Giles and Cordelia stood in the semi-darkened lobby of still another theater. The large shadowy forms of odd structures loomed before them in a vaguely threatening manner. Where 'The Last Reel Cinema' had been glitteringly art deco, this venue was moodily baroque.
Cordelia gaped around her, her indignation momentarily forgotten. "Who let the psycho ward in to decorate?" She stared at a giant wood and steel sculpture that looked something like two coat hangers trying to cohabitate. The sign by the sculpture read: 'Fecundity -- Lars Lundgren (Summers Gallery)'.
They moved on through a thicket of similar sculptures to the clear center of the lobby. Several darkly dressed people were scattered through-out the exhibit, absorbed in the pieces. A smattering of sound -- hands clapping -- indicated that there was a performance going on in the back of the building.
"See if you can find a telephone," Giles suggested, peering intently about. There was so much art about the place that he couldn't see much of anything else.
Cordelia turned towards the front doors, then suddenly whirled, grabbed him by the neck and kissed him. Taken by surprise, Giles lost his balance and ended up in an absurd half-swoon in her arms.
"Oh, very nice," Rory Vitali smirked as he approached them from the front entrance.
"Do you think?" Cordelia said with a beauty queen smile. "It's like this pervert and his girlfriend disguise we worked out.
"I like it," Rory said. "I like anything really trashy. But I'll decide later who gets to be the pervert. Listen people, Spike's on his way down the street on a wild chicken chase. I've taken a fancy to you two, so I've decided to do a quickie. You wait here while I bring up a camera and a couple of my crew, we'll do a short shoot, and by then the Slayer should have discovered where her ass is at and you can be on your way."
"What?" Giles said. "We've no time --"
Cordelia pushed him to one side. "Of course, we have time."
"Doesn't matter," Rory grinned at them, flashing a fang. "Spike's called in the reserves. You wouldn't last two minutes out there. Be nice little people and stay put. I'm quite lovely to all my cast. Keep yourselves in the credits and you'll be just ducky. Why don't you go on into the theater and watch the performance. I'll be back in two shakes of a nun's tail."
The vampire vanished around a giant sculpture backdropped with venetian blinds that was entitled 'Voyeur'.
"Just great," Giles said.
"Talk about weird luck," Cordelia said. "I mean, I always knew I could make it in pictures. But why am I stuck doing my film debut with you?"
"Cordelia," Giles pushed her towards the back of the building, "we are caught in a bizarrely ironic train of events tonight. Absolutely nothing will go as it should, neither for us nor for Spike."
"That's good," Cordelia said, uncharacteristically thoughtful. "You do a really good Rod Serling, you know? Maybe Mr. Vitali is right. Well, of course he is because he's this well-know film director, isn't he? Except he does these warped films, which makes sense then that he'd see this really warped chemistry between us. Right?"
"I don't want to think about that," said Giles.
A woman's scream shivered through the theater. He dropped Cordelia's arm and rushed to the entrance to the inner theater.
The woman had collapsed just outside the door curtain, her head down, her white dress soaked in blood. Screaming, she crawled towards them. She reached out with a trembling hand.
A fanged figure burst through the curtains. Giles scooped the woman up and sprinted for the front of the lobby.
She suddenly squirmed and pounded on his back. "Put me down, you idiot. I haven't died yet."
The 'vampire' was huddled against a sculpture, trying to escape Cordelia's kicks.
"I-I beg your pardon," Giles said, and set her on her feet. "Cordelia, uh, let the vampire up."
The actress rolled her eyes, took several deep breaths, then started to scream again. She and her pursuer raced about several of the sculptures before disappearing back through the doorway. Giles and Cordelia followed them.
The 'victim' had expired near the stage, and her attacker was carrying her about held up like some gruesome trophy. A Greek chorus on-stage cheerfully sang a commercial jingle about toothpaste. White balloons bobbled everywhere. Set design had gone overboard with the theatrical blood; the stage was slippery with it.
"Umm, like -- uh, ewwww," Cordelia said.
"Precisely," Giles said.
"Shhh." An elderly lady in the back had turned to glare at them. "Sit down. You're interrupting the performance."
"How can you tell?" Cordelia said.
Giles shushed her and pulled her over to one of the almost-empty rows. They sat at the end and watched the show for several minutes. He became aware that the man seated on his right was familiar.
Angel was staring at the proceedings with the look of somebody trying to work out an inextricable knot.
"Uh, Angel. Hello."
Angel glanced at him, then spared them a slightly embarrassed smile. "Hey. I didn't expect to see either of you here."
"Well, likewise."
"I sometimes have to come up to the City. I've been trying to get back into the Arts, so I've been catching some performances. But I lost track of things forty years ago, and now I can't understand a thing that's going on."
Somebody on Angel's right shushed him.
"I would think," Giles whispered, "that all the -- blood might be distracting."
Angel gave a small laugh. "Not really. It doesn't smell like the real thing."
They watched the performance for a few minutes more. The 'vampire' was set upon by the Greek chorus, which proceeded to smother him in a thick foam dished out from small plastic tubs. The 'victim' had popped back up waving yellow flags. She danced wildly around the bacchanal.
"I don't know semaphore," Angel said. "I wonder if she's saying anything important."
"I do," Giles said. "It doesn't help at all."
Angel looked unhappy. "Maybe it's a generational thing." He looked over at Cordelia. She was staring at the performance with her mouth hanging open.
"Okay, I guess not," Angel said.
"Hey." An usher hovered over them. "Knock it off guys, or take it outside."
"Oh, must we?" Cordelia said in her most obnoxious voice.
Angel nodded at Giles, and they all slipped from the row and out the exit.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your appreciation of the theatrical -- uh -- arts," Giles said as they moved into the lobby. "But we've gotten involved in something of a situation with Spike."
Angel was staring at a big steel and rubber echidna'esque sculpture entitled 'Pussycat'. "Spike?" he echoed. "He's probably up to see Rory Vitali. He's got some money bankrolled in Rory's current project. That's what Rory's assistant director tells me, anyway. Hang out with me for a while. He'll go away."
"It's a little more complicated than that." Giles followed as Angel circled the sculpture.
"Is this good art?" Angel said. "I can't tell." He stooped to read the tag. "It's from Joyce's gallery, so it must be good art. Right?"
Giles paused to take in the sculpture. "Well, I --"
"Of course, it's good art," Cordelia said, circling around the sculpture from the other side.
"But how can you tell?"
"Just look at the price tag," she said with an air of authority. "If it wasn't any good, they wouldn't be selling it for that much. Believe me, I know art. My mother invests in it. You can always tell by the price tag."
Angel frowned. "When I was mortal, it was easier to tell. If it was a good likeness, there was half of it."
"Yeah, but if you want something to look like something, you just take a picture." Cordelia held up her camera bag. "Any moron can look like a great artist if that's all you care about."
"But is this good art?"
Giles sighed. "Give it fifty years. If the art historians are still talking about it, then I suspect that it's good art."
"But that doesn't help me now."
"Does it do anything for you?" Cordelia said.
"It makes me kind of --" Angel grimaced. "Scratchy."
"Well, there you go then," she said.
Angel shook his head. "I guess I'd better subscribe to some more art magazines." He gave up on the sculpture and led the way up to the front door.
"There were some vampires out front," Giles said dubiously.
Angel smiled. "I'll have a word with them." He moved to push the door open, took a good look through the plate glass, and hastily backed off. "What the hell did you do to Spike?"
"What did I do to Spike?" Giles snapped, and looked out the door glass. Eight black vehicles were parked along the street, boxing in Lena's yellow Lamborghini. Some two dozen black-clad, demonic-looking individuals were strung out alongside the vehicles. "All right," he relented. "I did push a bookcase down on top of him."
"We ran over some of his henchmen," Cordelia said proudly.
"And he wasn't happy with me when I threw Drusilla in that water fountain."
"Willow said you hit him with a baseball bat over at that lesbian bar."
"I only kicked him in the head," Giles defended himself. "The girls were the ones going out of control with the bat."
"We'll have to go out the back," Angel decided.
"We'd better call Buffy first." Giles moved away in search of a telephone. "She's somewhere in the vicinity. I don't want her running into that lot out there."
Xander circled the block yet again. "Gee," he said as they drifted past still another black car. "Do you think the MIB's are having a convention here tonight?"
"More like the VIB's," Buffy muttered. "They've got that Lamborghini boxed in there."
"Giles in a Lamborghini," Willow mused dreamily. "I would've liked to have seen that."
Xander glanced back at her worriedly. "Willow, are you feeling okay?"
"Oh, just a bit warm 'n wobbly," Willow said. "Was that fruit punch really spiked?"
"Apparently," Xander said. "Damn this, I'm going to park over on the next block."
"You could say, our night's been 'Spike'd too," Willow said with a giggle. "Get it? That's allegorical."
"Ally -- who?" Xander had to drive three blocks back, but he finally found a length of empty curb and plopped Cordelia's BMW into it.
"What I want to know is how Spike got here ahead of us," Buffy fumed, "when he didn't even know where Giles was going."
"We were circling for a long while," Willow said. "I think he followed us up, but got the good parking places first."
"You and your crummy parallel parking," Buffy snapped at Xander.
"Hey!" Xander said, hurt. "At least I've got my drivers license."
She glared. Xander cringed, remembering too late that the drivers license thing was a sore subject with Buffy.
Willow jumped out of the car. "Com'on, guys. We're wasting time."
"Whoa, Will," Xander dashed to grab her. "Spike's called out half the vamps in the City, it looks like. We'd better not go in the front way."
Buffy stormed past the two of them. "We won't, but I am. I've had enough of this. I'm going in, getting my Watcher and Cordelia, and coming out again. Anybody who gets in my way is going to be making up dust bunnies under somebody's bed tomorrow. You guys -- wait in the car."
Xander and Willow exchanged glances and halted. As soon as Buffy had crossed the street ahead of them, Willow started forward again, Xander close on her heels. "We'll turn up Seventh Street then circle around on Xavier," she said.
"I don't mean to be a party-pooper, Will," Xander panted. "But what are we gonna do if we encounter any of the tooth brigade?"
Willow pulled a stake and cross out of her bag and handed the cross to Xander. "We improvise," she said.
"Okay. I feel better now."
They turned the corner and walked the short length of the block over to Xavier street, where they halted on the corner. The entire block ahead of them had been barricaded off. Lights poured down from either sidewalk. Dozens of figures bustled back and forth across the street.
"Look, it's a movie shoot!" Willow said. "We can sneak through. The vampires wouldn't want to be in too close with so many people around."
"Uh, except the people will throw a dork and a geek like us off the set." But Xander followed her in.
"Well, just try to look non-dorky for a few minutes."
"Right. Me. Non-dorky."
"You've got Cordelia's sunglasses. You're halfway there."
"Really?" He pulled the sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. "Do they really tone down the dork-o-meter?"
"Sunglasses at night are the antithesis of dorkiness," Willow assured him.
"Should I be trusting your opinion on this?"
She looked hurt, so Xander shut up.
They climbed over the barricade and walked down the street, gawking as they went at several overturned cars that had been placed down the length of the block, a wrecked tanker with two crushed motorcycles beneath it, and three smashed police cars in a huddle at the end.
"Some whup-ass movie," Xander said in awe. "I wonder what it is?"
Several cameramen dollied a camera past them down the sidewalk. Nobody appeared to think of challenging them, although they got several odd looks. There was a thick cluster of people in conference at the end of the street. Maybe they had more important things to think about.
"Oooh, a fight scene!" Xander said happily. "Let's go watch."
"Xander!" Willow tried to pull him back. "We're supposed to be helping Buffy."
"Right," Xander said with a mournful look. He manfully pulled up short. "Okay, while everybody's busy with the fight." They trotted to the end barricade, then halted as the fight broke apart. Stunt men flew in their direction. A very flustered Buffy burst out, stake in hand. Several of her vamped-out attackers turned tail and fled.
"Don't stake my fucking gaffer!," a stocky vampire was screaming from the sidelines. "Some of you non-union people, get that skanky bitch!"
"Now you I'm going to take down," Buffy yelled, and made a missile-line for him.
Several of the film crew threw themselves in her path. Another tackled her from behind, and they tumbled. "You can't stake him," he yelped, crab-walking frantically out of her way again. "You don't know what you're doing! He won last year's Cannes film festival!"
The stocky vampire smirked.
"I shouldn't stake him because -- what?" Buffy yelled. She kicked her tackler in the head and rolled to shish-kebab him.
"Not my sound mixer!" The stocky vampire dashed in, grabbed a handful of blond hair, and hauled back. Caught off guard, Buffy fell on her rear. "Where's my fucking stunt coordinator? Jeff!"
"Sorry, Rory," said a wiry vampire who was watching the fight from just beside Willow. "My contract only covers fake fights. I'm getting some good ideas though."
Buffy squirmed loose, leaving a generous hank of hair in Rory's hand. He danced back behind one of his crew. The female vampire snarled menacingly at the Slayer. Buffy sprang at her, and the woman scampered off whimpering.
"Not the script supervisor!" Rory tore at his hair. "Aren't any of the writers on set?"
"We snacked on them for dinner last night, remember?" one of his cameramen reported from a perch on top of a camera boom.
"All right!" Rory screamed. "I'm pissed off now. Get this menace off my set, or I'm going to be hiring a new film crew tomorrow. I'll just vamp Vishinsky and his entire crew. We'll make paper mâché with the whole worthless lot of you."
Buffy moved into ready position, pivoting about to cover the twenty vampires who surrounded her. None of them looked very enthused about moving in for the kill. "Come on," she said in fiery exasperation. "Which one of you wants to get dusted first?"
A fine breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders, then a wind whipped her hair into a street-lit halo about her head.
"The wind!" Rory laughed maniacally. "Fucking finally! Everybody into position. Get the cast out here. If we miss this shot, I'm going to be upset."
There was a milling rush, and Buffy was left alone on her end of the street. "Hey!" she yelled after them. "What about our fight?"
"Wait there!" Jeff the stunt coordinator yelled back at her as he ran. "We'll get to you as soon as we can."
"I don't believe this!" Buffy stamped one foot, then took out after them.
"Wait, Buffy!" Willow ran to snag her by the waist. "Giles. Cordelia. Remember?"
"Spoilsport," Buffy muttered. She looked at Willow. "I thought I told you guys to wait in the car."
"And you always do what Giles tells you to do," Xander said.
The vampiric film crew had pulled together the set in record time. A group of people -- apparently the cast -- made their way to set center. Rory had settled himself in a chair behind the main camera. "We're not at full cast!" he was yelling. "Get the other extra out here!"
Several of his cameramen exchanged glances. "Uh, that's everybody," one of them ventured.
"What the fuck, are you blind or something? We're missing a streetwalker." Rory rose from his seat and stalked towards a tall female vampire who stood on the sidelines. "Where's my streetwalker, Sylvie?"
She cringed. "No problem, Mr. Vitali. We'll, uh, get one up here, stat."
"Where's my streetwalker, Sylvie?"
"The girl's not feeling well."
"She's lying down in her trailer," a cameraman offered. "Just a touch of -- uh --"
"Mononucleosis," another cameraman said.
Everybody nodded eagerly.
Rory grinned, then grabbed the two cameramen and bashed their heads together. They both dropped like swatted flies. "How many fuckin' times do I have to tell you morons?" he screamed. "No snacking on the cast!" He grabbed his casting director and tossed her like a doll on top of the cameramen. "Do I look like Mr. Rogers here? Is there something inherently gooey about me that says 'Hey, you dickheads don't have to pay attention to me, because I'm a push-over?'" He grabbed a grip and threw him halfway down the street.
"She was only an extra," the casting director whimpered.
"Oh, well, that's fuckin' okay then." Rory grabbed a cameraman from the pile, broke a chair across the vampire's legs, then used one of the shattered chair legs to stake him. Dust sprayed up. "You have five minutes, Sylvie, to get me another red-headed girl." He checked his watch, then lit up a cigarette.
Several of the vampires turned to peer down the street at Willow.
"Uh, oh," Xander said. "I'm thinking that running away might be the better part of valor here, Buff."
"I think maybe you're right," Buffy said.
Willow was staring in frozen fascination at the descending vampires. Xander and Buffy each grabbed an arm and tried to hustle her along. Sylvie the casting director, motivated by fear-of-Rory, proved the faster sprinter. She tackled Xander, whose cross went flying, then stood on his face to sweep Willow off her feet. Willow's stake bounced off into the dark.
"Hey!" Buffy brandished her stake. Two stuntmen grabbed her around the knees, tossed her into a nearby trash bin, and slammed down the lid.
"Some of you grips come sit on this!" one of the stuntmen shouted.
"Good going!" Rory shouted, his good humor returning. "Lend them your asses, guys. Oh, and bring that other kid over here. We can fit him in."
"Um, Rory," one of the grips said from his perch on top of the garbage bin. The lid rattled beneath the eight of them. "How are we going to get down without getting skewered?"
"You have twenty minutes to think on that," Rory said.
Sylvie carried Willow over to the nearest smashed car and set her down next to it. One of the stuntmen dropped Xander on his ass next to Willow. The Director strode over and hauled Xander to his feet by the back of his neck. He peered at them, puffing smoke in their faces. Xander coughed.
"This'll work," Rory finally declared. "Except --" He took Willow's cowboy hat and Xander's sunglasses and switched them. "I like it. 'Midnight Cowboy' meets 'Crash'." He grabbed them and drew them close. "Group hug, everybody. Nice. Now just keep it up without me. Be ready for smoochies on demand." He strode back to the camera. "All right, you fuckers. Let's get this shot in the can."
Angel stood on a packing crate to peer over the wooden fence. Giles and Cordelia stood behind him, keeping a nervous eye on the alley. It was hard to make out anything in the shadows, which added to the wiggins factor.
"Okay, I think we're clear," Angel said. He reached down to offer Giles a hand up.
"Hey, Miss Manners, ladies first." Cordelia grabbed his hand and heaved herself up top. She latched an arm around Angel's waist.
"Uh, quite right, Angel. Where are your manners?" Giles pulled himself up to stand beside them.
Angel pried Cordelia off, picked her up, and dropped her over the fence. "Ladies first," he called down to her.
"Euwk. What the hell did you drop me into?"
The vampire jumped down. "Just a bit of mud, Cordelia."
Giles followed them with a squish. "You do have transportation somewhere close by, Angel?"
"Yeah, just around the corner." He paused to peer out into the street again. "What did Buffy say?"
"She seemed somewhat out of sorts, but she said everyone was fine. I told her to have Xander drive them home, that you'd drive Cordelia and me back."
"I'd better check on her when we get to Sunnydale. Come on." He led the way to a small car that was parked by itself on the side street.
"Excuse me," Cordelia said when she caught a glimpse of the car, "but since when did you totally lose your mind, not to mention whatever rudimentary sense of taste you had?"
"It's a loaner," Angel said as he unlocked the Volkswagen Beetle's door. "Besides, it's very reliable."
Giles threw his arms across the car's top and pounded his head once against the metal.
"Somebody needs his Prozac," Cordelia said.
"I am becoming convinced," Giles said without looking up, "that if I can at least once set foot inside a normal automobile tonight that I will then be safely on my way home. That moment, however, is proving to be damned elusive." He raised his head to glare at Angel. "I can understand the bizarre logic that would lead someone to paint this car bright red with black spots --"
"Oh, I get it!" Cordelia suddenly said. "It's a Lady Bug! Right?"
"But why on earth would that person affix a plastic doll in the middle of each of the spots?"
Angel looked at the car as if he'd just noticed this. "It's a loaner," he said defensively. "Do you want a ride, or not?"
Giles whimpered, but pulled the car door open and got in the back seat.