Giles pulled the yellow Lamborghini up to the curbside and turned off the ignition.
"Here we are!" Lena said. Her auburn and grey curls had come loose during the wild drive and fallen into her face, giving her the look of a bedlamite. "All safe and sound. I don't know what you were worried about, darling. You make a fine chauffeur."
"You really left those cops behind in a cloud of dust," Cordelia said admiringly. "I bet they're still trying to get their cars out of that gully. And I've never been in a car going up at an angle like that before. Do you think that all the tires really left the ground when we came over the rim?" She shoved the door open and crawled off his lap, out of the car.
Giles let his head fall against the steering wheel and hyperventilated.
Outside, Cordelia staggered, leaned against the car, then abruptly slid down onto her rump in the middle of the street.
"Are you all right?" Giles lifted his head long enough to regard her.
"Just let me catch my breath." Cordelia suddenly realized that she was sitting in an oil spot. "Ewww! Like you couldn't have caught me? This dress is never going to recover from tonight."
"It's a good thing you aren't wearing something really nice then," Lena said cheerfully from the passenger seat. She shoved Boris the borzoi out of her lap onto the pavement and climbed out. "Just leave the Lamborghini here, darling. I'll have Morrison send somebody to move it."
Giles poked his head out to look around. They were up in the City now -- getting further and further away from home. This looked like the arts district. Theaters, cafes, bookstores, and galleries lined the street. Many of them were still open. Swarms of people moved up and down the walks.
He checked his watch. 1:07 AM. And he'd always thought of himself as being alone when he was up and around at this hour.
He got out on shaky legs, reached down to give Cordelia a hand up, and instead joined her on the street.
"A lot of help you are," the teenager grumbled. Using the car as a prop, she scrambled to her feet. "Wow."
"I do not want to hear 'Wow' tonight," Giles said.
"Come on, kids." Lena popped out from around the front end of the Lamborghini. "You don't want to sit around in the street; somebody'll mistake you for drunks and try to philosophize at you.'
Giles climbed to his feet and leaned on the side of the car. They were parked in front of a brightly lit theater. He hadn't seen it clearly when they'd first pulled up, but now he had to grudgingly agree with Cordelia's 'Wow'.
Over the entrance, 'THE LAST REEL CINEMA' was lit up in bright neons, rimmed by the prototypical cinematic 'crawling light bulb' effect. The marquee read "Joey Manndecker Film Retrospective". It was a small theater, but the antique art deco doors and stained glass windows were anything but unassuming. A lush blue carpet led up to the double doors.
Lena seized Giles and Cordelia by the arms and moved them up the blue carpet and inside. Boris followed close on their heels. She led them to a concessions counter that was doing double-duty as the ticket booth. A young Marilyn Monroe look-alike in 1940's usher garb sat there, reading 'Variety'.
"Hello," she said to the girl. "Lena Wertheimer and guests."
The girl straightened and smiled toothily. "Ms. Wertheimer! Joey's been asking about you all evening."
"Oh, I don't know why," Lena grumbled. "He knows I never show for these things before midnight."
"I wanted to say how much I really liked your last movie," the girl continued brightly.
"You're lovely, but is was a piece of shit," Lena said graciously. "Look honey, if you're looking for a part, talk to Rory over there. He's filming now, and he's always looking for young, good-looking talent. Me, I'm going to make a embarrassingly sappy talking-animals thing next."
She turned to Giles and Cordelia -- "Wait for me a minute while I say hi to Rory," -- then glided across the lobby towards a stocky, muscular man who was peering restlessly through the front windows.
"Ohmygod," Cordelia said in a small voice. "She's Lena Wertheimer."
"She did say that, yes," Giles agreed.
"She's a film director!" Cordelia said. "Oh no, and look at me."
Giles glanced at her. "You look perfectly fine, Cordelia. A little disheveled, perhaps --"
Cordelia bolted for the Ladies Room across the lobby.
Lena strolled back over, the stocky man on her arm. "Rupert, this is Rory Vitali. Where's your young friend? Rory was thinking she might like to do a walk-on in his film."
"She -- she got a bit of stage fright," Giles said with a nod at the restrooms.
"We'll let the girl have her quiet time then. Let's go in. She can catch up with us there."
"I think I'd better wait for her," Giles demurred.
"Don't worry. All of the dilettantes will have left around midnight, so the theater shouldn't be that crowded. She'll be able to find us with no trouble. Are you coming, Rory?"
"Maybe later." The man didn't look happy. "My A.D. was supposed to have been here hours ago."
"You're still shooting, down the street?" Lena dug through her bag and came up with a crumpled cigarette packet.
"Crap, yes," Rory accepted a cigarette from the proffered packet. "Same scene. We need thirty fuckin' seconds of wind. You know how much money I'm going through each night waiting for it? In the meantime, my film crew is sneaking off into the alleys for munchies, and my cast is locked up in their trailers playing Monopoly."
"Rent a wind machine. You get you your shot, and you're out of there," Lena said. She offered the cigarette pack to Giles. He shook has head.
Rory snorted. "Look, if I'm going to take shortcuts, I might as well start filming television documentaries. I am going to have a word with the local news station about their weather forecasts."
"You're such a perfectionist, darling. That's why we love you." She pecked Rory on one stubbled cheek. "When that brunette comes out of the Little Girls Room, send her in after us, will you? And don't creep her out? Not everybody knows how to take you."
"Sure, sure," Rory said, puffing through half his cigarette. "Give Joey a kiss for me."
She laced an arm through Giles' and led him into the inner theater.
It was an intimate but lavishly decorated venue, with plush seats, blue and green carpeting on the aisles, and art deco murals on the walls. The viewing screen, respectably large for such a small theater, was currently lit up with a black and white movie. The overhead lights were on (dimmed). The two or three dozen people who were seated throughout the room seemed to be more engrossed in their various conversations than they were in the film. There was a thin haze of tobacco smoke in the air.
"Ah, there!" Lena clutched at Gile's arm. "Joey!"
"Lena! Darling!" A young man, dressed in black and sporting a goatee that looked far too old for him, sprang up from among the mid-theater seats. "I've been saving these seats for you all night!"
Lena smiled and pulled Giles on down the aisle. She released him to gather Joey in her arms. "Oh, you know me. The most interesting films in any retrospective are the smaller ones they save for the cognoscenti for later in the night."
Joey took her leather jacket. "Come sit, you and your friends." He nodded at Giles and Boris the dog with equal interest. "I want to hear all about what you think of this piece."
"Is this 'The Millennium Swine'?"
"Yes." He nodded eagerly. "I finished it last month. It's seeing its debut tonight. Except for my masters thesis committee, of course. They had to see it first."
Joey hustled them forward, seating Lena first, then pressing Giles into a seat. He sat down next to Giles. Boris jumped onto the empty seat next to Joey. "You see, the thesis committee totally overlooked the whole theme of the film. Am I being so subtle that I'm losing the more plebeian mainstream audience?" He gave Giles a poke with his elbow. "What do you think?"
"Um -- well perhaps if I actually watched some of the film first," Giles said, staring at the screen. Several emaciated actresses dressed in red lame bodysuits and African fright masks were hopping around on one leg about what looked to be a forest of barber poles.
"You see?" Joey said to Lena on Giles' other side.
"It's just what I was saying earlier about experimental films, darling," Lena said as she fussed through her belongings. "It depends on whom you regard as your audience, of course. Do you have a light? I'm fresh out of matches."
Joey reached over with a slim gold-plated lighter and lit her cigarette. He accepted her offer of a cigarette and lit up, then passed the pack to Giles.
"Oh, hell," Giles said. He took one, accepted a light, and offered the pack back to Lena, who motioned him to keep it. There went fifteen years of abstinence out the window. These were some unfiltered European brand too. The nicotine hit his system in a furious rush.
"I dunno," Joey continued, staring moodily at the screen. "Maybe I should revert to post-modernism for the next film. At least then everybody will get the symbolism."
"Darling, don't sweat it." Lena sighed and leaned her head back against the seat, sending a puff of smoke ceiling-ward. "Just grab them by the balls. Once you've done that, you can throw anything at all in. They'll read their own meanings into it anyway."
"You know," Joey said eagerly, leaning past Giles to grasp her wrist, "I had a vision about that."
Lena opened one eye and looked at him, a smile quirking her lips.
"I could recast 'Millennium Swine' into a Spielbergian mold," Joey continued. "'The Thousand Year Pig'. The basic thematic structure remains the same: The psycho-sexual dynamics of the predator-prey motif."
"Obsession," Lena sighed, still smiling at him.
"Of course." Joey waved at the on-screen caperings of his actresses. "'Swine' is 'au naturaliste': The predator lies in wait. The straggler from the herd stumbles into his line of sight. He stalks. Something alerts her to her danger; perhaps a shift of the wind brings a certain musk to her quivering nostrils. They flare. Her eyes roll in impassioned terror. Seeing his intended's alarm, the predator gathers together his superbly muscled body. He strikes!" He snatched Lena's hand in his fist. The woman shrieked, then giggled. Giles jumped back in his chair.
"Well, that time he missed." Joey grinned at her, still holding her hand. "Does he continue her pursuit of her? Nature is a pragmatist, after all. No, he sinks back into the grass, grooms his fur, forgets her and waits for the next straggler."
"But." He pressed Lena's hand between both of his. "That's not the predator who pursues us in our nightmares."
"Do tell," she said, smiling wickedly.
"It's a classic tale, of course." Joey leaned slowly towards her. "The tale of pursuit. 'Jaws', 'Jurassic Park', 'Alien', 'The Terminator'. The predator is unreasoning in the pursuit of his object. Relentless."
"Um -- shall I go get some refreshments?" Giles tried to interject, cringing back in his seat.
"He never gives up," Joey said. "Why? Is it natural, this obsession with the pursued? Can he possibly satiate any mundane hunger in the culmination of the aggression? Perpetually frustrated, still he persists until all that is left is the sheer force of his lust for her. The Sexual Hunger becomes All."
"Oh, yes, precisely," Lena breathed, leaning into his gaze.
"Refreshments," Giles said. "I thought. I'd go get. Yes?"
"Hmmm?" Lena peered intently into Joey's eyes for another heartbeat, then looked at him. "Oh. Super idea, Rupert. You go ahead. We'll save your seat."
The two directors let loose of each other and sat back urbanely in their seats, continuing to puff away at their cigarettes. Giles got up and edged along the seats, keeping a wary eye on his erstwhile companions. He collided with a couple coming down the side aisle.
"Pardon me!" he gasped, grabbing the woman by the elbow to steady her from a fall.
"That's all right," she said. Then, "Mr. Giles?"
"Oh, hello, Mrs. Summers!" he exclaimed. "I didn't expect to. . . ah. . ."
"I didn't know that you were interested in art films," she said. "Uh --" She looked at her companion, a tall, blond man. "This is Lars -- uh, Mr. Lundgren. One of my artists -- one of my gallery's artists."
Lars grinned. "We were installing some of my pieces at the theater next door. You should take time to look. It's a very interesting exhibit."
Joyce smiled nervously. "Oh, I don't think he'd be interested in that show." She looked at Giles. "You don't have to go simply because you know me. In fact, I wish you wouldn't."
Lars winked at Giles. "If, however, you appreciate fine erotic art --"
"Well, we won't delay you." Joyce hesitated, chewing at her lip. "On the off-chance that you see Buffy sometime this week. . . Well, it's embarrassing. I made a big thing about how she was supposed to be home by midnight tonight. And Lars and I got -- involved in installing this exhibit. It took longer than we expected."
"I won't tell her I saw you here," Giles promised.
"It's nothing really." Joyce laughed. "I'm sure she's sound asleep by now. No need to worry her."
"No. No problem," he agreed.
"Oh, Rupert!" Lena waved at him from down the row. "Would you be a doll and get me some candy from the snack bar." She pulled a greenback from her purse and held it out. "Those crunchy oblong things. And get dear Boris a small bag of popcorn.
"You could also get me some malted milk balls and a large cappucino," Joey added. "Much thanks."
"Are you Rupert's friends?" Lena said to Joyce. "Do sit with us! The dear man saved my life tonight, and I'm just dying to thank him."
Joyce looked at Giles indecisively, but Lars waded in grinning jovially. "You're the film-maker, right? Joey Manndecker? My name is Lars Lundgren. Maybe you've noticed my set designs for Vishinsky's latest."
"Su-perb," Joey gushed. "Very glad to meet you."
"Pass this down to Rupert, will you?" Lena gave Lars the greenback.
"Could you get me an iced tea?" Lars handed Giles the money. "And one of those big pretzels? Joyce, do you want anything?"
"Maybe a small Diet Coke. If Mr. Giles doesn't mind."
"Why should I mind?" Giles sighed. He looked at the bill.
"And don't let the snack girl tell you she can't change a $500 bill," Lena declared. "Because she can."
"You might also get me one of those chocolate peanut cluster bars. If it's not too much --" Joyce sidled in to sit down by Boris.
"No, no. Not at all." Giles backed up. "I'll, uh, be back." He footed it up the aisle before anybody could think of anything else for him to get.
The concessions girl and Rory Vitali were engaged in a tête-à-tête over the counter. Cordelia had yet to emerge from hiding.
Giles moved to the counter to place the order. The girl didn't bat an eye-lash when he shoved the $500 bill at her. She took her time pulling the order together, still chatting amiably with the film director, pausing every so often to glance at the man with low-lidded eyes.
"So, you're going to be around for a few nights more," she said. "You need any extras?"
"Hopefully not." Rory was puffing on still another cigarette. "We need to get just one short blow and we're done for this location. Call my casting director. We'll be filming some San Diego night scenes next."
"Oh, I don't know," she pouted. "Don't you need credentials, a resume, or portfolio, or something like that?"
Rory grinned. "I frequently hire out of the loop. You'd be surprised the talent I find that way."
"I don't have to be part of the union?" She set her arms on the counter and leaned towards him.
"The unions have learned not to bother me," Rory said, tapping her under the chin with a gold-ringed finger.
Giles pulled out the cigarette pack. Rory automatically turned and offered him a light, then leaned back towards the girl. "Audition for us, please. I'd love to see you strut your stuff."
She giggled.
It was a good thing, Giles supposed, that he was in no particular hurry to rejoin Lena and company. In fact, this was the first time tonight that he'd had the luxury of just standing back and doing nothing. He glanced out the front doors. No question but they'd left Spike and his minions in a very lagged cloud of dust. Buffy knew where they had been headed; at least she should have remembered Lena's declaration. He'd wait for her a few minutes longer, then give them a pager nudge. Cordelia's BMW, even at top speed, would take rather longer to make the trip than the Lamborghini's wild ride up.
He turned to face the snack bar and examined his reflection in the mirror behind the counter. He almost didn't recognize himself: disheveled, obviously tired and in need of a sit-down. In contrast, the concessions girl looked centuries younger, vibrant, and alive. Rory --
Rory wasn't casting a reflection at all.
Giles shot a look at the man to make sure that he was still there, then looked at the mirror again. Still no reflection. He slowly straightened and took a step away. "I -- uh -- I'll be back in a minute," he told the girl.
"Take your time," she said, still peering into Rory's eyes and smiling.
Giles moved towards the restrooms. "Cordelia," he said loudly outside the Ladies Room. He kept his eyes on the vampire. Still engaged in flirting with the concessions girl, Rory was unaware of his scrutiny. Giles hoped for her sake that he didn't intend to place an order for his preferred snack fare.
"Cordelia."
"Take a pill, will you?" Cordelia appeared at the door. "Why do guys have such a thing about waiting for a girl to finish her business?" She had a makeup compact and brush and comb in hand.
He looked at her in surprise. "You keep makeup in your camera bag?"
"Lucky I do, because my purse is now with Xander. I look at least half-way decent now, right? But could you use some rearranging." She looked at him critically, then reached up to run the comb through his hair. "And are you smoking?"
Giles fended her comb hand off. "Yes. And yes. Can you please try to stay close? Buffy hasn't shown up yet, and there's at least one vampire on the premises. Do you mind?"
"Yes, I mind," Cordelia said, persisting with the comb. "It's not like I had a choice of who I have to be seen with tonight. You know, I can give you the name of a really good fashion consultant." She plucked the cigarette from his fingers and stubbed it out in the nearest ash tray. "And do you know how gross this stuff smells when it gets in your hair, especially when you're wearing a really expensive designer perfume?" She ran her fingers through her own hair, and made a face. "Great. Now I need the mirror again." She ducked back into the restroom.
"Cordelia," he hissed.
"Chill a minute, will you?"
The doors to the lobby swung open and in walked Spike and several of his henchmen.
"Rory!" Spike said. "Just the bloke I need right now."
"Piss off," said Rory.
Giles slowly eased himself behind a potted palm.
Spike had his attention focused on the concessions girl. "That yellow sports car up front. Did they come in here?"
"The Lamborghini?" she said, peering at him with distaste. "Yeah, they're inside, hobnobbing with His Majesty."
Spike grabbed Rory by the shirt front. "Listen, you moron. There's a very brassed off Slayer in a red BMW circling the block as we speak. You owe me a favor and I'm calling it in. I want you to get some of your people and head her off before she butts in before I'm ready."
Rory smacked Spike's hands aside. "And get several of my crew dusted? You may recruit talentless knuckleheads who are easier to spit than to shove out of the way, but I need all of my guys. And what the fucking hell is this big favor I owe you?"
Spike moved very close. "Well for one: I didn't rip your lungs out when I was seized by the impulse just now."
"Hey guys, no fighting in the lobby," the concessions girl said.
Spike lunged at her, but Rory shoved him in the chest. "Very bad luck, threatening the theater staff, Spike. It could lead to accidents -- like falling on sharp pointy objects."
"Then you'd best appeal to my better nature, what little there is of it," Spike snarled. "Those sharp objects can point both ways." He signaled his henchmen. "Come on, people. We're going in." He fixed Rory with a glare. "Get your boys. Now."
The vampire squad poured into the screening room.
"Little prick," Rory said loudly. "Big fucking favor he did me. I get an eternity of doing fucking film noir. Did I ask for that?"
"Life is so unfair," the concessions girl said.
"Yeah, baby, life and fucking death," Rory said. He brushed the wrinkles from his shirt. "Better make myself scarce, I suppose. I'll send up a couple of token grips to go wave their arms at the slayer, or he'll be an insufferable pest."
Giles ducked into the Ladies Room.
"What are you doing!" Cordelia, caught in mid-brush, stumbled along with him when he snagged her by the wrist and shoulder and frogmarched her out the door.
"We are leaving," Giles said. "Spike just arrived."
"What do you mean, Spike just arrived? He couldn't have possibly followed us here. Stop it, you're bruising my wrist," Cordelia yelped. "You're going to be in such trouble when I show this to Principal Snyder."
He hauled her to the middle of the lobby, then noticed Rory and the concessions girl staring at them.
"I don't think that Spike was really all that interested in Lena," Rory said in a conversational tone. "Which means he's going to be a smidge disappointed when he finds out you're not in there hanging out with her."
Giles and Cordelia blinked at him.
"Boy, I love a good chase scene." Rory turned back to the girl. "Now this would make a damn good sequence. Of course, we'd have to bump those wall hangings over there just a bit awry to expose the exit that leads to the theater next door -- is that door locked, by the way?"
"Keys are right behind the counter here," she said.
"Hand them over, there's a love." Rory took the keys, moved to the opposite wall, pulled aside the hangings and unlocked the door there. "Of course, it would be a much more exciting, if markedly shorter, sequence, if our hapless protagonists were to duck out the front door, where many of the bad guys are lurking. Lots of running up and down the neon-lit concrete and, finally, rivers of blood in the gutters. Problem with blood on concrete at night, though: it looks like oil. Damn, what I wouldn't give to shoot a really bloody battle on a sunlit meadow."
"Oooh, how lyrical," said the concessions girl.
"Excuse me," Cordelia said, "but are you really going to film this?"
"I'm story-boarding in my head," Rory said airily. "Do go on, you two. I like a lot of cinéma vérité in my work. Just don't take too long. Morrison won't be happy if he has to get blood stains out of the carpet again."
A vicious barking emanated from inside the screening room.
"Now there's a classic touch," Rory said to the concessions girl. "True life is such a cliché sometimes. The barking of a dog signaling the impending eruption of menace, violence, and doom."
Giles grabbed Cordelia's arm again, looked indecisively at the front door, then dragged her towards the side door.
"This is so not okay," Cordelia yelled. "Stop it. I can make my own decisions."
"Great," Giles panted, letting go of her to open the door. "Decide."
"Well, what if we --"
He grabbed her arm again and tried to pull her through the door. Cordelia dug in her heels. "Owww. I am not a three-year-old. If you think --"
Giles threw an arm around her waist, pulled her behind the curtain, and kissed her. Her body went rigid in shock, then she wobbled.
"Rory!" Spike screamed from the lobby. "Where the bloody hell did they go?"
"Lena?" Rory's innocent voice interjected. "Why, isn't she still in there with Joey?"
"I'm talking a tweedy man and a girl, who are going to be feeding the daisies in about two minutes. Or you are if I don't get them right quick."
"Well, you should have fucking said so in the first place," Rory said. "I'm not your fucking secretary, Spike."
"Well?" Spike yelled.
"I have a film clip in my head," Rory said, more calmly. "Great chase sequence: much dashing about back and forth along the neon-lit street. Rivers of blood in the gutters. But it's all for naught. Too bad your dumb-as-shit toadies didn't see them going out the front door."
"You're coming with us," Spike snarled. "If I don't see results, there will be a nice river of blood for you up front. Your own."
The lobby doors banged, and Giles released Cordelia to peer out from behind the curtain.
She smacked him in the back of the head.
"Oww," Giles rubbed at ache. "I apologize. Please believe me, I would never dream of doing that under normal --"
Cordelia smacked him again. "Keep apologizing. Maybe you'll get it right."
He could almost feel his blood sugar levels dropping again. Not a good thing for his temper's sake. "If you'd keep quiet for three minutes in a row, I wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures --"
She hauled back for another smack, which he ducked. "Let's take this -- this -- disagreement next door, shall we?" He grabbed her arm and finally managed to get her ushered through the door, which he shut behind him.