Spike and Lynda arrived back at the townhouse, narrowly avoiding several minor collisions as Spike kept sneaking glances at Lynda instead of paying attention to the traffic.

"You really like it that much?" she asked, smoothing her hair self-consciously.

"It's beautiful," said Spike truthfully. "I mean, I love those crazy curls of yours, don't get me wrong. This is just so different. It really suits you."

"Well, don't get too attached," said Lynda. "This is a fairly high-maintenance look, the minute it gets wet, it will boing back into curls. I mean, honestly, can you see me spending hours in front of the mirror with a straightening iron every morning?"

"Lynda, I'm impressed! You even know the name of the tool!"

"Well, Melanie's a good teacher," said Lynda, reaching into one of the bags and pulling out a box containing a straightening iron. "Hopefully I'll master the art for special occasions!"

"You got on well with her, didn't you?" Spike mused. "I wasn't sure if you would. You don't usually play nicely with others."

"Well, she's like a female version of you," said Lynda. "Only not quite as pretty."

Spike grinned and checked his watch. "Speaking of pretty, we had better get dressed for dinner." He watched as Lynda began gathering up her carrier bags. "Do you need some help?"

"Carrying my bags or getting dressed?"

Spike winked suggestively. "Both."

"The bags, yes. As for the getting dressed . . ." Lynda pulled out her notebook and tapped it proudly. "I took notes!"

Spike looked disappointed. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Damn," Spike snapped his fingers. "Well, I guess I'll get ready on my own then."

"I guess you will," replied Lynda, slipping into the bedroom and shutting the door.

Half an hour passed. Surely it didn't take this long to change outfits when everything else was already done? Finally, Spike went upstairs and tapped on the door. "Hey, Lynda, come on, we've got to get moving."

"Yes, okay! I'm just . . ." Lynda sounded frazzled. Spike pushed open the door and burst out laughing. There was Lynda, in a gorgeous smoky-grey cross-over dress, hunched in front of a line of shoes, rifling anxiously through her notes. "I can't seem to find . . ."

Spike plucked the notebook from her hands and tossed it onto the bed before leaning over, selecting a pair of black t-bar heels and handing them to Lynda who looked relieved.

"I was going to go with these," she said as she buckled them onto her feet.

"Sure you were. Anyway, you did pretty good to get that far."

"You don't look completely revolting either," said Lynda.

"You're too kind. Let's go."

They arrived at Maxie's early. It was a place favoured by locals, with unpretentious décor and a good menu. It was also already quite full. Jacinta, the manager, informed them their table wasn't yet ready, and would they like to have a drink at the bar while they were waiting?

"Order something for me, would you, please?" Lynda asked. "I've just got to go to the ladies."

"What do you want?" Spike called after her.

"Surprise me!" she called back over her shoulder. Spike noticed other men in the restaurant turning and staring at her as she crossed the room. He already knew she was beautiful. Now everyone else was seeing it as well.

"Can I help you?" asked the bartender.

"Yeah. Scotch on the rocks and a margarita," Spike replied, looking around. The bar area was more or less empty, with most patrons seated at their tables. There was an overdressed woman with her back to him trying very hard to hold the interest of a businessman she had ensnared while he was trying to buy a drink. He was politely trying to make his escape without success.

Spike thought it only right to try and help a brother out.

"Hey buddy!" he called. "You're wanted back at your table. There's an argument over who ordered the oysters."

"Huh? Oh! Thanks, pal," said the businessman gratefully. "Excuse me, please," he said to the woman.

"Hurry back now," she said, flirtaciously and giggled.

"Scotch on the rocks and a margarita," said the bartender, placing the drinks in front of Spike.

"I got this one," said the businessman, plunking a couple of bills on the bar and then muttering to Spike. "Dude, you're a lifesaver. Thanks again."

"No problem," said Spike, grinning.

The woman who had her flirt session rudely terminated swivelled on her stool, presumably about to complain about the interruption, when her lavishly-painted mouth dropped open and her heavily lined eyes widened in surprise.

"Spike!"

"Zoe!"

"What are you doing here? I thought you were back in England?"

"I am. I mean, not now, obviously, but I am living there. Just visiting home, you know."

Zoe looked at the two drinks on the bar and then around the room. "Who are you here with? Melanie?"

"Uhh, my fiance, actually," said Spike, truthfully. What was keeping Lynda so long in the bathroom?

(In actual fact, she was agonising over which lip gloss to use and ended up getting advice from the woman who came out of the stall after her.)

Zoe again looked surprised and a little hurt. "You're getting married. You? We were together for ages and you never even mentioned it. How long have you been with her?"

"Uhhh, a while," said Spike. "Who would have thought, right?" At last, he spotted Lynda making her way back to the bar. "Ah, here she is!"

Zoe looked. "Oh, thank God. For a minute there, I was afraid you were going to tell me you were marrying that heinous bitch, Lynda Day."

"It's nice to see you too, Zoe," said Lynda coolly, joining them in time to hear this comment. "You're looking . . . accessorised."

Zoe gaped again. "Lynda?"

"The heinous bitch herself," agreed Lynda, picking up the margarita with her left hand. Zoe caught a glimpse of the sparkling diamond on her finger – which was precisely Lynda's intention.

"Well, it's been great seeing you again, Zoe," said Spike, a little too heartily. "But I think our table's ready. Come on, Lynda."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to join us?" asked Lynda. "We could catch up on all the news and fill you in on all the details about the wedding and everything. Oh, and you must give us your address so we can send you an invitation!"

Zoe turned green under her heavy make-up. "No, thank you. I had a macrobiotic salad before I came."

"Oh. Shame. Come on, then, Spike, I'm starving. I could murder some of those ribs you were talking about. Bye, Zoe!"

They made their way into the restaurant area. Their table actually was ready and they were seated in a cozy booth for two.

"So this is why you didn't want to bring me here," said Lynda. "You used to come here with Zoe."

"Bingo," said Spike. "And you are one cruel woman, Lynda Day."

Lynda was silent for a moment.

"Remember when we got joined at the hands?"

"How could I forget?" Spike said dryly, slicing into his bread roll.

"And remember when we were back at the newsroom, waiting in the meeting room for Maringo to come back and sort us out and Zoe was there with us, crying."

"Again, pretty hard not to remember," said Spike, buttering his bread.

"When he told us why we were stuck together, I was so sure you'd keep hanging on, I felt sorry for her," said Lynda. "I thought, 'I've already stuck that tape of her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend calling her a bimbo in her Walkman as a bitchy little joke and now she's going to walk out of here alone and hear that and be even more devastated'."

"You thought that?" Spike put his roll down and looked hard at Lynda. "You never told me."

"The thing is, you did let go," continued Lynda. "And she was so happy and I felt even worse. But then, as she was walking out with her arms wrapped around you, she gave me this Look. A smug little sideways glance. Like she'd won. Like she didn't care you'd spent the entire afternoon clinging onto another woman for whatever reason, she'd take it. And then I was glad, Spike. Glad. I couldn't wait for her to listen to that tape. Whatever it took. Because being stuck together made me realise how much I had to hold onto you."

She glanced over at the bar where Zoe appeared to be in the process of consuming tequila shots.

"And now I feel sorry for her again. Even though I was just really cruel to her, I still feel sorry for her."

"First the new look and now this. Who are you and what have you done with the real Lynda?" Spike joked feebly.

Lynda rolled her eyes. "Get some new material, Thomson. And can we order? I wasn't kidding about those ribs. That drink was quite tasty too. I'll have another."

Their meals were generously sized and as good as promised. Spike and Lynda were just finishing their pistachio ice cream when they heard a commotion at the bar.

"I have not had enough! I know when I've had enough, and it's not yet!" shrieked the female voice.

"Come on, Zoe, time to go," said the bartender, not unkindly. "Don't make me get Roy in here again to drag you out. It upsets the other customers."

"Fine!" yelled Zoe. "That's FINE. I'll find somewhere else to take my money and maybe there'll be some decent MEN there because there aren't any in HERE!"

"Honey, this is LA. Men here are like public restrooms, either full of crap or engaged," said a spiky-haired redhead at the bar.

"Or gay," added her brunette friend, helpfully.

Zoe ignored them both, wheeled around and pointed towards Spike and Lynda. "I'm going somewhere where there aren't crazy psycho bitches like HER inside!"

"What, is she looking into a mirror or something?" murmured one of the other patrons close-by.

"Get her out of here, Roy," said the bartender resignedly. "Sorry, Zoe. Don't come back for a while, okay?"

Zoe looked as haughty as it was possible to do when you were being manhandled out of a venue by a gigantic bald black man. "I won't if THAT'S the kind of person you let in." She pointed her unsteady hand again at Lynda. "She's evil. She's the devil. She put a spell on my boyfriend and he wouldn't let go of her hand! And . . . and she's ENGLISH!!"

"Go back to rehab, sister," said the redhead earnestly. "Honestly, it's for the best."

Zoe just squealed as Roy bustled her out of the door and into a cab out the front.

"Come on, Lynda, let's go," said Spike urgently, tossing bills onto the table. "Everyone's staring."

"Do you know that girl?" asked the redhead as they passed her on the way out.

"Never saw her before tonight," lied Spike blithely.

"Me either," said Lynda hastily and they exited Maxie's in a hurry.

"I'm sorry our night was ruined like that," said Spike. "I should have taken you somewhere else."

Lynda shrugged. "It wasn't a complete disaster. My meal was delicious and I have a new favourite drink."

"So what now? You want to go someplace else?"

"How about home?" Lynda suggested.

"Sure. Why, are you tired?" Spike hailed a cab and they climbed into the back seat.

"No," Lynda looked as devilish as Zoe had accused her of being. "But I do have another outfit I want to show you."

"Is it the one from Victoria's Secret?" Spike asked hopefully. "They only do nice stuff, right? No flannelette? No voluminous brushed cotton nighties?"

"Definitely no flannelette," agreed Lynda. "No yards of brushed cotton. In fact, not much fabric at all. Unless you count that sheer gauzy stuff . . ."

Spike yelped. "Driver, don't spare the horses!"