by Various
Kat furrowed her brow and a glittering silver energy raced over the car. “Done.”
“These officers are just doing their jobs,” Wesley said. “We should pull over and explain—”
“We won’t be around,” P. J. said, his inner light reaching its zenith.
“Don’t worry, dearheart,” Kat said with a bright, happy laugh. “We’ve done this for sixty years and we’ll do it for sixty more. And no one’s ever, ever gotten hurt!”
“She’s not just whistling Dixie,” P. J. said, taking his hands off the wheel. “Heck, old son, if we didn’t do some good during our hour of life, we wouldn’t be given the chance to return to the party each time. Them’s the rules!”
Wesley slid over and through the ghosts, grabbing the wheel before the car could run up the sidewalk. “You mean—I could see you and feel the cold because I was chosen by some higher power, I was meant to receive a bit of wisdom and guidance and—”
“I think it was just ’cause you’re a cutie,” Kat said, blowing him a kiss and leaping into the air. P. J. winked and followed. The wraiths linked hands and caused a storm of strange energies to seize the street, blowing back trees, warping steel signs, forcing streetlights to bend low and burst their bulbs before the windshield of the oncoming police car, which screeched to a stop as Wesley continued on, zooming down a side road. He found a spot several blocks from the hotel where he left the car, then walked back to the hotel, this time anxious to find every pool of light, shunning the shadows, embracing the sounds, the shouts, the car horns and laughter, the fragrance of light, the essence and mystery of the night.
No one was in the lobby of the hotel, but the lights were on, warm and inviting.
Tonight he had taken his first step on the long road to understanding that some things—like the delirious behavior of the ghosts who snatched him from the street and his father’s disapproval—might indeed never change, but how he chose to react to such things was entirely up to him.
Wesley made his decision. He called from his office, turning on every light.
“Mother? Yes, it’s Wesley. About those tickets you sent me. As much as I would love to see my old stomping ground again, I thought it would be more fun by far if I could show you the sights here in Los Angeles…That’s right, I’ll trade in the tickets and get you booked on a flight here.”
After a few more minutes on the phone, Wesley gently replaced the receiver. He smelled a heavenly scent and turned to see Cordelia bounding happily into the office with several Christmas-wrapped gift boxes in her hands. She stopped at the sight of him.
“Someone’s in a better mood,” Cordy said.
Wesley smiled. “Just consider me the cat’s pajamas.”
10 P.M.
Model Behavior
by Emily Oz
“Here’s a thought,” Cordelia offered, breezing back into the lobby. “Let’s talk about me for a minute.” She flashed a megawatt grin at her now-gathered coworkers, who were in various stages of general, downtime-esque research. Other than Wesley, who managed a distracted grunt, no one was biting.
“Hello? Me? Get on board, people—not only have I landed a maybe-contract with Bryan Whittiger—of the Whittiger Agency—but have I not achieved a perfect balance of fashion-forward meets hire-me-smart?” She twirled eagerly, undaunted by their lack of enthusiasm.
“I love your outfit,” Fred concurred, smiling demurely over the edge of a book that weighed twice what she did. “Perfect for the party.”
Picking a non-existent clump of lint off her black leather pants, Cordelia afforded herself another moment of self-congratulatory agreement. Getting the phone call from Whittiger’s receptionist and being told that he’d heard of her and wanted to see her portfolio was impressive enough. Once he’d seen her photos, he had met with her personally to discuss taking her on. As a Whittiger model, she’d be represented by the hottest international agency around, and with any luck, given first crack at the choicest assignments available. Hands down, this was the biggest break she’d been given since she arrived in L.A. Phase One of unprecedented fame and fortune—check, she thought gleefully.
“Party?” Angel asked absently. He pushed aside a troublesome stack of bills to regard Cordelia with renewed curiosity. “Tonight?”
“Duh, listen much? The wine and cheese, meet-and-greet party for all of Whittiger’s new models.”
“It’s at the beach house, and all of the clients are there, and the models get to say hello,” Fred explained a touch wistfully. It all sounded very glamorous to her. Of course, these days, tacos are still pretty glamorous to me. One of the benefits of having recently been rescued from an alternate dimension was a renewed appreciation for the simpler aspects of L.A. living—including cheap Tex-Mex.
“Well, sure, if ‘say hello’ is some code for gettin’ down,” Gunn interjected.
“It’s totally PG-13,” Cordelia argued, crossing her arms defensively.
“All I’m sayin’ is, Whittiger is pretty smart to be having all of his top clients over to that swank pad. He gets the models to fawn all over the businessmen, the businessmen book his agency, the models get famous—everyone’s a winner.”Which must be nice, he thought wistfully. I wouldn’t mind rubbing elbows with gorgeous women rather than scabby demons. He allowed himself to peek at Fred, who was still skimming her tome. She and Cordelia were both totally gorgeous, each in her own way. So it’s not as if I don’t know from beautiful people, he conceded.
“Hi, I’m Cordelia Chase. Not big with the fawning,” Cordy reminded him, glaring. She fished a lipstick and compact out of her handbag and touched up quickly.
Snapping the mirror shut, Cordelia suddenly narrowed her eyes and rather slowly crossed the room to where he was standing, stopping just short of his personal space. “In fact, I’m usually the fawn ee,” she countered pointedly. She half-smiled. “Maybe you can see why?”
“Uh, sure,” Gunn said uncertainly, taking a few steps backward and glancing at Fred.
Fred shrugged back at Gunn. What do I know from physical boundaries? I was living in a cave for four years.“I’m sure you’ll get plenty of attention tonight, Cordy. You look great. Take me with you the next time you go shopping. I could use your expert advice. Do you want something to eat?”
She rose abruptly and made her way toward the kitchen before Cordelia had a chance to answer. The sight of the slinky brunette…slinking… all over Gunn was inexplicably irritating. Cordelia is not hitting on Charles, for Pete’s sake.
And even if she is—what in the heck do I care? We’re all friends here….
“I’m sorry, did you say that Whittiger has a beach house?” Wesley asked, at last turning his attentions toward the group.
“Yuh-huh! Three stories, wraparound deck, interior solarium, sauna…” Cordelia trailed off with a sigh. “Assuming everything goes well tonight, I’m primed for the best three months of my life.” Needless to say, when she’d left Sunnydale for Los Angeles she hadn’t anticipated taking up with a demon-busting detective agency, and though her values had begun to shift since she’d been battling evil, well…who’s to say I can’t do both?
“Three months?” Angel asked. He found it hard to imagine a day without the outspoken brunette.
Cordelia sighed again, this time with exasperation. “I open my mouth, sound comes out, and yet…Yes, Whittiger keeps a beach house for his models. Once they’re signed they live there for a three-month orientation period. It’s a chance for the girls to bond with one another and learn the trade. A personal trainer, dietician, and one or two veteran models live on the premises and get us into shape.”
“What does Dennis think?” Wesley asked. Phantom Dennis had grown accustomed to sharing an apartment with Cordelia and was bound to be lonely without her.
“I’m sure he’ll live—or, I guess, carry on with the not-living—without me for three months.”
“What about your work here?” Angel wanted to know. He sounded concerned. Cordelia’s premon
itions—and her dedication to the cause and the crew—were equally vital to the Investigation’s operations.
“That’s why cell phones were invented,” Cordy pointed out. “The Powers That Be won’t care that I’ve relocated—visions will keep on as per usual—and I can still drop by the office every day. Most days,” she amended hastily.
“Angel, you know I’m committed to the vision-girl gig, but I’ve got to get a life, too. And since romance for clairvoyant monster-busters is slim pickings, it’s career or bust. Here it is practically New Year’s Eve, and I’m pretty much alone—heck, we all are—”
“Do let’s point that out as often as possible,” Wesley interrupted, a tad peevish.
“—but I’ve got this. This is it! And it’s great news! I really thought you’d be happy for me.”
For a moment it looked as though Angel’s nonsupport threatened to spoil her euphoria. Not wanting to crush her spirits, Angel was quick to clarify his position. “It’s not that I’m not excited for you, I’m just worried,” he explained. “You’re compromising a lot, to uproot yourself for this guy. Is there any guarantee that you’re going to get work?”
Frustrated, Cordy grabbed a fashion magazine from the oversized tote bag she’d been carrying. She thrust it under Angel’s nose triumphantly. “Natascha Vaknin, age 18. Measurements 31, 22, 36. Height, 5’11”. Whittiger model.”
“You’re gonna be living with this hottie?” Gunn asked incredulously, snatching the magazine away. I am so in the wrong line of work….
“The photo’s airbrushed,” Fred pointed out in an uncharacteristically grouchy tone, crossing swiftly back into the room with a box of doughnuts tucked under her arm. She planted herself in a seat and began to munch fervently.
“She’s very attractive,” Angel conceded reluctantly. “In a…leggy sort of way. I mean, if you like that kind of thing.”
“Um, right, that blond, high-cheekboned, exotic kind of thing. The girl belongs in magazines. And I belong there, too,” Cordelia purred, sidling up to Angel. “Isn’t it obvious? Some people,” she paused, allowing her eyes to skate down the length of his body and back up again, “just have that special something.” She found herself stroking him, pushing at the front of his hair. Has he done something different with it today?“You know, you could probably be a male model, if you wanted. What if I put in a good word for you?” Satisfied that his hair was behaving, she snaked an arm around his waist and gazed up at him questioningly.
Shaking his head, Angel disentangled himself from her uncharacteristically flirtatious embrace. “Cordelia, are you feeling okay?”
“I’m feeling just fine,” she replied, stepping toward him again. “And so are you.” She winked.
Fred coughed loudly. “Donut—wrong pipe,” she explained, pounding at her chest.
Wesley leaped from his seat to offer Fred a sip of water. Cordelia’s behavior was making him feel irrationally tense, as well. Clearly, she’s making Fred uncomfortable, he reasoned. “Don’t you need to get going if you’re to be at the party on time?”
“Too true.” She took another quick peek in the compact. Snapping the mirror shut she fixed her gaze at Wesley and puckered. “What do you think?”
“Perfect,” he answered nervously, careful not to meet her oddly captivating gaze. He felt as if the temperature in the room had just risen by twenty degrees, inexplicably. “Do take care not to smudge before you’ve said hello to Whittiger,” he advised.
But she was already out the door.
When Cordelia stepped into the open, sunken living room of Whittiger’s beach house (the room consisted of practically the entire first floor), she was surprised to find it devoid of any guests other than models. She had arrived exactly on time—fashionably late was for people with stable careers—only to be met by an extreme lack of clients to greet. It was a bit disappointing. What with the fighting evil and all, this was likely to be the only non-work-related holiday party she attended. It would have been nice to meet even the boringest of Y chromosomes in the room, for schmoozing or even plain old conversation. Figures, she thought glumly.
Nursing a half-full glass of white wine, she wove through the room, taking in the décor. Whittiger certainly had good taste. The room and as much of the house as she’d seen was done in minimalist chic, and she admired sleek chrome side tables, a slim, titanium Christmas tree trimmed in steel blue tinsel, and a long, polished mirror that adorned the far wall. She loved her reflection bouncing against the stark white background. She paused for a moment to tame a stray strand of her bobbed hair.
Natascha Vaknin—the Natascha—flitted past and Cordelia reached out to the gamine model, hoping to introduce herself. She’d heard that Natascha had three weeks left to go in the house and Cordy planned to use those three weeks to her utmost advantage. Mentor, meet mentee. I’m all about strategy.
“Natascha, hi! We haven’t met yet. My name’s Cordelia Chase. I’m a huge fan of yours,” she offered. Realizing she was babbling, she extended a hand and awaited a perfunctory handshake.
Natascha merely gazed forward blankly, blinking saucer eyes at Cordelia. She pricked the corners of her mouth up in an entirely insincere smile. “Yes, hello. You will work here, no?” She drifted off without waiting for an answer.
“Okay, unfriendly much? What was that about?” Cordelia wondered aloud. She turned to a dazzling redhead who was also preening in front of the mirror. “Is she always that chatty?”
The redhead swirled slowly to regard Cordelia. “Ah, hello. I must go now.” She, too, floated off in the direction Natascha had gone.
Is this a language barrier thing? The thought of spending three months shacked up with women who could barely choke out a ‘good morning’ was starting to sound less and less appealing. Fame. Fame and fortune. And maybe even hottie male models, she reminded herself. But before her resolve could deteriorate completely, she heard a commotion toward the front foyer.
She turned to see Whittiger himself descending the open slats of the staircase. He wore a deep charcoal suit and a shirt and tie in the same shade of gray-blue. Cordelia had assessed him as attractive on their first meeting—as anyone with eyes in their head would have—but tonight she was almost magnetically drawn to his eyes. Must be the shirt, she decided. Though Cordelia was certainly not impervious to the appeal of wealth, power, and healthy good looks, her reaction to his presence seemed to her to be extreme.
It didn’t, however, seem to be uncommon.
Most of the models were undulating toward him, cooing as they slid across the floor gracefully, tossing perfect, shiny manes across slim, bare shoulders. There was a mechanical quality to their sexy strut, as if they were being drawn forward almost against their will.
And Cordelia found that she was, too.
“Okay, so…I know I’ve been living in a cave for the past few years,” Fred began tentatively, finally pushing aside the near-empty box of doughnuts, “but does anyone else think that Cordelia was acting a little strangely just now?”
“Definitely,” all three men responded in unison.
“Is it possible she was merely excited about the party, and the prospect of this new job opportunity?” Wesley suggested.
“Nuh-uh. Did you see that thing she did, where she undressed Angel with her eyes?” Gunn pointed out. “Now that’s just not natural.” The entire exchange had creeped him out in a big way.
“Okay, wait a minute—,” Angel protested, clearly uncomfortable with the turn that the conversation was taking. “She may have been a little…friendly…but I don’t know that she was undressing any—unnatural?”
“C’mon man. This is Cordelia. I don’t care how lonely she’s been lately or when she last went on a date. Girl’s not hitting on any of us. I don’t think she’s even attracted to any of us. She just doesn’t think of us that way.”
“Well—,” Wesley started. He thought back to the awkward kiss he and Cordelia had shared back at Sunnydale High and decided it was best not to me
ntion that debacle. But still—one would assume that she had been, at least on some level, attracted….
“Same as we don’t think of her that way,” Gunn added, definitively.
“Well…” Angel trailed off. Well, what? he asked himself. No, not gonna go there, he decided. “Yes. Something’s up.”
“I mean, she’s cute and all, but we’ve got…you know…a job to do,” Gunn finished lamely. “Can’t be gettin’ involved with each other.”
“I have to agree with Charles,” Fred said, blushing furiously. “There’ve never been any signs to indicate interest before now. And it’s true, office romances are…complicated.”
“Exactly!” Wesley and Gunn agreed simultaneously. Angel noted that they both glanced at Fred and quickly glanced off in opposite directions.
“Unnatural, though—I mean, don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” Angel continued defensively. “Women have flirted with me. Some very attractive women have flirted with me in my day.”
“I’m sure,” Fred said, nodding, still with the blushing. “But not Cordelia.”
“Listen—she said it herself. Her social life has taken a hit since her days ruling Sunnydale High. We’re all on demon watch twenty-four/seven. We know what it’s like to have no time for romance—”
“Some of us got souls to worry about,” Gunn added.
“…it stands to reason she might turn her attentions to the familiar. Meaning, us,” Angel finished loudly. He gazed ahead reflectively. “I happen to think that’s perfectly natural.”
“I think you hit a nerve,” Fred whispered to Gunn, who nodded, smirking. She looked over at Angel. “So you’re saying you think she was hitting on you?”
“No!
“But she could have been,” he finished somewhat lamely.
Ignoring Angel, Wesley noticed something on the counter. “Cordelia’s compact. I hope she wasn’t planning on using it later.” He scooped it up and tossed it from palm to palm. “It’s quite heavy.”
