CALIFORNIA DREAMING
There were a few awkward moments as Buffy, Angel, Cordelia, and Doyle stood in the office. Then Cordy grabbed Doyle's elbow and headed for the door. "Nice seeing you again, Buffy. Say hi to everybody." She propelled Doyle out in front of her, firmly closing the door behind her.
"Now what?" he said.
"Just wait."
There was a minute or two of silence, then sounds of a fracas and things being broken came out of the office.
Doyle said, "Did you hear that?"
Cordelia said dismissively, "Yeah, the Angel and Buffy show. First they talk out their differences, then they punch them out."
"Shouldn't we…"
"Stick our noses where they don't belong and get them flattened? No thank you. I'm taking the day off."
They walked outside and each blinked in the dazzle of light. Last night's rain had had caught all the smog and swept it down the sewers, so for a few hours Los Angeles was going to be a glorious postcard of paradise.
"We could go for coffee." Doyle said. It was the first thing that came into his head.
Cordy's nose crinkled. "No, it's too nice a day to do something ordinary. I wish Angel paid me enough to buy a car. I'd go…someplace." She put on her sunglasses. "I guess I'll just go home."
Doyle made a polite coughing noise. "A friend of a friend of mine was looking for a place, you know, to sort of put something out of the way of the repo man…well, the thing is, I've got a car. If you want to go…someplace."
Cordelia's smile was full and dazzling. "Really?"
She followed him to the small street behind the office building. Doyle fumbled for a moment, searching for the right key, as he walked up the passenger door of a Honda Civic that had seen three or four years of hard use.
Cordy took off her glasses and looked from the car to Doyle: "Now let me get this straight. Your friend's friend couldn't keep up the payments on i this /i ? And he doesn't i want /i the repo man to take it?"
"Now, princess, let's not examine the gift horse's teeth too closely. Think of it as your personal chariot to whisk you wherever you want." Doyle made an elaborate gesture of opening the car door and ushering her in. "And where will that be?"
"Starting driving and I'll tell you."
Doyle considered, briefly, sliding across the hood to the driver's side. And, just as quickly, saw himself overshooting it and looking the fool. He walked briskly and got behind the wheel, and started the motor. "So, where to?"
"Since neither of us can afford lunch at Spago," Cordy looked him up and down, "and you certainly don't have the clothes for it, I'm thinking the beach. Santa Monica pier. We'll swing by my place; I'll get some things. We'll get a few hours in the sun. Something we don't get a lot of in Angel's office."
"Well, I'm not against the idea in theory. But. I come from a place where paleness has been bred in for generations. Will we be sitting under the pier? Because sometimes it's hard to tell an Irishman from a vampire in terms of paleness--and their bad reaction to the sun."
Cordy snickered. "Oh, don't worry, ghost boy, I've got some sun block with a SP of 500 or so. We'll slather it on you." Throwing him a glance, "I'll do your back myself."
A blush crept up Doyle's face and he gave his attention to the street in front of the windshield.
When they got to Cordelia's place Doyle was surprised with how quickly Cordelia was ready to go again. He barely had time to check the state of the cash in his wallet, and she had changed her clothes, with her bathing suit under shorts and a top.
She made a few quick circuits around the living room, picking things up and putting them in her carryall. "Let's see, blanket, towels, sun block…"
She stopped and looked at Doyle. "What?" she said at the look on his face.
"I'm just surprised that you're ready. I thought there'd be more primping and clothes deciding."
"I always have a bag put together for the beach. You never know. And, besides," she said, opening the front door and walking out, "it's not as though this was a date, and I have to make an effort."
He followed her through the door and closed it behind him.
When they were back in the car, Cordelia took charge of the radio. "This is a happy music day. We're on our way to the beach; the sun is smiling down on us. Oldies, it is. Beatles and Beach Boys."
"Were you thinking of singing along?"
Cordelia said in a formal voice, "I might, I haven't decided yet. And do you have one of those famed Irish tenor voices? The ones that sound like you haven't reached full manhood yet?"
Doyle gave her a sidelong glance. "No, no kind of singing voice, at all. But don't let me stop you. If 'Yellow Submarine' comes on and you feel so inclined, well, go right ahead."
They rode without speaking for a while, the car filled with the sound of the Pointer Sisters jumping to it and Cyndi Lauper just wanting to have fun. After a bit, Cordelia turned from the passing scenery toward Doyle and said, "So why'd you come to California?"
"If you ever spent a January in Dublin, you wouldn't ask that question." He looked over and seeing she was still listening said, "I've always been a bit of a wanderer. London's too much like home; besides America's the place where the sun always shines. I remember when I was young, everybody in the neighborhood would go to the pub to watch Dallas. All that space seemed like heaven. My mam and me were crowded in a little flat."
"Dad take off?"
"Something like that."
Cordy nodded, "Yeah. Ever see him?"
"No. So, anyway, eventually I made it to America, even to Texas. But it turns out I'm not the big-belt-buckle-wearing type, so it was on to California. And what about you, Princess? Ever been out of California?"
"Of course. I've even been out of the country. Ok. To Mexico. But it was Cabo, not Tijuana. We used to have lovely vacations. That was before my father tripped some IRS land mine and everything exploded. Now they're someplace. They're probably afraid to write, you know, paranoid about the tax people."
"Do you miss them?"
Cordelia said nothing. Doyle, cursing himself, said, "Listen, I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Just forget I…"
"No, it's…Nobody's ever asked me that. It's like they were really well-to-do people that I used to hang out with. They never treated me much like their child. My dad liked having two good-looking girls on his arm; my mom and I discussed fashion. I always knew I was what they wanted." She gave a small laugh. "They'd probably have arranged to give me back if I turned out to be a bookworm. So I guess I don't miss them that much. Sometimes I miss the idea of parents, but that's about it."
They both went back to listening to the radio. When they got to Santa Monica they parked farther from the beach than they would have liked, but the rates were cheaper.
"Well, we're here, what's it going to be, beach or boardwalk?" Doyle asked.
"That's not even a question. I'm putting out my blanket and settling down for a few hours with my romance novel. I'm at the exciting part where the heroine is having fabulous dinner with a dark stranger. And guess what? No demons, trolls, or two-headed monsters break the party up."
They were strolling toward the beach, Doyle carrying most of beach necessities. "That sounds restful. If a bit unrealistic."
Cordelia spent some minutes choosing just the right spot to situate herself on the beach. And a few more arranging the stuff she pulled from her bag. Doyle watched as she delved into it again and again, finally saying, "Should we have left a note for Angel that you've planned an extended stay at the beach house?"
"I have a great deal of experience in beach needs, thank you. Nothing is worse than not having that one thing that would make the afternoon perfect. Or knowing you have to make a long trek out to the car to get it. A satisfactory beach outing depends on the details." She grabbed one of the plastic bottles littering the blanket. "Now, I think, you should have some SP. I swear you're turning pink already. Hold out your hands."
She squirted some lotion onto his palms, and he rubbed it up and down his arms and over his face. "Don't forget the back of your neck and ears. Are you going to take off your shirt? Because I could do your back, before I start my book."
"No," he said, "I'm fine. Maybe later."
She started to arrange herself to read, then said, "Oh, aren't you going to take off your shoes? You're on the beach; you look dorky. And socks, too."
Doyle undid the laces of his shoes and pulled them and his socks off.
"Hands," said Cordy.
He obediently held out his hands for some more sunscreen.
"Don't forget the bottoms of your feet," she instructed. "And let it dry before you walk on the sand."
"You seem to have devoted a great deal of time to the study of the blocking of the sun's rays," Doyle observed as he rubbed the lotion over his feet.
"Yes, I get it that you're mocking me. But it's important to an actress. Not getting a sunburn. Suppose I were to get a part of a…a…consumptive 19th Century courtesan. I couldn't very well show up looking like I spent a couple weeks in Hawaii. Besides, the sun ages you."
Doyle looked her up and down. "I don't see you as a consumptive, myself."
Cordelia gave a delicate snort. "I'm an actress. I can do anything. Not I'll ever get a chance to. Nobody's doing any stories on TV any more. It's all stupid reality shows."
Doyle stretched out his legs and wiggled his toes. "Don't worry, princess. It's just a fad. People will get tired of it."
"I should go into producing. I mean, how hard can it be to make one of those shows? A couple of cameras trained on bunch of people; everything is done in the editing room."
"But don't you need something new about it? Something to catch the attention of a jaded public."
Cordelia considered and said, "You're right. We need a hook. Something nobody's done before, or seen before."
Both of them were lying on their backs now, side by side, their eyes closed against the brilliant sun. Doyle said, "Well, we've seen things no everybody's seen."
Cordelia started to laugh. "We could have a bunch of people in a house in, in—where hasn't been done?—
"Buffalo?"
"Too cold."
"Morocco."
"Too foreign. I know, Santa Monica. And one of the contestants is a vampire. And nobody knows."
Doyle started to laugh, too.
Cordy continued, "And everybody thinks this guy…
Doyle interrupted, "Or girl."
"Ok, or girl, is just a lazy partyer, because he…
"Or she."
"Stays out all night and sleeps all day."
Doyle picked up the narrative. "But one by one the other contestants disappear? That's going to be tricky with all the cameras around, don't you think?"
"We'll work around it. Until there's only two people left. Then, then, we'll do a big reveal. We announce it's the first real vampire show."
"And the home audience will have to vote on who it is."
"No, no," Cordelia was giggling so hard she had trouble getting the words out, "we'll have them vote on which one of them gets staked."
"Well, that will get the ratings. I'm impressed with your show biz savvy, Cordelia. I think we have a winner on our hands."
They lay there for a few moments in quiet companionship, their thoughts drifting away. Then Doyle said, "The sun has baked me dry. I could use a drink. What about you?"
"I wouldn't say no to a diet soda, root beer if they have. But anything with ice will be great."
Cordelia laughed at the sight of Doyle walking away toward the boardwalk. He'd slipped on his shoes and had no socks between them and his rolled up pant legs. The very pale ankles looked thin and fragile in the middle of the two.
She found her book, and held it in her hands, indecisive. She was having, surprisingly, such a good time with Doyle. Just being away from the office and chatting. The book could wait for a while.
Doyle came back with two large drinks, and he settled himself down on the blanket. He made her laugh again with a story of the difficulties he encountered buying the sodas. The way he told it, it was quite the heroic quest. And she should thank her lucky stars that he was there to bring her whatever special nectar she required.
Their talk drifted to this and that. She told him of beach parties they used to have in high school; he had a story about seeing the Pacific for the first time.
Then he said, "You know, I was married on the beach. One morning me and Harry just climbed into a friend's car with a few others and drove to the beach and got married. One of our friends had a perfectly legitimate license to perform the ceremony."
"It sounds lovely. Better than those weddings where everybody ends up having a nervous breakdown from the stress." Cordelia shifted a little, and went on, "It's weird, isn't it? How Harry went on to study demon cultures and you got picked by the PTB. I mean, how's that for a coincidence? How come she wanted to study that, anyway? In Sunnydale you really couldn't avoid the demon thing, but it's not what most girls in college get into."
"Well, I guess she always had an inquiring mind. Or maybe the classes in English novels were all full. Say, I'm getting hungry. What do you say to some lunch? You haven't packed any roast beef sandwich in that bag, have you?"
"I buy doughnuts for the office. That's all the catering I do."
"I've been meaning to tell you what a superior pastry selection it is, too. Would you like me to bring you something from one of the fine establishments on the boardwalk?"
Cordelia considered the offer gravely. "No, we'll both go up. Not that I don't trust you, but let's face it, you could bring back deep fried corn dogs. I really don't put anything past you, foodwise. Give me a minute to pack up."
Everything went back into the carryall basket, the blanket was folded up, and they headed to the pier.
center II /center
The restaurants on the pier were pricey, so they decided to walk over to one of the fast food franchises that were scattered on the surrounding streets. Doyle had the carryall, and he grabbed the blanket from Cordelia, saying, "I'll be right back."
He disappeared into the video game arcade and came out moments later empty-handed. "I know a guy who works there; I stored the stuff in his locker. Saves us from lugging it around, or walking back and forth to the car."
"You know a guy just about everywhere, don't you?"
"It's my winning personality. People naturally take a liking to me. Besides, this guy owes me a couple of bucks. That makes him inclined to be obliging."
They had a minor squabble about going to the closest fast food place or the one with the better salads; Cordelia won that one. As they waited in line, she extracted some money from her pocket. "I want to pay for lunch, because you drove and everything. You don't have a problem with that, right?"
"Not a problem in the world. You should know that despite my slight frame, I'm a ferocious eater. It could set you back to feed me."
"Well, here's all the money I have. Order me a chicken salad and bottled water. You can go crazy with the change. I'll wait on the bench outside."
When Doyle came out with the food bags, they walked to a bench closer to the ocean to eat their lunch. He had ordered a meal that included a plastic figurine, but neither of them knew the movie it came from. They even disagreed about what it actually was. Cordelia held out for dragon; Doyle insisted it was a wolverine. They made up stories in which a dragon (or wolverine) was the hero. When they were finished eating, they began walking back towards the pier, and Cordelia slipped the small toy into her pocket.
As they passed some food concession booths, Doyle asked Cordelia, "Care for some dessert? Cotton candy?"
"You think I got these eating junk like that?" She bared her lips, giving him a full wattage smile.
"Careful you don't blind me with those things," he said, pulling slightly back and putting his hand up to shade his eyes.
"Very funny. Ha. Ha." Then Doyle leaned very close and said in a low voice, "It's a beautiful smile."
Cordelia blushed slightly. She caught Doyle's eye, then looked away and began walking a little quicker.
They got to the video game arcade. Doyle said, "I'll just get our gear, Be right out." Cordelia moved into the shade at the entrance. In less than five minutes, she saw Doyle weaving his way back through the machines. No blanket. No carryall.
"Now what?" Cordy asked when he got to her.
In answer Doyle opened his hand, showing her several packages of rolled quarters. "Mike gave me some of the money he owes. I thought I could show you how to shoot aliens, or race cars. It's a lot cooler in here."
Cordelia looked from his outstretched hand to his face. She shook her head in a small back and forth motion. "Pick any machine. I am so going to kick your butt."
Doyle gave a yelp of laughter. "All right, then. I've been challenged. The gloves are off. Step this way, princess."
The next two hours they spent going from one arcade machine to another. They began with "Crypt Killer", shooting whatever emerged from the coffins on the screen. They took a professional interest in this game and complimented each other on technique. Competition became fiercer in other games. There was one in which they shot enemies lurking in alleys on the screen, but also could stalk each other. "Cordy," Doyle said in exasperation, "you're supposed to blast the bad guys, not try to blow me to kingdom come. You'd get more points that way."
"I don't care. You're easier to pick off. You move slower. Look, look. Bam, you're dead."
"All right, you win this one. There are other games."
So they moved from one game to the next, with neither of them able to claim absolute championship rights.
They ended at skeeball.
Cordelia smirked when Doyle's threw the next ball up the alley. "What do you call that pitch? You look like a gorilla."
He gave her a satisfied smile as the ball landed in the center ring. "I skipped a lot of stones in my day. And you, you throw like a girl."
"I was a cheerleader, not captain of the girls' softball team."
"I wouldn't mind seeing you do a few cheers."
Cordelia threw her last ball, which landed on the adjoining alley. "All the boys liked to see me cheer," she said.
They moved together through the arcade and out into the sunshine.
"Merry-go-round?" Doyle said.
"OK."
They stood for a while outside the carousel, watching the horses whirl by, listening to the booming rendition of "Que Sera, Sera". Doyle bought tickets, and when the ride stopped, they jumped on. Cordelia was about to mount one of the horses when Doyle grabbed her hand and pulled her with him as he went past two or three animals.
He stopped and grabbed the reins of one horse and swung himself on it. "There," he looked down at her, "I'm your knight on a white charger. Every girl's dream."
Cordelia looked at him and then looked around. She ran over to a fierce-looking tiger one row ahead of Doyle's horse and got up on it. "Thank you, but Tigger and I do very well on our own."
"You sit a tiger well, I'll give you that." The carousel started up again, and Doyle moved to the animal beside Cordy's, sitting on it sideways and facing her.
She pointed at a palomino several rows up. "I used to have a horse who looked like that," Cordelia told Doyle. "Keanu. He loved carrots."
"I had a job mucking out stables once. It put me off horses for good. I prefer a steed like this," he said, gesturing to the carved beast he was on.
"It's an ostrich."
"All the better. There'll be eggs."
She patted the neck of her animal. "It might be nice to have a tiger when we're hunting demons. Still, we probably don't have enough income to keep it in meat, and I wouldn't want it looking at me like I was a juicy steak."
"Yeah, that'd be the downside."
The ride came to a stop. They stepped off, and Cordelia slipped her arm under Doyle's as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When they were back on the pier he said, "Are you up for something more exciting in the line of rides. One of them whirly things, perhaps?"
"No. No, I don't do whirly."
"All right, the Ferris Wheel, then."
"I don't like heights. And, besides, boys, no matter what their age, think it's funny to swing the chair thingy back and forth. It never is."
"Cordelia, you have my word as a gentleman and a scholar, no swinging. Just look at the view you'll get. It's gorgeous."
By this time they were standing at the Ferris wheel's entrance. "Look," Doyle said, pointing, "they're little buckets, not benches. Very hard to swing."
"OK, but, I swear, Doyle, if you scare me, I'll have Angel bite you."
"Cordelia, you work for a vampire; you live with a ghost. I'm not worried about you being terrified." He bought the tickets, and they slid onto the seat in the car. Cordy threw several suspicious glances at Doyle as the car began its ascent. He leaned back with his arms spread, trying to look the picture of trustworthiness.
The ride was meant to show off the panorama of ocean and land, so the rhythm was slow. Cordelia forgot her apprehension in looking out over the landscape. Doyle had moved closer to her to point out things on the horizon, one arm slipping behind her on the outside rail of the ride.
"Look," he said, "there's a great hawk over there, swooping down on something." Cordelia, who had been facing the opposite direction, turned her head to see, and suddenly they were face to face, with only two or three inches between them. They stared into each other's eyes, and the seconds ticked by. Doyle's hand had lifted from the rail and opened, as though he were going to embrace Cordelia. But he let it drop down again, and abruptly turned from Cordy. "See, dinner time in the wild."
Cordy assumed a nonchalant voice to match his and looked in the direction he had pointed. "It's funny how many wild creatures can adapt to civilization. I mean, look at all those urban demons!"
"Yeah, it's amazing." Doyle said. He settled himself several inches farther from Cordelia.
When the ride was over, they walked over the pier's railing, watching the ocean and the almost setting sun. Cordelia had once again put her arm through Doyle's. She said, "I feel like I'm on vacation. I guess it's good to get out of the office, every once in a while."
"How about some dinner? We could go to a sit-down place, really live it up," Doyle said. "I'm paying."
"Woo-hoo, the high life for us. You're on."
"OK, let's get our things from the arcade before Mike's shift is over, then you have your choice of any attractive but modestly priced restaurant you want."
They walked back down the pier.
center III /center
Cordelia chose the restaurant; Doyle said anything was good as long as it didn't involve raw fish. It was a small Italian place, filled with customers as casually dressed as they were, but the lights were low, and there were flickering candles on every table in red glass containers. They managed to score a booth against the wall and slid in facing each other. It felt very private.
After ordering the house special, artichoke pizza, and having made a choice from the wine list (red, white, or none), the two chatted as they waited for their food. Cordy said, "I'd like to have a house on the beach, looking out on miles and miles of nothing."
"And miles and miles of fog every morning. I think I'll go for a penthouse in Las Vegas. I like a place with a little life to it."
"Ha, do you know how the desert dries your skin? My moisturizer bill would probably equal the mortgage payment."
"But think of all the fancy clothes you could wear to shows. We should see if Angel is interested in opening a branch office. There must be vampires that need slaying in Vegas. The place is made for them. It's a nighttime town."
"You know, I haven't thought of vampires or even Angel for almost a whole day," Cordelia said. "This has been great. Really, Doyle, thanks for a lovely day out."
"Well, you deserve it. Putting up with me and Angel. I just wish…that…you know…," Doyle hesitated.
"What?" Puzzled.
"That it was something better than amusement park rides and pizza. Something classier."
"Am I complaining?"
"No."
"Have you known me to complain if I don't like things?"
"Why, yes, Cordelia, I think I have."
Giving a little toss of her head, Cordelia said, "This is the best day I've had in a long time. Way better than drinking bad coffee and waiting for the phone to ring in the office."
"Well, if the pier is such a mood enhancer, maybe the next time Buffy comes to town, we should go to Disneyland."
"God, I hope she doesn't make this a habit. Angel's moody enough as it is. Though seeing you in Mickey ears would be worth the trip."
Their food arrived, and they ate and talked. After they were finished with the pizza and were enjoying a second glass of nondescript wine, Cordelia was very quiet, letting Doyle ramble on about this and that. Suddenly, she interrupted him mid-sentence. "Why you?"
"What?"
"The Powers That Be, why did they choose you to work with Angel? Out of all the humans available."
"My ice blue, yet comforting, eyes?"
"No. No jokes. No Irish charm. Why you?"
He kept his eyes down. He took the salt shaker in his hands and turned it around and around. Then he looked up and said, "Want to take a walk?"
They gathered their stuff, Doyle left money for the bill, and they walked out into the mild California night, toward the candy-colored lights of the boardwalk. Cordelia slipped her hand into Doyle's, their fingers intertwined, and he led her toward the beach. They didn't talk.
There were other strollers along the ocean's edge. The tide was out, and Doyle took Cordelia toward the pylons underneath the pier. He stopped at a spot where they'd be alone, and he put down the beach gear and turned to Cordy. The light spilling over from the boardwalk illuminated his face.
"If I tell you, there's no going back. It won't be the same, between us."
She tilted her head and said, "Maybe it isn't the same, now."
With a quick shake of his head, his demon face appeared. He held it for about 20 seconds, all the while staring into Cordelia's eyes, then with another shake was human again.
"My father was a Brachen demon," he said.
He and Cordelia continued to look at each other, and the seconds passed. Finally she said, "Wow….wow. Does Angel know?"
Doyle smiled slightly. "He knows. Since I introduced myself. He could tell something was off, human-wise."
Cordelia was indignant. "So everybody knows everything, and I don't? What am I, some sort of junior member of Angel Investigations?"
Doyle said quietly, "Cordelia."
"Oh. Oh, the face. I don't know…it's…Well, you're Doyle, aren't you? I mean, that was always there, I just didn't know about it."
"Really?"
In answer she stepped forward, leaned in, resting her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a lingering kiss. He was so startled that it took him a second to respond. Then he wound his arms around her, letting them trail back to his side only when she broke away and took a step backward.
"That answer enough?"
"OK, then. OK." Doyle began to fidget, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, his hands moving from his hips to his pockets and back again. "Great. Well, I know a place in the city we could go for a drink, to celebrate like. But," he made a point of looking Cordelia up and down, "you don't have the clothes for it."
"Oh, you think not?" Cordelia grabbed the beach bag and dug to the very bottom of it. She brought out a rolled piece of black fabric. Dropping the bag, she unfurled the cloth and shook it out. "It's a jersey skirt that never wrinkles. I slip it on; take off the shorts. I'm ready for drinks. I told you I come prepared."
"You did, Princess. I was a fool to doubt you. Well, come on, I owe you a drink."
With smooth movements, Cordy wrapped the skirt around her, tied it, and reached under to undo the zipper of her shorts. They dropped to her feet; she stepped out of them, scooping them up and stowing them in the carry-all.
She started to walk with Doyle back toward the car. "One drink. Angel will probably be grouchy tomorrow and will want to go out and kill a monster or two. We don't want to have hangovers."
"Whatever you say, darlin'."
When they were back in the car and heading toward the city, Cordelia had some questions for Doyle. "You don't drink blood, do you? Or go all crazy after sex?"
"No, and not so I've noticed. The Brachens are pretty laid-back for demons. They aren't at all predatory."
"That's good. So, do you have any special powers? Things you haven't bothered to bring to the office, like seeing through things so you could find where I lost my good earring."
"I'm stronger when I'm demon, but I've spent a lot of time running away from this demon thing, so maybe I can do things I don't know about yet. You're probably better off praying to St. Anthony about the lost earring."
Cordelia became more animated, waving her hands in front of her. "Wait, things are suddenly clearer. I mean, Harry, she was studying demons. How come your marriage broke up?...No, that was rude wasn't it? It's just, I get some things now."
"The demon part didn't manifest until I was 21. Harry didn't have a problem with it, but I did. After we broke up, I did some things... well, some things that…"
"Is that why the Powers That Be chose you?"
"They offered me a chance to make up…to redeem….Well, I could tell you the whole story, but it's long."
"You can tell me next time. Right now I'm all revelationed out."
Doyle felt as though his heart skipped. "Next time, it is."
They drove into the city, down streets Cordelia was unfamiliar with. Doyle parked and ran around to open the passenger door. She said, "I don't see anything open."
"You have to know what to look for." Doyle took her hand and led her to an ordinary-looking door in a brick-faced building. He pressed his hand to the door, then turned the knob. The door swung open, showing stairs leading down.
Cordelia heard music and, reaching the bottom of the staircase, realized she was in some sort of bar or club. It was different from the LA scene she was used to. Instead of Prada-sporting yuppies, doing flailing dances to the hottest beat, there was an assortment of demons grooving to the sounds of a singer while they nursed their drinks at tables scattered about the large, purple-walled room.
Cordelia turned to Doyle. "It's a demon bar!"
"Not so loud; don't look like a tourist. There are some humans here, too. Look around." He guided her to a table, and they sat down.
She used a vibrant whispering voice. "But there's an awful lot of demons. Xander told me about a place like this in Sunnydale, but the way he told it, that place was a seedy dive. This looks nice."
"You might call it my secret vice. I started coming here not too long ago."
Cordelia was sympathetic. "You mean, like trying to connect with your demon side."
"No, it's the karaoke. But I've never been drunk enough to try it."
Cordelia paid more attention to the lizard-like singer. He was reading the words of the song, and his voice went flat about every second line.
Doyle said, "A drink?"
"I guess Irish coffee would be appropriate."
Doyle smiled. "I'd take it as a compliment." He went to the bar and asked for "two Irish coffees; hold everything but the Irish on one of them."
Back at the table, with their drinks in front of them, Doyle leaned close to Cordelia, saying, "See that green guy over there, in the flashy suit? He's The Host. He owns the place. He's supposed to be able to read your future or aura or something, if you sing."
"That sounds kind of creepy." She took a big sip of her coffee. "This is good, but strong. Yeah, creepy. But then I'm in a demon bar. I guess I have to get a different standard for creepiness." She gave a quick look at Doyle. "Not that I mean...oh, crap, no more demon slams. One of my best friends is a demon."
"Well, I won't take it personal."
Cordelia laid her hand on his. "No, don't ever."
Their attention was caught by the next singer. He looked something like a Ferengi, but he had a lovely tenor voice. The atmosphere of the room mellowed as he sang. The audience insisted on an encore. When he was done, The Host bounded up onto the stage, saying, "Beautiful. Now who doesn't want to sail down 'Moon River' with Rostack here? All right, now for a change of pace, we have a P'tmak demon who's going to give us trouble, Pink's song "Trouble", that is." As he handed over the mike, The Host said to the scaly lizard-like singer, "Shake them up, guy!"
Meanwhile, Doyle and Cordelia had another drink and sat talking quietly. Just before the P'tmak had finished, Doyle excused himself, and Cordelia thought he was on his way to the restroom. But there he was, on stage with The Host, who said, "All righty, let's hear from young blue eyes here, who's sending this one out to a lovely lady."
Doyle fumbled with the microphone and the karaoke machine. He mumbled to himself, then realized it was being picked up by the mic. He cleared his throat and said, "OK, well, seeing as I'm Irish and all, I thought I'd do an Irish lullaby. OK, here goes."
The music began and, after a false start, he sang,
i center I have climbed the highest mountain
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you
I have run, I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
These city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for /center /i
Cordelia laughed when she recognized the song. Doyle was really an awful but enthusiastic singer. She propped her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hand, staring at Doyle during his performance, thinking that when she woke up that morning she never imagined ending the day like this.
Doyle finished and practically ran back to the table. He sat down, and she noticed his hands were shaking. "How was I?" he asked.
"Very brave. Very unexpected. A U2 lullaby?"
"That's just my puckish sense of humor, Cordelia. Everybody thinks 'cause I'm Irish I know the boys personally."
The Host had come over to their table. "Hi, I'm The Host; you may know me from my many stage appearances." He said to Doyle, "So you finally let loose; I guess you just needed the right audience. And who wouldn't turn songbird for such a lovely companion?"
"Did you see anything I should know about, when I sang? Me breaking the house in Vegas or winning a lifetime supply of Guinness would be welcome news."
"You work for the souled vampire, don't you? I've heard about him. Interesting. It's a little fuzzy, but whatever happens has to do with your boss. Mostly I see you being there when he needs you. And that he always thinks of you that way." The Host looked from one to the other. "But I can see that today was a good day. Just appreciate it. Think of it as a gift." He looks around at the crowd. "Uh-oh, natives are getting restless. It's my turn under the baby spot. Take care." The Host left, weaving through the tables to the stage.
Cordelia yawned. "Sorry, but I'm about pooped, Doyle. I'm afraid I'll have to call it a day."
"No problem. I'd say we'd gotten our money's worth out of this day."
As they were making their way to the entrance The Host began his number, an old standard not heard very often any more,
center i For all we know this may only be a dream.
We come and go like a ripple on a stream.
So love me tonight. Tomorrow's made for some.
Tomorrow may never come, for all we know. /i /center
In the car, Cordelia leaned her head back and relaxed in her seat. She may even have nodded off. Certainly she started when the car came to a stop in front of her apartment house. "Here already?" she said a bit fuzzily.
"Well, as a chariot, it's not much for looks, but it gets you there," Doyle said. He got out, went to open the passenger door, then retrieved the beach gear from the trunk. He walked with Cordelia to her front door. Cordelia asked him, "Did you ever take Angel to that place, the bar?"
"No, I don't even think he knows it exists."
"Good, then tomorrow I can wear my I-know-something-you-don't-smile 'til it drives him crazy. I'll bet our day was a whole lot better than his."
"You're sure? You enjoyed yourself?"
In answer, Cordelia leaned over and kissed his cheek. "For a demon, you're a lot of fun on a date. It was the best time I've had since I can't remember when."
"Then we can do it again, soon? Maybe, next Saturday?"
"Maybe. We'll talk about it tomorrow." She smiled. "Probably yes, Saturday. But we should talk about it." She got out her keys. "I have to go in, before I fall asleep out here."
"OK, then. Tomorrow." Doyle watched her until she was safely inside, then with light-hearted dancing steps went to the car. "Tomorrow," he said under his breath.
THE END