Title: Oxnard Diaries Chapter: Young Man

Rating: R (language and innuendo)

Disclaimer: Xander is not mine. Lyrics to "Y.M.C.A" certainly belong to somebody, though I couldn't figure out who. All facts about the City of Oxnard are true, at least according to the City of Oxnard's website Warnings: Gratuitous "Village People"

Thanks: To crazydiamondsue and smashsc for beta & comments.

Chapter 2: Young Man

August 1999 Xander pulled the lever and the industrial dishwasher swung open. A cloud of steam billowed out, and he didn't move, just let the heat wash over his face. "Watch it, Waylon," called Melvin, the fry cook. Xander had gotten the nickname on his first day washing dishes at the Fabulous Ladies' Night Club, because of the classic country music that overflowed his cheap headphones. Now he had been here for five weeks, and no one remembered that this was not his name. Or at least no one cared, including Xander himself. "This steam is nothing," Xander said. "Once you've been to hell and seen the industrial strength fire and brimstone, your ordinary everyday Earth-steam is like a day at the spa. Opens the pores."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna get my hat all wet." Melvin grabbed the hot pink "Fabulous Ladies'!" baseball cap from Xander's head. "Get your own or get a haircut, Hellboy." Xander knew enough about Melvin to realize that this was not a comic book reference. He also knew by now that he could say absolutely anything, about vampires or Hellmouths or giant snakes. Nobody on the kitchen staff thought these comments were any weirder than Xander's normal conversation. That was why, most of the time, he just washed the dishes and listened to Waylon. But his batteries had died half an hour ago, and he already had a feeling that he'd be sorry. He just wasn't sure exactly why yet. Melvin opened the door to the dining room and 70s porno-soundtrack music pulsed into the kitchen. "Can there really be this many chicks lame enough to spend their Friday nights in Oxnard?"

"What," Xander said, "Oxnard? The Gem of Ventura County? Gateway to the Central Coast? Home of a Kart Racing School endorsed by A.J. Foyt, and the Otis Chandler Vintage Museum of Transportation and Wildlife? What's not to love?" Melvin glared at him. "Tell me, Waylon, did they do something to your brain while you were in hell?" Irony didn't play too well at the Fabulous Ladies'.

Sissy, the club's entertainment manager burst through the door. "Oh fuck," she said. "Fuck fuck fuck!" A cigarette drooped from her lip and she leaned over Xander's shoulder to spit the butt into the sink. Her crimson nails curled around his bicep for longer than seemed strictly necessary. Sissy had the face of Tammy Fae Bakker and the body of Attilla the Hun. Xander had even found himself wishing for one of Giles' boring books so that he could figure out what kind of demon she was. "This is a fucking disaster," said Sissy. "Dirk just called and says he's got some kind of strep fucking throat, fuck that, he's probably got another goddamned audition."
Xander coughed, and though he knew better than to get involved, he said, "Friday night at ten o'clock? An audition?"

Sissy smacked him on the back of his neck, a heavy blow made heavier by all her rings. "Wake up, Waylon. That's the only kind of audition Dirk Casto is ever gonna get, unless there's a call for a drug addicted block of wood. A very fruity, very drug addicted block of wood." She reached under the sink and pulled out a bottle of Wild Turkey -- Sissy's hiding places never ceased to amaze Xander -- and chugged straight from the bottle. She jabbed her thumb toward the main room. "Do you see the crowd out there? Three fucking bachelorette parties. Bunch of wannabe starlet types out there slumming. We don't have enough boys to work the whole crowd. All their daddies' beautiful American Express cards and they'll end up down the strip at Stallions'."

Xander laughed. "I haven't exactly been honing my bump and grind skills, but I can't tell you how many times I've seen The Full Monty. And I've been hoping those Strippercise classes I took at the Sunnydale Y would pay off in tips."

Then Sissy's eyes narrowed at him and, too late, he thought, Irony. Irony does not play at the Fabulous Ladies'.

"I'm supposed to wear this?" Xander stared down at the red, white and blue cloth that was approximately the size of a headband. He looked helplessly at the man changing beside him, trying to keep his eyes above the waist. "Um, Buck? This banana hammock?"

"For the millionth time," Buck said, "My name is Stuart, and I'm just doing this to pay my way through med school. And you're gonna need a better name than Waylon."

"How about Waylong?" Xander suggested. "You know like, Way Long -- John -- Silver?" Buck/Stuart gave him a withering glare. "We're not making pornos here. Adult dancing is a craft."

"See, where I come from, macrame is a craft. Stripping is --" Morgan, the third dancer, joined Buck in a threatening look. Xander eyed their biceps and figured that, even with his years of demon fighting, the two together were more than a match for him. "How about if I be Xander?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "I guess that'll have to do." He fastened the faux gun belt on his police uniform and tilted his cap. Xander went for the firefighter's helmet and suspenders and heard the dancer called Morgan Studley mutter under his breath. "Xander. How lame is that?"

Xander stood backstage, behind Morgan, as the sound went down and the lights came up. Sissy clapped his shoulder and rasped in her pack-a-day voice, "Ready, Waylon?

"This is perfect," Xander said, hiking up the firefighter's belt and wrapping the length of fake hose around his arm. "Perfect, and not at all like my worst nightmare. Because, you know, my mom's not here." And then -- "Oh, shit. . ." But no, his mom almost never went out on Fridays anymore. She had to watch her "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" -- but, oh double shit, it was summer, so reruns and -

"What?" asked Sissy. "Feet failing you? Or -- " She smirked and glanced downward,

"Something else?" Her hand creeped down his back to his ass. "Face it, buddy boy, you were too hunky to stay a dishwasher for long."

Xander jumped away from her hand. "Ready," he said. "Oh, I'm so ready." And the music started, a pulsing, thumping beat. Xander was so eager to be on stage, away from Sissy, that he slipped past his mark and almost slammed into Morgan. The other dancer knocked Xander back into formation with a side thrust of his hip. Xander put a hand on started a grind of his own. He tried to remember exactly how Buck had demonstrated back stage -- side, side, forward, no wait -- Buck had finally rolled his eyes in exasperation and said, "You'll find your rhythm. It's just like fucking." Which wasn't much help for Xander, seeing as he wasn't sure how to do that, either, without Faith there to jerk him through every move.

A chant rose from the crowd, along with clapping -- "Give us Dirk! Give us Dirk!" Suddenly Xander felt hands shoving toward center stage. The music quieted slightly, and Sissy's voice crackled over the loudspeaker. "Ladies . . .fabulous ladies. . . .I give you, Oxnard's newest adult entertainment sensation. . . Waylon . . .J. . . . Xander!"

Xander looked straight ahead for the first time, and saw -- nothing, just a blast of white light.

Holy shit! he thought. Hysterical blindness. He looked down and it got better, the images swimming and indistinct, but clearer. Then he realized he had gotten an eyeful of spotlight and. . .had been standing frozen in place. Boos started to rise from the crowd, and a few calls of, "Dirk! Dirk!" How come vampires never attack when you want them to? Xander wondered.

But then. . .the beat started to pulse in his ear, his feet moved with a will of their own, his hand thrust forward to point a finger at the audience as the words roared through his brain.

Young man! There's no need to feel down!

Memories flooded him. . .

Young man! Because you're in a new town!
. . .middle school dances where he stood by the wall, with his eyes on Harmony Kendall's ass. . .
Young man! Pick yourself off the ground!
. . . pep rallies where he felt as pepless as humanly possible. . .

There's no need. . .to. . .be. . .un. . .hap. . .py.
And, in time with the syllables, he thrust his crotch forward, swung a hip to each side and, as the verse reached its climax, ripped open the tear-away buttons of the fireman's shirt.

No need to be unhappy, Xander Waylon Lavelle Jennings Harris! That's the fucking truth.

Cheers started to rise from the crowd. "Waylon! Waylon! Waylon!" He could already imagine what he would say to the other guys when the show was over, "Did you like how I pretended to be shy at first? Did you see how I won them over?" He danced faster and faster, exposed more of his sweat-beaded skin to the air of the bar. Girls. . .at least he thought they were girls. . .rushed the stage. This must be what Justin Timberlake feels like. Or Lance Bass or Joey Fatone or JC Chasez or. . .why the HELL do I know the names of that many guys in one boy band? A long slender, definitely female hand grazed his thigh, and he suddenly realized that he was down to his G-string, and she was thrusting money into it. Holy shit, this doesn't even happen to Justin! This is the greatest job ever. After this, how do I go back to live as plain old. . .

A hand with a folded bill rested against his abs, poised above his G string. The voice attached to it purred: "Hell-o-o-o-, salty goodness!" Even with all the adrenaline coursing through his body, even with the loud music and the blinding spotlights, something in the voice clicked with his memory. She was the last person he expected to meet in Oxnard, in a dive like this. She had made fast tracks out of Sunnydale -- headed for better things, he thought, than a dive like this could offer. But Xander's gaze traveled down and he knew those delicate, deceptively strong hands. And he certainly knew the deep brown eyes that met his, the lips that choked out,

"Xander??!!" just as he gasped. . .

"Cordy???" Cordelia Chase jerked her hands away from Xander's body. "I'm here with -- a friend --" she said.

"It's just for tonight --" Xander answered.

"I'm researching a part --!"

"I came to look for America --"

"Oh hell, there's no part"

"My car broke down --"

I don't even know where we are. . "Five weeks ago."

"L.A. sucks!"

Then both together: "It's so great to see you!"

Cordelia lunged forward to give nearly-naked Xander a hug. A chunky, long-nailed hand came between them. "No touching!" Missy barked. Xander shrugged. Sissy punch-slapped his shoulder, and he started to dance again. Cordy staggered to her feet and fumbled for a purse.

"I'm going to wait for you outside and -- forget I saw this!" But she didn't seem so eager to forget. Xander didn't think he was imagining the way her eyes stayed on his chest as she backed out of the door.

"I get off at midnight!" he called. "The look on her face?" Sissy murmured in his ear. "You won't be the only one getting off."

The last chords of "YMCA" bled into the opening beats of Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff." Xander let his feet carry him through the dance. Suddenly, it looked like he wouldn't be regretting this night one bit.