancé's holed up with some bimbo somewhere else." She kicked her door open and stormed out. "I mean, what's the point of my even trying?"
The cowpeople/bodyguards had swarmed out of the Rolls and were dispersing around either side of the house. Loud music, splashing, and boisterous conversation echoed out from beyond.
Roland sighed -- the sound of the long-suffering -- and moved around to release Giles from the car. "She's a little hyper tonight," he said, a note of apology in his voice. "Look, hang around for a bit, enjoy the party, I'll drive you back as soon as I can."
"Roland." She was waiting at the door to the house, infuriation written in her stance.
Spike's Thunderbird had backed away from the gate, and had joined the company of the numerous other vehicles parked on the lawn outside the front fence. Giles could feel Spike glaring at him even from this distance. He hastened to follow Roland through the front door.
The Material Girl promptly clamped onto his arm again, furious scowl morphing into glittering smile in a heartbeat. "Hi-ye, everybody!" she chirped. "Did you miss me?"
The mob of people clustered in the front hallway twittered an affirmative. She latched an arm around his waist and dragged Giles out to them.
"Everybody, this is -- uh -- " She looked at him with a frown.
"Uh, Rudy Gill," he offered.
"Rudy Gill." Her smile flashed back into place. "A very dear friend." She purred the 'dear', and he braced himself for another kiss.
"Oh, Jocasta, have the boys from the Stone arrived yet?" She let loose of him and waved at the brunette who'd let them in. Giles felt unaccountably cheated.
"No, and Vogue isn't here yet either," the doorwoman said.
"Shit, who's handling publicity with the rags these days? Where's Frank?" The Star disappeared down the short hallway, towards the frenetic rumble of party sounds.
Somebody pounded on the door. Jocasta opened it onto Spike and six of his henchmen. Giles froze under their collective hungry glare.
"Yeah?" Jocasta said, apparently unimpressed by all the leather and attitude.
Spike stepped forward, then stopped. He suddenly seemed at a loss. "There's a party going on," he said, lamely.
"Yep. So there is. You got an invitation, boy genius?"
"Don't we have an invitation?" Spike tried, looking at her very hard. The mesmerisation effect didn't seem to be working, though. Jocasta continued to stare at him.
Giles leaned against the wall, very fascinated by all this. Spike tried to kill him with a look. That didn't work either.
"Look, luv," Spike said, leaning close to the doorwoman, exuding charm. "Don't you agree that we look like we must have invites to such a winning party as this?"
She grinned at him and eyed him up and down salaciously. "Well-ll," she purred.
He leaned closer.
"Nope."
Spike's insinuating smile vanished, and his gaze nailed back up to Giles again.
The Watcher couldn't resist. He gave the vampire the finger and stepped away towards the depths of the party.
Cordelia pulled her car up onto the lawn and turned off the ignition. "Wow," she said, forgetting to pretend that she wasn't impressed. Amid the Porsches, Rolls Royces, McLarens, Cadillacs, her BMW seemed . . . well, dowdy.
Buffy was craning out the window again. "Anybody see Spike's car?" She climbed out the window to land with a bounce outside. Copper and Willow followed suite through their back-seat window.
"Hey, guys, there's these things called doors?" Cordelia complained. Why was she feeling like a put-upon parent tonight? The curse of being the only one with wheels. . .
Lili got off Xander's lap and crawled out the other window. Xander looked after her with a lapdog face. Cordelia scowled back at him and threw her door open. Xander climbed over the seat and began to hunt around on the floor. He surfaced with Cordelia's sunglasses in hand and put them on.
"Hey!"
"You don't want them to get broken," Xander said reasonably, fending her hands off.
Copper moved to the door and grinned at him. "Sunglasses don't work with Lili," she said, jiggling the spectacles on her nose.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Xander said. And, more quietly. "Rats."
"You got a camera?" Copper asked Cordelia.
Cordelia got out, slammed the door shut, and tramped around to the trunk. Hauling aside the racquetball gear, water ski bindings, and cheerleader pompoms, she finally unearthed a designer bag with her photographic equipment in it. She hadn't used it since that night when Devon and she'd . . . She blanched. "What do you want it for? 'Cause -- uh -- there's no film in it."
"Prop," Copper said. "Okay, girls, line up." She shoved Xander to one side, and eyed the others dubiously.
"Okay," she sighed, and thrust the camera bag into Cordelia's hands. "You go first. We're all with you."
"With me, in what?" Cordelia said, finding herself being propelled through the frontwalk gate and up the walkway by the insistent redheaded DJ. "Hey, don't those two guys by the door look kind of like vampires?"
"Don't worry," Buffy reassured from somewhere behind her. "I'm getting the hang of this honing thing finally, and I'm not honing any vampires here yet."
The door opened and a bored-looking woman peered out. "Yeah?"
"We're from Cosmopolitan," Copper said from Cordelia's side. An elbow dug Cordelia in the ribs.
She tried a smile and fumbled the camera from its bag. "Like, we were invited?"
"Could of fooled me," the doorwoman said with a sneer. "What are they paying you people these days?" She threw the door open. "The Lady's out back."
Giles couldn't decide if he was over-dressed or under- dressed for this particular party. The guests seemed to be either in expensive designer suits or denim cut-offs, with little room in between for variation. Since he had no real desire to mix, he supposed he should take it as a blessing that he so apparently didn't belong here. He still felt like a wildebeest in a swarm of gazelles. The fact that he was sweaty, dusty, tea-spattered, tired, thirsty, and hungry didn't help the comparatives either.
People were eating, he finally came round to noticing. Of course, at the typical party, refreshments were usually part of the business. He began to prowl around on the fringes of the celebrations on the lookout for the refreshments. Fortunately, he didn't have to look far. He seized a tray of sausage and cheese hors d'oeuvres, pocketed an iced bottle of mineral water, and ducked into the nearest doorway.
The room, done up in varying degrees of white, was equipped with every variety of electronic entertainment device. It had been set up to accommodate overflow from the party. Sparkly decorations had been hung overhead and the main entertainment center was fired up and running with the sound on low.
Nobody had yet invaded this sanctuary; Giles found himself blessedly alone.
An immense white sofa sat at the exact middle of the room, offering a prime seat for the big-screen capering of his hostess. He moved around to the front of it; and in the act of sitting down, was greeted by a low growl.
Giles turned, then backed away, staring at fangs and dark glistening eyes.
The dog sat up and gave him a hostile stare.
"Good dog," he said. Its ears came up, and it fixed its attention on the tray in his hands. It whined.
He tossed it a sausage, which it snapped up out of mid- air. It jumped down from the sofa and advanced, its plumed tail waving.
"Good dog," Giles said faintly, backing up across the room. Another growl behind him stopped him in his tracks. A wet nose prodded his ankle.
Two more of the creatures were sitting up on the couch, yawning and licking their chops. They were immense, white and black-spotted beasts, of a breed once used to hunt wolves across the Russian steppes. All -- eight of them that he could see now -- staring hungrily at him.
One by one they each stood, and then as a group they reared up on their haunches, front paws waving in the air, and stared at him with sad-puppy eyes.
"Now what?" Cordelia asked, somewhat breathlessly, as the group of young people stood on the fringes of the party. It spilled throughout the sizeable house, upstairs and downstairs and basement-wards, and out back to the expected swimming pool. Nobody was paying their group the least bit of attention, which she found galling and helpless to remedy. What had seemed a really hot dress for the Bronze was really lame for here. She imagined the cutting remarks being directed their way, and shuddered.
"Split up," Buffy decided. "I'll go out back. Lili and Copper check out upstairs. Cordelia, you're the basement. Willow and Xander, you guys circulate here."
"I'll check out the kitchen," Xander volunteered.
Willow found herself alone in the midst of a really sophisticated crowd in a real Hollywood-type party. Wearing a fuzzy pink jumpdress and sneakers. And a cowboy hat. Well, at least the cowboy hat was original. Even if it wasn't really her idea.
Oh, and it was just after midnight now, if her Anastasia watch hadn't stopped again. She winced. How had the time gone by so fast? She was supposed to have been home an hour ago. Would her parents believe that Cordelia's car had broken down again?
Probably. She should call them, but her chances of their believing her excuse were probably not so good unless she could get to a telephone where sexy dance music and chattering party people weren't hanging around in the background. Willow pulled the cowboy hat down over her eyes and slunk through the crowd in search of a quiet room.
Xander was in the kitchen, scarfing down tortilla chips and entertaining two young, gorgeous sun-tanned model-types with his usual Xander-antics. They seemed amused. Willow hoped they were just humoring him.
She moved past the kitchen towards the back of the house, where there seemed to be fewer people. Maybe she'd even find Giles here. She suspected that, like her, he'd be drawn to a zone of relative quiet.
She moved out into a barely-lit, tiled atrium. It was all glass and greenery, almost a jungle except for the big- screen-television (sound muted) and wicker chairs. There was a telephone on a table by one of the chairs, but somebody was already using it.
He half-turned towards her. "I'll be done in a minute."
"No hurry." Willow sat down in a wicker chair a discreet distance away, and glanced nervously about. Just two of them, the party a faint hum in the background. He didn't seem like the vampire type, but she supposed there was always a first.
"Fine. I'll call in the morning. We'll do breakfast," Willow heard him say. She relaxed slightly; vampires rarely, if ever, 'did breakfast'. Still, she stood and stepped back as he hung up and turned to go. He paused and looked at her curiously. "Marianne? Is that you?"
Willow's mouth fell open. "I don't think so," she squeaked.
He frowned and looked at her more closely. "I'm sorry. You look a lot like a girl I used to know. Same hat, even. You've never gone by that name?"
"I would've remembered. Mr. Cuzack," she squeaked again.
He shook his head and smiled. "My loss then. The phone's all yours now."
Spike came back around to the front door. Where the bloody hell had those two slayer-bait henchmen he'd left up front gone to? Bad enough that he couldn't get any closer to this cattle party than the gates, now his backup was sneaking off into the bushes.
He grabbed Dalton out by the scruff of the neck. "You know," he said. "I really need to hurt somebody about now."
"The Slayer," Dalton babbled. "She went in. She and her friends --"
"The Slayer." Spike scowled. "How did the Slayer get an invite to this friggin' party?"
"They -- they lied. They said they were from a magazine," Dalton bleated. "The woman let them in!"
Spike set him down and straightened his coat. "All right," he said. "What they can do, I can do." He knocked on the door.
The same dark-haired woman answered the door. "Oh, no. Not you again."
Spike smiled. "Guess you misunderstood, luv. We're with that other lot. You know --"
"We're with Cosmopolitan Magazine," Dalton said eagerly.
The woman stared at Spike, then at Dalton. She grinned.
The door slammed in their faces.
Cordelia found herself in the basement. The space looked like it usually served as some kind of really bizarre exercise room, although some of the machines down here hinted at recreation of a kind that she really didn't want to try to imagine. Not that that stopped her.
She also discovered that her possession of a camera was gaining her a popularity that she hadn't expected, given her current awful state of fashion. People kept smiling at her and striking idiotic poses. Cordelia smiled toothily back and snapped a few shots. That only seemed to encourage them.
A runty creature dressed in a purple and green culotte approached her, smiling with a nauseating friendliness. "Hey, you're from Rolling Stone, aren't you? You recognize me! Spacy Bridges? 'Cause you might not, on account of I had my hair dyed orange."
"Oh, sure," Cordelia said, wavering between condescension and uncertainty.
"Hey, like why don'cha you take my picture. I'll loll across the pool table, like this. And the rest of my band can, kinda, sit around me looking constipated. Don'cha think that would make a real spurkin' picture?"
"Spurkin'," Cordelia said, smiling back. Oh no! She'd never heard that word before. She was so out of the loop here.
"Hey, you're from the Stone!" a young man, suntanned and bleached-blonded to a crisp, oozed at her. "You can take a picture of me holding this pool cue, like this cool James Dean/Minnesota Fats thing."
"Get blown, pudge-face," Spacy said. "Musicians and has- been soap stars don't mix."
"My contract was renewed for this season," he sniffed back at her.
A silver-haired man placed a hand on Cordelia's arm and drew her slightly away. "Maybe the lady would prefer to photograph somebody more familiar to the public eye," he suggested, with a wink.
Spacy sneered. "Her heart's all aflutter after the Friendly Otto Rentals spokesman."
Otto smiled at the orange-haired woman with a creepy smarminess. "Perhaps she simply wants to avoid having her camera lens break."
More people pressed in around Cordelia, eagerly offering to do a pool table pose.
"Quiet!" Cordelia suddenly said. Conversation around her hushed. Eyes turned expectantly towards her. "Oooh. I have an idea." She smiled.
She was posing the unknown rock star, the soap actor and Friendly Otto in a chummy, underwear'ed wrap-around huddle on a Twister mat spread across the pool table with a potted cactus and a pyramid of Dos Equis beer bottles thrown into the shot for good measure, when she spotted Giles, trailed by a pack of borzois, passing by on the patio outside where the doors opened out to the swimming pool area.
"You guys wait right there," Cordelia said, and took off after the errant librarian.
Xander saw Willow walk past the kitchen. She looked dazed. He supposed he'd better go help her. Besides, the two women he'd been trying to impress were impressing themselves elsewhere. His staging of the Star Wars Death Star battle using tortilla chips, a Dr. Pepper can, and grapes hadn't been quite the success he'd hoped for. Willow would have laughed.
He made his way out to her, trying to look properly contrite for having abandoned her. "Any luck, Will?"
"Yes! Uh -- no. Uh -- I don't know."
"As long as you're sure, Will."
A disturbance in the pulse of the party alerted them to the imminent arrival of Somebody Important.
It was Giles' kidnapper, cutting a glittering swathe through the party. "Jocasta!" she yelled, making tracks towards the front entryway. Willow and Xander looked at each other, then followed. "Isn't anybody here yet?"
"Some guys from Cosmopolitan," the doorwoman yelled back. "Oh, and Roland called from the garage. Andre just rolled in."
"Finally. Now where did Rudy go?"
"Last I saw him, he was headed out back with the dogs."
"Men," the blonde ranted. "They're never around when you need them. Her eyes locked onto Xander. "Well, hello! I haven't seen you around here before."
Xander backed away. "I -- I'm with her." He pulled Willow around in front of him. "We're with that magazine."
"Cosmopolitan," Willow said brightly.
"That's fine. I just love magazine people to death." She glided up and insinuated herself between Willow and Xander.
A pounding sounded at the door.
"Aren't you going to get that, Jocasta?" the blonde yelled.
Jocasta was perched on a stool by the door, filing her nails. "It's just these guys trying to crash. They've been trying to get in for half a hour now."
"Are they cute?"
"Well, yeah."
"Invite them in then." Primadonna grabbed Xander and Willow by the arms and steered them back towards the party. "It's not as if we've got enough really cute people here, after all."