NOTE: "It's Raining Men" by the Weather Girls (Sony, 1983).
*****
Of Men and Other Demons
Don Bentley
"It's Raining Men! Hallelujah! - It's Raining Men! Amen!
I'm gonna go out to run and let myself get
Absolutely soaking wet!"
Cordelia Chase-Gunn sang with her usual tuneless enthusiasm she moved about her bedroom. It was a bright and cheeky song and one that nicely matched her expectations for the evening, and night, ahead.
For tonight Cordelia had a date. Not just any date, but a third date. Okay, officially it may have only been a second date, but they had met for coffee a couple of times before he had asked her out, and that counted, didn't it?
Damn straight it counted. That's why her son Charlie had been packed off to his friend Alex's house for the night, and the house cleaned to within an inch of its life, music painstakingly selected, and candles set out artistically, and subtly, leading upstairs.
It would have been wrong to suggest that Cordelia was being led by her hormones. Well, unduly led, anyway. But, hell, it had been such a long time since she sat down to dinner across from a man who wasn't her son, or another cop, and even longer since she had had any sort of physical contact with a man.... Alright, alright, a long time since she had had sex. There, happy?
Truth be told she had felt more than a little guilty, especially when she dropped off Charlie. She was a mother for chrissake's, Charlie's mother, and mother's weren't supposed to ditch the kid to clear the way for a night of debauchery. A good mother wouldn't have done such a thing. A good mother wouldn't have then headed out to pick up her dry cleaning and make a quick stop at the pharmacy. But if ditching her son had not have been bad enough, standing in the check out line with assorted birth control items certainly didn't make her feel like the Mother-of-the-Year. No, the word that immediately sprang to mind was certainly not 'mother'.
At that point she almost bolted out of the store. Cordelia Chase-Gunn was a woman who had staked a vampire or two in her time, on her wedding day for instance, and she had stared down demons and monsters and even a couple of gods, but at that moment she almost ran from the store, intending to retrieve her son and die an old untouched born-again virgin.
But when she got to the check out the expected sirens and flashing lights did not go off. She was not branded a bad mother or loose woman by the teenage girl behind the counter who rang up the purchase without any comment outside of the standard and impersonal, "have a nice day." And when Cordelia stepped outside the sun was still shining, and the birds were still singing.
Imagine that, another apocalypse averted.
Cordelia slipped on her black pinstriped jacket and tugged at the cuffs of her blouse and smiled at her reflection in the mirror while fussing minutely with her hair.
Better than mortal man deserves, she thought, idly wondering where she had heard that line before.
The mortal man in question was Tim Kilgore, a nice guy, a really nice guy. Handsome and interesting and smart, he was a deputy communications director for the county assembly, which meant that he was cleared, that he knew about the Hellmouth and all. That meant that she didn't have to pretend to be something she wasn't, or watch what she said. And that meant a lot and explained why most of her squad also seemed to have difficulty with relationships.
The phone rang from its usual spot in the closet. Well, its usual spot was on the nightstand, but it often ended up in the closet.
"Hello?"
"Hello? Umm, who, who is this please?" a woman's voice, it sounded strained.
"You called me, remember?"
"Oh, right, I did, but you see.... I'm sorry, I'm.... I know how this must sound, but I'm looking for my husband, Tim. I found this number in his pocket and I, I thought that maybe. I'm sorry, I'm being silly, I know-"
"Wanna bet," Cordelia snarled. As if a switch had been thrown, Cordelia went from a good imitation of a giddy schoolgirl before the prom to demon slayer. It was not pretty.
Figures, it fucking figures, Cordelia thought as she pulled off her jacket and stripped off her skirt and blouse, letting them fall carelessly to the floor.
"I'm sorry?"
"Okay. My name is Cordelia Chase-Gunn, and I want you to know that he never said anything about being married when he asked me out."
"Oh my God, OH MY GOD!" Cordelia could have sworn she heard the other woman's own mental switch being thrown. "I'll kill him."
"Ahh, look, don't. I'm a cop and well, don't. What's your name?"
"Amy, Amy Kilgore. But you already know my last name, don't you?"
"Hey! Amy, I said I didn't know he was married. Cut me some slack, will ya?"
"Why the Hell should I?" Amy snapped back.
"'Cause it's your lying rat bastard of a husband who asked me out. Okay? I don't date married men," and as rules went Cordelia pretty much had that one carved in stone and underlined in red, twice. It had been years ago, before she had met Gunn, back when she had first hit LA in search of stardom. That particular rat bastard had said that he and his wife were separated, and, well, Cordelia had been young and stupid, and he had also said that he was a producer. Live and learn and all that.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, you're right-"
"Don't I know it. Look, Amy, do you know where The Georgian is?"
"The restaurant? On Douglas Street isn't it? Oh my God, he's taking you to The Georgian? Last time we went out it was to Denny's!" Amy's voice was decidedly icy now. "When?"
"Eight. Oh, and Amy?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you have a lawyer?"
"I will tomorrow. Why?"
"Have him call me. Okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, I'm.... Thanks."
Hanging up, and for once placing the phone on the night stand, Cordelia got dressed again, an old and faded pair of jeans, runners, and a large light grey sweater pulled on over her head, she didn't care about her hair now. Leaving her blouse and skirt untouched on the floor she stormed out of the bedroom with every intention of heading down to the Magic Box for a drink or ten.
A moment later she rushed back in, pulled a brush through her hair, and hit a speed dial button on her phone.
*****
The restaurant wasn't nearly as fancy as The Georgian, and the food, though good and plentiful, wasn't haute cuisine by any stretch of the imagination. But, Cordelia looked at her watch, 8:02, it was probably a damned sight quieter than The Georgian right now, and in any event her date wasn't a fancy food kind of guy. Meat and potatoes were more his style.
Just like his dad.
(End)