A Beautiful Friendship: A Brown Eyed Girl
by fej
Part 4, A Brown Eyed Girl
The maitre d', Tara, approaches them, "Yes?"
"I reserved a table. Angel."
"Yes, Monsieur Angel, right this way," not remembering who Angel was due to a dearth of cross-overs.
As they head toward the table they pass by the dais where Giles and Lorne are playing. Cordelia looks at Giles and Lorne curiously, a little bit of surprise showing on her face. Giles and Lorne notice her as well and have to make great effort to keep on playing and singing their rocking cover of "Disco Duck". After she goes by Giles steals another look in her direction. He leans over to Lorne and whispers, "Is that who I think it is?"
"Sure looks like it, my chocolate layer cake with rum-raspberry filling between the layers, a whipped-cream frosting and marzipan animals on top." They both just shake their heads in wonder and confusion and continue the jiving beat.
Another interested party also observes the new couple from the bar as Tara seats Cordelia. Angel sits opposite and surveys the room. Tara goes to get their waiter.
Across the room, Spike and Buffy look up from their table. Spike only knows Angel as the famous vampire that fights the Slayer Army's unjust persecution of all demons, good or bad. Buffy, on the other hand, sees her former broody star-crossed love with the queen bit-cah of high-school on his arm. She can barely restrain herself as Dawn holds her down.
Angel speaks up to the waiter. "A vodka martini, and a Pink Lady for the lady, please."
The waiter is annoyed as only the faux-French can be. "It's a 'Juice' bar you Irish moron! Pick something else!"
His morose broodiness increases tenfold. "Ah, oh...well, then, how about a Cranberry-Mayonnaise Mixer and a Mustard-Bananana Blend for her."
"Oui, oui, very good!"
Angel shakes his head before addressing Cordelia. "I saw no one of Doyle's description." Worry now competes with broodiness for square-footage on his forehead while Concern has cornered the territory around his shoulders.
Cordelia is feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "Angel, I - I feel distinctly uncomfortable, we shouldn't stay."
"If we walk out so soon it would only call attention to us. Perhaps Doyle is in another part of the bar."
Wesley walks up to them in an affected furtive manner. "Pardon me, but you look like a couple who are on their way to America. Wink wink, nudge nudge." Wesley waggles his brows as he winks at and nudges Angel.
Angel's forehead clears briefly as worry and broodiness make a tactical retreat when he recognizes Wesley. "Hey, Wes! Wow, it's great to see you! You musta been part of the same group Cordy was in, right?" as joyfully exclaims, indicating Cordelia with a wave of his hand.
"It would seem," agrees Wesley. He nods a greeting to Cordelia.
"Well? What do you have for me?" asks Angel, as worry and brood join forces and make a determined advance on his hairline.
"Look, I know you can be a real idiot at times--okay, most of the time--but just play along, will 'ya?" Wes whispers fiercely. Then he takes the ring off his finger, and in a louder voice continues. "You will find a market there for this ring. I am forced to sell it at great sacrifice."
Angel gives Wes a big wink to let him know he understands the game. Wes rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation.
"Thank you, but I hardly think--" begins Angel.
"Then perhaps for the lady. the ring is quite unique..." Wes holds the ring down for their inspection; it's gold and shows an impression of the Mickey Mouse profile used by the PTBs in all their most confidential communications.
"Oh yes," he said, finally getting it now, "I'm very interested, wink wink, nudge nudge."
Wesley sits, "Good!"
"What is your name?" Angel does a much better job of the pretense now that concern has abandoned its position on his shoulders and entered the fray on his forehead, distracting brood and worry.
"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. At your service, sir."
Cordelia glances up and sees Spike approaching from behind. "Angel..." she warns.
Angel whispers to Wesley, "I'll meet you in a few minutes at the bar." Then speaking louder, "Thank you for showing us the ring, but I do not think we will be buying it."
Wesley sighs dramatically and puts the ring away. "Such a bargain, but that is your decision?"
"I'm sorry, it is."
Wesley gets up and leaves just as Spike arrives. "Angel, is it not?" inquires Spike.
"Yes. Don't you remember me, bleach-boy? And what's with that awful accent?"
Spike stiffens with pride in the face of this insult. "I am Captain William, Prefect of Police," he announces loudly and proudly. Then he leans in a bit. "I am told I'm suffering from amnesia and I don't know 'ow I got here, or why I speak with zis 'orrible accent."
Cordelia can't help but snark, to no one in particular, "Amnesia? That's just getting so-o-o common. You know, I started this trend! I was cool before everyone even knew amnesia was cool. Go find you own cheap plot device!"
Angel cuts her off impatiently, "Okay then, what is it you want?"
She desists in a sulk and comforts herself, secure in the knowledge that she still had one more cheap and cheesy plot device up her sleeve that no-one else had taken...yet.
"Merely to welcome you to Casablanca and wish you a pleasant stay. It is not often we 'ave so distinguished a visitor."
Angel responds politely, "Thank you. I hope you'll forgive me Captain, but the present administration has not always been so cordial. May I present Ms. Cordelia Chase."
"I was informed you were ze most beautiful woman to ever visit Casablanca. Zat was a gross understatement."
Cordelia is easily swayed by such smarmiest and cheers up immediately. She is friendly but reserved, giggling a little at Spike's idiocy. "You are very kind, even if you are a copycat."
"Won't you join us," invites Angel.
Spike sits down and calls a waiter, "If you'll permit me... Oh, Willow, a pitcher of your best Maple Syrup-Orange-Artichoke Smasher, and put it on my tab."
"Very well." She looks startled at the sight of Angel and Cordelia but she quickly hides it; she's beyond caring at this point. She promises herself to go talk to the Fanfic Characters Guild shop rep as soon as she can, as she's just about had it with this story.
"No, Captain, please," protests Angel.
"No, please, it is a little game we play. Zey put it on my tab, I tear it up. It is very convenient."
Cordelia looks in Giles's direction. "Captain, the geezer who's playing the guitar, I'm sure I've seen him before."
"Giles?"
"Yes!"
"'Ee came from Sunnydale, with Alex."
"Alex? Alex?" she asks softly. "You don't mean...Xander?!" Her voice rises suddenly. "Xander's here?!"
Spike smirks broadly, because he's actually physically incapable of smiling. He's seen the best doctors and plastic surgeons but they say there's no cure. They have prescribed physical therapy to help. "Yes, Ms. Chase, I do believe some people refer to 'im as Xander. But to me 'ee is Alex, and Alex is - "
"Is what? What's happened to him?" she demands, genuinely curious.
"Well, Mademoiselle, 'ee's ze kind of man zat, well, if I were a woman and I...", tapping himself, "were not around I would be in love with 'im. But since zis is not a slash fic, and is only rated for young audiences, we won't go any further down zat route, agreed?"
All present nod their solemn agreement before Spike continues, "Ah, but what a fool I am, talking to a beautiful woman about another man."
Spike then jumps to his feet as Buffy comes upon them.
"Excuse me. Ah Buffy! Ms. Chase, Angel, may I present Buffy Summers of ze Slayer Army."
Buffy smiles coldly, though not as well as Xander since she gave up daily practices with her refrigerator. "Captain, no need to introduce us, we know each other." Then rolling her eyes, "Sheesh, that amnesia of his is so-o-o annoying! So. Angel. How do you do? This is a pleasure I have long looked forward to."
Neither Angel or Cordelia respond warmly. "I'm sure you'll excuse me if I am not gracious, but you see, Buffy, I am a Souled Vampire in the great fight against all that's evil (and anything else that might limit my supply of hair gel)." This is a rather interesting statement as brood and worry have ambushed concern into a spot near his temple and are making it a deal it can't refuse. They are about to all join forces for a full-on attack of Angel's hairline. He won't be needing hair products for very much longer.
Buffy briefly loses control, hearing her ex-love talk so glibly of hair products. "So what?! You're a bastard, two-timing scum pig who ran out on me when I needed you most!! And now you are subject to the authority of the Slayer Army!"
Angel stands in outrage. "I have never accepted that privilege, and now I am on free soil! err-sand. Free sand!! Yes, free sand!"
Buffy calms down somewhat before she continues. "I want to discuss some matters arising from your presence on this sand."
"This is hardly the time or place."
Buffy is hard and insistent, "Then we shall state another time and place. Tomorrow at ten, in the Prefect's office, with your skanky 'ho. here."
"Hey! At least I'm not a pompous, overbearing, insufferable, bombastic bottle-blond!"
"No, you're just a plain she-goat," Buffy snaps, rounding on Cordelia, "And a 'ho!"
Both girls bristle as the crowd chants, "cat fight, cat fight!"
Angel quickly addresses Spike, attempting to cut off the two, "Captain William, I am under your authority. Is it your order that I come to your office tomorrow?"
"Let us say...it is my request. Zat is a much more pleasant word."
"Very well."
Spike and Buffy bow curtly.
"Ms. Chase," says Spike, as he excuses himself.
"Ho'," says Buffy.
Buffy and Spike leave together, Spike whispering in Buffy's ear, "A very clever tactical retreat." Buffy looks sharply, but his face is a non-committal smirk, as that's the best the therapists have been able to do for him.
Angel is still standing after they've left. "God, what a Bee-atch she's turned into. Twice as bad as you ever were." He pauses briefly and sits. His tone becomes dramatically serious, "This time they really mean to stop me." His hairline is now visibly receding under the combined onslaught of brood, worry and concern.
Cordelia is quite plainly afraid. "Angel, I'm plainly afraid for you."
"We have been in difficult places before, haven't we?" He smiles.
"No, I mean your hair, it's receding again!"
He begins to panic, then manfully sucks it up. "I don't have time to recede!" he forcefully declares.
Cordelia smiles in return but her eyes are troubled. Angel looks about and sees Spike and Buffy whispering together. He then spots Wesley at the bar. "I must find out what Wesley knows," says a conspiratorial Angel.
"Be careful," says a concerned Cordelia.
"I will, don't worry," says a confident Angel as he leaves for the bar.
Cordelia still looks troubled as her gaze wanders over to Giles and Lorne. They return a worried glance in her direction. Cordelia watches them carefully.
At the bar, Wesley signals for a drink as Angel casually sits next to him. "Mr. Pryce, the ring, could I see it again?"
"Yes, Mr. Angel." He gives Angel a curious look, "What happened there with the hair?"
"It's a guilt thing. Comes and goes." Angel turns to Andrew behind the bar, "A champagne cocktail, please."
"JUICE BAR YOU MORONS" the entire crowd shouts out, many rising to their feet, chairs clattering to the floor, ready to toss the infidels out on the street.
"Uh, OK, then I'll take an...Egg Salad-Mango Blend." The crowd settles back down.
Wesley presents the ring to Angel, whereupon Angel looks at it. "We read five times you were killed in five different places," Wesley says.
Angel replies wryly, not too dryly, and fairly amused, "As you can see it is true every time. Thank heaven I found you, Wesley. I'm looking for Doyle. I heard he was with you in the same group that got better, and he is supposed to help me."
Wesley is sympathetic yet disdainful in his reply, "Doyle cannot even help himself, the little leprechaun. He is under arrest for murder. He was arrested here earlier tonight."
Angel absorbs the shock quietly, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped, as guilt now joins the other three for the final assault. "I see."
"But we who are still free will do all we can. We are organized underground like everywhere else. Tomorrow night there is a meeting at the main waste treatment plant. If you would come..." Wes stops when Andrew brings the drink.
Cordelia sits alone at her table. She waves a waiter to come over. "Will you ask the gray beard guitar player to come over here, please?"
"Very well, Mademoiselle."
Meanwhile, Spike sidles up to the bar near Angel and Wesley. "'Ow's ze jewelry business, Wesley?"
"Er, not so good," Wesley nervously replies, then turns to Andrew, "May I have my check please?"
"Too bad you weren't 'ere earlier, Angel. We 'ad quite a bit of excitement 'ere, didn't we, Wesley?"
Wesley hurriedly gets up to leave. "Ah, yes. Excuse me, gentlemen."
"My bill?" Angel asks Andrew.
"No, no. Two 'abenero-Grape Gushers, please," Spike requests from Andrew.
"Yes sir."
Giles and Lorne wheel up to Cordelia's table. Trepidation, and a little fear, is stamped on their faces. Cordelia is also not as self-possessed as she wants to pretend. There's a lot of deep heavy intense stuff going on here and she's fully aware her virtually non-existent acting talents are not quite up to snuff.
"Hello, Giles. Hello, Lorne."
"Hello, Cordelia. We never expected to see you again," they answer simultaneously. "We thought--"
She sighs tiredly at having to continue the farce of a running gag. "Yeah, yeah, I got better. They needed one more to get the group rate--and I'm such a friggin' saint!" she mutters, sarcasm etching each word like coarsely cut crystal.
Giles sits with the guitar, Lorne keeps the wireless microphone ready.
She says with a soft sigh, "It's been a long time."
"Yes, my huevos rancheros topped with green and red chili, and a rolled up flour tortilla with honey-butter on the side, and flan for dessert. Lot of water under that bridge," answers Lorne.
Cordelia smiles sadly. "Some of the old songs, Giles, please."
"I never played when you were around," Giles gently chides her.
"Just go with it, you old fart. The author is tired of trying to tie up every inconsistency in a nice neat package, alright?!" she hissed at him.
"Yes ma'am!" Then in an aside to Lorne, Giles mumbles, "She's almost as bad as Buffy!"
"You don't know the half of it, my hot-dog and baked beans, with a yummy cole slaw and garlic potato salad with parsley garnish on the side, plus the freshest corn on the cob since Dorothy left Kansas, with homemade mint-chocolate chip rootbeer floats." Lorne answers sympathetically.
Giles starts to strum a few random chords but he is obviously still nervous in her presence.
"Where's Xander?" asks Cordelia.
Giles answers evasively. "I do not know. I have not seen him all night."
"When will he be back?"
This time Lorne answers, "Not tonight, no more. He ain't coming. He went home."
"Does he always leave so early?"
Lorne is stuck. "Uh, he never...well... He's got a girl! Yeah, that's it! At the Blue Suede Shoe. He goes up there all the time."
"You always were a terrible liar. Both of you." she chided them.
"Leave him alone, Cordelia. You are bad luck to him." Giles reprimands her lightly.
Cordelia is astonished. "Giles, I'm astonished! He's the one who cheated on me! And I got impaled! How can you say I'm bad luck?" she angrily demands.
"You broke his heart when you took off for L.A. Without even so much as an unkind word!"
All three look saddened.
"Play it once, Giles. For old times sake."
"I do not know what you mean, Cordelia. Duh, remember, I never played when you were around."
"Well, fine! Just play anything, I don't care!" she spat.
Giles begins to play a sequence of double-stops.
"Sing it, Lorne."
Giles plays, and Lorne jumps in after the rocking opening bars:
Hey where did we go,
Days when the rains came,
Down in the hollow,
Playin' a new game,
Laughing and a running hey, hey
Skipping and a jumping
In the misty morning fog with
Our hearts a thumpin'
And you My brown eyed girl,
You my brown eyed girl
Suddenly the door to the game room slams open, Xander storming out. He's heard the music and he's furious!
Whatever happened To Tuesday and so slow
Going down the old mine
With a transistor radio
Standing in the sunlight laughing,
Hiding behind a rainbow's wall,
Slipping and sliding
All along the water fall, with you
My brown eyed girl,
You my brown eyed girl.
Do you remember when we used to sing,
Lorne waves to the crowd in the room and they all jump to their feet and join in...
Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da !!!
Xander, eyes flashing like a thunderstorm, breath whistling like a tornado, arms flailing like a hurricane, storms up to the pair. "Giles, I thought I told you never to play--"
He sees her.
Giles stops playing, Lorne stops singing. The crowd groans.
Shocked, Xander's eyes lock with Cordelia's.
A long, drawn out, yet not overly dramatic moment ensues. Giles and Lorne sneak away as the whole place hushes. The ticking of the clock in the house across town can be heard plainly as the moments stretch on and on like the marshmallow taffy you made when you were a kid.
Xander and Cordelia continue to stare at each other as Spike and Angel come back from the bar. Spike sees Xander and speaks to Cordelia, "Well, you were asking about Alex, and 'ere 'ee is. Mademoiselle, may I present--"
Xander can barely utter the words through a tight throat, "I thought--"
"I got better," Cordelia says with an exasperated sigh.
Xander snorts. "Yeah, it's a goddamn epidemic of wellness going around. I should alert the CDC."
"Oh, you've already met Alex?" observes Spike. No one answers. "Well then, perhaps you also--"
"How do you do?" intones Angel, trying to draw Xander's attention away from Cordelia.
Xander blinks and shakes his head sharply before looking over at Angel. "Just peachy, Peaches. Or should I call you chrome-dome, now?"
Angel, trying to be grown up and gentlemanly about it ignores the snip. "One hears a great deal about 'Al' in Casablanca, I had no idea it was you."
"And about Angel everywhere," answers Xander.
"Won't you join us for a drink?"
Spike laughs at this, "Oh no, Alex never--"
"Thanks, I will."
"Well, a precedent is being broken. Tara!" calls Spike.
"This is a very interesting bar. I congratulate you," Angel says.
They are coldly stiff, not wanting to get everybody too upset.
"And I congratulate you, Angel."
"What for?" Angel is a bit suspicious.
"Your work," replies Xander.
"Thank you, I try."
"We all try. You succeed." Xander has grown up quite a bit since we've last seen him.
Spike, never one to be left out, interjects, "I can't get over you two. She was asking about you earlier, in a way zat made me extremely jealous."
Cordelia spoke warmly to Xander, "I wasn't sure you were the same. Let's see, the last time we met--"
"Was at graduation," Xander bit out through clenched teeth.
Cordelia ignores his tone. "How nice. You remembered."
"Not an easy day to forget."
"No," she sadly agrees.
"I remember every detail. The Mayor had gray scales. You wore blue."
"Yes. I put that dress away. When the High School is rebuilt I'll wear it again."
"It was rebuilt. I rebuilt it!" he practically snarled. Regaining his composure he continued quietly. "But now it's all a giant smoking sinkhole, so I guess that's a moot point."
"You are becoming quite 'uman again, Alex. I suppose I 'ave you to zank for zat, Mademoiselle," comments Spike.
Angel jumps back into the conversation, saying, "Cordelia, I don't wish to be the one to say it, but it's getting late, and I need to find a wig."
Spike agrees. "Ah, so it is. And we 'ave a curfew 'ere in Casablanca. It would never do for ze chief of police to be caught after 'ours and 'ave to fine 'imself." He chuckles idiotically.
Xander and Cordelia share another look. Angel waves for the waiter. "I hope we didn't overstay our welcome," Angel says to Xander.
"Not at all, Deadboy." Angel groans at Xander's childishness. Maybe he hasn't really grown up all that much after all.
"Your check, sir."
Xander takes the check. "It's my party."
Spike just can't shut up. "Another precedent gone. Zis 'as been a very interesting evening. I'll call you a cab. Gasoline rationing, time of night." He leaves to go call for the cab.
"We'll come again." Angel says to Xander, almost a challenge.
Xander answers coolly, "Anytime."
"Say goodnight to Giles and Lorne for me," requests Cordelia.
"I will." No emotion is dripping from Xander's voice.
"There's still nobody in this world who can play "Brown Eyed Girl" like Giles and Lorne."
"Like you'd know?" Xander says, this time sarcasm dripping. He struggles to control himself and more gently adds, "Anyway, they haven't played it in a long time."
Cordelia smiles at Xander. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Xander and Angel nod silently at each other before Cordelia and Angel head toward the door. Xander sits back down at the table staring at them go, his face an unreadable mask.
Outside the cafe Angel asks Cordelia, "A very puzzling fellow, Xander. He was always such a twit in high school, but it appears he's changed a bit. What was he really like?"
Cordelia doesn't look at him when she answers. "Oh, I really can't say, even though I dated him for almost a year." She too is getting tired of playing out the charade, but what's a poor aspiring no-talent actress to do?
They continue through the entrance and join Spike outside. "Tomorrow, at ten, at ze Prefect's office," he reminds them.
"We'll be there."
They get in the cab. Spike lights up a smoke, as he practices his bemused smirk while he watches the cab drive away.
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