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Chapter 6: John Doe

Forget all my bitching and complaining. I love my life. There’s nothing like a few thousand people cheering and screaming and wanting you. Performing gives me a high like no other.

Or rather drugs and I don’t get along. Tried them a couple times. Thought an altered state of consciousness might knock free a few memories. Didn’t work. I had crazy bad trips: people torn apart, screaming in pain. Needless to say I didn’t develop an addiction.

But now I’m on top of the world. I give my last wave, bow and leave the stage reveling in the adoration as they chant my name. All that malaise over my past has evaporated, at least for the moment.

For just a bit it feels like I’m actually connected to the world. There’s this thing you feel performing, this kind of psychic joining with the audience, it can make you feel not alone.

At least until the roar of the crowd dies down. Then you’re just stuck by yourself in a limo on the other side of the world from the only memories you do have. It’s even worse then. It’s the quiet that makes the desolation unbearable.

But there’s more than one way to feel connected. So I tell the driver not to take the back way into the hotel, but to head for the front entrance. My bodyguards groan and prepare themselves for the crush that awaits us.

As I get out of the limo I’m greeted with a fresh set of screams. I move through the crowd signing the occasional autograph and smiling at all the young girls, although what I’m really for is a pretty thing who’s of age.

And then I see her.

In the midst of the smiling, waving, screaming girls stands a woman who’s almost defiant. Her arms are crossed angrily in front of her chest, and her green eyes are almost challenging me. I don’t know why, but I can’t resist her or her silent stare.

I move towards her and hold out my hand. “Are you coming, luv?”

That stirs up the crowd even more, and I can feel the hands of my bodyguards trying to move me inside.

She looks at me, and tosses a lock of blond hair over her shoulder before taking my hand.

When we get inside, and in the relative privacy of the lift I ask her, “So what’s your name, luv?”

For just a second she looks surprised then she shrugs, “Sure, if you want play it that way. I’m Buffy.”

I can’t help but smile at her name. Who in their right mind names their kid Buffy? On the other hand, with my luck my real name is probably something awful like Randy.

“Pleasure,” I tell her as the elevator stops.

I’m not positive, but I think she snorts at that. I start to wonder what I’m doing. All I wanted was an easy lay, and idiot that I am, I choose the one girl in the crowd who doesn’t look like she’s dying to fuck me.

“Allow me,” I tell her as I open the door to my suite for her. Not that she could open it without the card of course, but in situations like this looking chivalrous can’t hurt.

The bodyguards take up their positions outside the suite, and I’m glad. I always feel a bit nervous around them. Buffy on the other hand regards them with suspicion. As the door shuts behind us she looks around the room like she’s expecting something to jump out at her.

“Do you think we can cut to the chase?” she asks, but from her tone I don’t think she means skipping the small talk and going straight to the wild sex. “Can we both just agree you’re not Spike?”

I shrug, not knowing what she’s talking about. “Sure?”

“So who are you then?” she asks. “Or what are you? Demon, sorcerer, what?”

“Rock star actually, or didn’t you notice the fans?”

“Yeah, whatever,” she says, as if she doesn’t believe me. “Real clever I have to admit. It did draw me out, and now you have me here, so what’s the deal? Is this a fight to the death thing, or are you trying to blackmail me into a favor? Just so you know, either way I’m kicking your ass.”

So yeah, I’m an idiot. All I see is the blond hair and the pretty face and ignore the signs that she’s a psycho. On the other hand, she’s tiny, and not only do I have body guards on the other side of the door, but I can take care of myself. Whoever I used to be, I knew my way around a fight.

Still there’s no reason to escalate things just yet. After all this is England, much harder to get a gun than the U.S. Maybe I can get her out of here without too much of a tussle.

So I don’t let her know there’s no way she’s going to be able to “kick my ass.” Instead I ask her, “What’d I do wrong, luv? We only just met, seems a bit premature to start fighting.”

“Please, you already admitted you’re not Spike. And he deserves better than this. Pretending to be him may have gotten me here, I but I think you severely underestimated the pissed off factor.”

“So Spike’s not a dog then I take it?”

My patience is starting to wear thin. I’m starting to have a suspicion about this girl. She’s one of those groupies who’s going to pretend she knows who I really am. I have to give her points for not acting as if I’m her long lost love. The pissed off angle is actually new. Still I don’t want to have anything to do with it.

She snorts, but I can see the hint of a smile. “Spike was a dog, just not of the furry, floppy eared variety.”

A smile is good. A smile I can work with. Hell, I’ll probably have her eating out of my hand in a few minutes. After all she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t have a thing for me.

“So who was he then?” It’s always good to appear interested.

“He was. . .” she crosses her arms over her chest, and then uncrosses and recrosses them, obviously not sure what she should say. “He was Spike. And that’s not the point. The point is. . . well I don’t know the point because you still haven’t told me why you lured me here. Can we just get to the fight part of the evening already?”

I tried. You can’t say I didn’t try. But the bird is just too crazy. She might be cute, but she isn’t worth this much effort.

“How about we get to the you leaving part of the evening,” I say moving to open the door.

Her jaw drops. Okay, it doesn’t really, but it’s obvious that she wasn’t expecting that. Pretty thing like her is probably used to getting her way no matter what.

“You want me to leave?” she asks.

For just a second I hesitate. She looks innocent, and sweet, and not so crazy. But I’m also tired. And this girl has high maintenance written all over her, and one good night just isn’t worth it, although I’m guessing she’d be a hell of a fuck.

“Yeah. I think that would be best. After all I’m not Spike, and you’re not. . .” sane, is the first word that comes to mind. But that’s not exactly the smart thing to say to the crazy lady. “You’re not in the mood for a fight.”

I start to usher her towards the door, and I can see that my bodyguards are watching with interest to see if they need to get involved.

“But-” she starts.

“Been a long night,” I interrupt. “Big concert, jet lag, rather knackered really. Best that I get some kip. Maybe another night, hmmm?”

“But-” she says again as I close the door in her face.





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