"She wants what?" Spike practically screamed as he began to pace the length of the conference room table.
"She's worth it, Spike," Giles promised. "I need you in my corner for this."
"It's bad enough I have to sack Dru. Now some tits that can talk wants a cut of my book bonus? No. N-O, mate. It's not going to happen. I work hard, do a lot of preparation, to give my audience an enjoyable, informative and entertaining show every day. Little Miss Traffuck has nothing to do with that," he laid into Giles.
Giles turned to the program director for the country station, WJKR, Jackrabbit Country.
"Caleb," he pleaded. "You've worked with Buffy. You know what she can do for a show."
Caleb Carter smiled and nodded. He knew exactly what a rare find Buffy Summers was. She was drop-dead gorgeous, smart as a whip and quick, quick, quick in the wit department. She gave accurate information in such a way that the listener looked forward to sitting in traffic just to hear her quips and witty banter with the jock.
"I've got your back, Rupert," Caleb confirmed.
Glory Adonis, the program director for the alternative rock station was already grinning. She'd never worked with Buffy Summers, but she had grown up listening to her give some of the funniest reports she'd ever heard. Buffy Summers managed to sound sexy, smart and funny all at once. During her stint as the "Nude Traffic" reporter on the Riley Finn Show, she and Riley made it a habit to see just how raunchy they could get before they got a red line call from the program director. Buffy Summers was exactly what the Fiasco needed.
"I'm in," Glory said enthusiastically. "My boys need a little ruckus in their treehouse. She's the best!"
"I'm in, too," Ted Whedon, the program director for the family station agreed. "As raunchy as she is on the rocker, she relates incredibly well to the soccer moms and church picnic crowd."
Spike looked accusingly at each of his peers. He was beyond it being a replacement for Dru. Now, it was personal. Giving her this, would be giving her enough rope to hang them all.
"It's not like it's actual dollars out of your pocket, Spike," Glory said when she was him scowling.
"It's principle, Love. She's traffic. She tells you that there's a fifteen minute delay on I-5 between Highway 60 and Valley View. She tells you there's a wreck on Harbor Freeway at Manchester and maybe she even tells you that it blocks the right lane," he said with a shake of his head. "It's not brains, children. This is an added implement to our shows, not a crucial part."
His head snapped up when he heard the thunderous laughter boom out of Caleb Carter.
"Maybe today she's not, but give her a week and you won't remember what you ever did without her," he warned his younger colleague.
Giles was relieved when he finally got all of the program directors behind him. Anya would be a piece of cake.
"It's your head, Rupert," she told him firmly. "I expect her to deliver which means I expect you to deliver."
Buffy was the most experienced of her co-workers at the traffic hub in Sunnydale. The state of the art studio made it entirely possible to do traffic for any market in the country. It was the first time in years she'd been 'grounded' instead of an airborne reporter.
Ethan Raine had been hired to handle the news stations in three different markets. He had a deep, bass voice that boomed from his body in peals. His long, silver hair was pulled back into a long braid that reached the middle of his back. His skin was darkly tanned from years of falling asleep on his fishing boat, the Alice Marie.Ethan had worked for some of the biggest broadcast companies in history in so many markets it made Buffy's head spin. Her jaw dropped when she saw him. He was one of the greats.
"Ethan Raine!" she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "What a pleasure and honor to even share the same space as you! I'm just so surprised to see you doing traffic."
He chuckled and blessed her with a wide grin. Age looked good on Ethan Raine.
"Well, I got tired of working for a living, so Alice and I packed up the station wagon and sold the house in Rochester to head West and retire," he told her. "And then I got bored."
She shook her head with a small smile. Legendary Ethan Raine had chosen to become a traffic reporter out of sheer boredom. There was something to be said for that.
She took a seat at her desk and logged onto her computers. One was solely for production and archiving. The other was equipped with internet and the favorites folder housed a variety of police departments, highway patrol and travel sites. It was also set up with Infinite Traffic's very own traffic program.
The girl who sat beside her was about her age. She had dark brown hair that was professionally highlighted and bobbed at her chin and looked way too elegant for the job. She wore a crisp linen suit in butter yellow and matching spectator pumps. Her make-up was expertly applied and her eyes were alert and focused.
"Cordelia Chase," she smiled tightly, offering her hand to Buffy.
"Buffy Summers," Buffy smiled in return.
She found out that Cordelia would be handling the cluster out of Visalia. The market was small, but booming. Traffic service had become a neccessity. Cordelia had previously been a news anchor in the small building that housed all four stations. She was familiar with the market and the people.
Jenny Calendar covered the company's five Spanish stations spanning from Sacramento to San Diego. She had been stolen from a rival traffic service and was able to find a loophole in her noncompete. She had smooth skin the color of caramel and thick, black hair cut into a face-framing pixie. Her eyes glittered black as coal and her smile was a showstopping white. She was petite and energetic which had earned the nickname from her affiliates of "Latin Dynamite."
Andrew Wells had been assigned two stations plus the job of producing traffic forthree markets. He was a relative newcomer to the broadcast industry at the tender age of 23, but he was eager to learn and to please. He was the King of Multitasking.
Faith Lehane sat scowling in the corner. She had picked up two of the local talk stations and a rock station from across the country in Birmingham, Alabama. Buffy had heard about her becoming the victim of downsizing. She realized that Faith was lucky to have a job at all. Unfortunately, Faith treated it as more of a bane than a blessing. Her eyes shot daggers at everyone in her vicinity. Her posture screamed "fuck off" loud and clear. And that's exactly what everyone did.
It was a bright and early 5:30AM. The sun hadn't even broken across the darkened sky. Buffy dug through her binder for a list of station hotlines so that she could go about introducing herself to the morning jocks she'd be serving.
"Hotline, this is Carter in the Morning," Caleb called into her ear.
"Caleb Carter?" she asked, her voice taking on a girlish tone.
"The one and only," he replied. "Who's this?"
"Buffy Summers."
"Well, hot damn! Buffy Summers! How long has it been, girl?" he whooped.
"Apparently too long since you didn't even recognize my voice!" she joked.
Caleb's hearty laugh vibrated through the phone.
"I've got your schedule and I wanted you to know that I'll be standing by for your first report at 5:50," she told him brightly.
He said he was looking forward to working with her again before hanging up.
She called the Fiasco next. They were a five member morning show consisting of the show's outspoken host Lorne Greenleigh along with his supporting cast of Oz, the producer Xander,Clem the Intern andWarren Mears as their phone screener. It was a boy's only clubhouse and she was busting in.
"So, I hear you do your traffic completely in the buff," Lorne said glibly.
"We do it your way, is my motto," she threw back at him.
"How about on your back?" Xander wanted to know.
"Just say the word and I'll do it spread eagle from the top of Mt. Olympus."
The morning show at Ocean 101.7 wanted their traffic canned for the first week while they figured out just what to do with her. Johnathan Levinson already had an adroit, albeit jealous, co-host. He had to figure out a way to make her an integral part of the show without bruising his Amy's fragile ego.
"Talk to me," was how Spike answered his hotline.
"Hi, this is Buffy Summers. I'll be doing your traffic. I just wanted to touch base with you before we start to see if there was anything in particular you wanted me to know."
Like the fact that he didn't want her on his show? Or that he fought her book bonus tooth and nail? Or how about how he felt pushed into something of which he was just too damned uncertain?
"Nothing major," he said a little tightly. "Do your traffic and just remember this is my show. Any other questions?"
She was a little suprised by his aloofness, but didn't let on.
"Nope," she told him, her smile evident in her voice. "That's all I needed to know. I'll be e-mailing you my direct line along with my IM screen name so that we can keep in contact during the show. Thank you for your time."
She hung up quickly and stared at the phone, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Part of her wanted to excuse him by saying maybe he just wasn't a morning person, however she didn't think that held much truth.
She hit her cues without a problem even though she was surrounded by five other people who were talking at the same time as she. Scanners were blaring in the background and phones were ringing off the hook as listeners began calling in their own traffic tips.
She glanced at her clock and pulled her headphones over her ears so that she could monitor Kiss FM. Spike was already backselling the last song.
"...the latest from Gwen Stefani whose album has just been certified platinum. Now you guys know how Ifeel about change..." He played a rude sound effect before continuing. "It sucks... but it's what makes the world go 'round. Know what else sucks? Traffic. Buffy Summers, what's happening on our roadways this morning?"
"Looks like a multiple on Santa Monica Freeway... and it's not the kind we like, ladies. One, two, three, four, five cars and an SUV are jamming up the left and center lanes, you've got a fifteen minute delay," she said smoothly.
Spike tried to hide the smile playing on his lips. He looked up and his producer, Dawn, was grinning from ear to ear. Looks like she'd already gotten in good with Dawn.
"Double penetration of the Beaver... two huge chunks of wood are blocking the right lane at Cranston Avenue making it a sluggish ride in and nobody likes a sluggish Beaver. I'm Buffy Summers, 107 Kiss FM Traffic."
Spike was stunned speechless. It wasn't until a paper wad hit him from across the console that he snapped out of it.
"She was fuckin' awesome," Dawn bubbled.
"Watch your mouth, Bit," he automatically chastised her.
His producer was young, golden-haired and full of that sorority girl sparkle. She'd liked Dru, but had always told him that she just wasn't quick enough. He'd shoot a quip her way and she'd giggle and let it fall flat. Buffy Summers wasn't the kind of woman who would let something drop. She'd successfully volley until a draw was declared.
"Better be nice to her, Spike," she continued, oblivious to the sour look growing on his handsome face. "I have the feeling she could tear you limb from limb."
By the end of the show, he was in one of the surliest moods Dawn had ever seen. He was slamming things down and practically snapping at callers. The callers, unfortunately for him, had all loved Buffy Summers and one guy had even made the comment that he bet she was so hot she could melt butter. And then he volunteered to be the guy to lick it off of her.
"I want a picture of Buffy Summers," Spike instructed Dawn as she trailed him from the studio to his office.
"You're just dying to see if she really is hot enough to melt butter," Dawn smirked.
He turned and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"I want," he began pointedly. "To make sure our website stays up to date."
Dawn didn't let his snippy attitude bother her at all. She had seen the best and the worst of Spike. She knew him well enough to know why he really wanted the picture. And she knew that he was pissed at the world because Buffy Summers had made an impression on him and it was more than good.