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Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon and ME. The setting and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Two: Phone Calls

“You’re a right idiot, Spike. You blushed and gaped like a fish? What kinda stupid sod does that?” He lit a cigarette and puffed along as we walked out of the student centre.

“Yeah well I was flustered is all. ‘S like if you met Syd Barrett you’d be all ‘Ooo Mr Barrett can I have your autograph and then maybe you can take me through the realities of your drug induced trances. Then maybe a post-mortem snog?” I smirked.

Ripper growled at me for my crack at Syd Barrett, angry at the muso’s ‘untimely death’ and thankfully forgetting my embarrassing moment on the bus that I’d finally discussed after his constant hassling through class.

Ripper, Rupert Giles, and I had grown up together in London and tore through our upper-class education until our parents were about to have a fit. So we came on exchange for a semester before getting trounced by our parents. The wild girls and the heavy drinking culture of the great suntanned land sounded pretty good from our side of the pond. And so far it was – except for the bloody heat. The stinking temperature and bloody humidity made the summer days (and almost every other day of the year) dreadful. So bad it almost made me rethink my black wardrobe. Almost.

We walked on the path that ran across the lawns between the student centre and grand old admin block. Bags were splayed besides napping bodies and shoulders were smashed against mine as other students rushed by to get to the refectory.

Ripper slouched ahead as I stopped in front of the bright red park benches.

“What you doing?”

“What am I gonna say to her when I call her? Oh bollocks, when can I call her? How long should I wait? Should I wait?”

Ripper just rolled his eyes and kept walking towards the library. I shook my head and let myself shake out my nervousness.

I would call her tonight.

“Hey Rupes, wait up.” But Ripper had already sped ahead to chat up another tanned goddess.

****

I got home, flipped off my heels and plopped on my bed. Xander and Faith weren’t home from their respective workplaces. The bus ride home was torture. No pretty guy to keep me occupied while the sleazy man looked down my top. My phone had jingled and every person crammed near me heard my rushed conversation with the man who was essentially my boss. I couldn’t hear a word so as soon as the bus pulled up at the stop in front of my apartment building, I rang Cordelia, his secretary.

“Ram Wolfhart Publishing, how can I help you?” I could hear her grimace as I told her my name.

“Mr Angel is currently on the phone, would you please hold Miss Summers?”

“Sure thing, Cordy.”

I was put through in two minutes, as soon as I had started to climb the stairs.

“Hi Buffy. I just wondering, are you free to talk with me about your contract this evening?”

“Sure, but I just got home. It’ll take me about half an hour to get back to the offices.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll come round to your house within the hour.”

I didn’t know what to do. The place was a mess and there was no way I could get everything cleaned in time and still have time to run out and buy a bottle of wine. Xander tumbled through the front door and looked into my bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” I groaned and sat up on my elbows to look at him.

“Liam Angel, my publisher is coming over in under an hour’s time,” I closed my eyes. “God I can’t deal with him right now.”

“Sure, I’ll kick him out as soon as he gets here.” His face was serious compared to his normal goofy grin.

“Not Angel, the Busboy.” He looked at me like a martian would look at the beach: completely perplexed.

“Busboy? Were you and Willow drinking at work today? Who is this busboy and what restaurant can I go and kick his–,”

“No, there was this guy on the bus this morning and Willow nicknamed him Busboy and every time I close my eyes I see him and my,” I closed my eyes.

Xander cleared his throat. My hand had wandered down my body and was about to slip under my waistband.

“Ahh –Buff, I’m just going to clean up. Why don’t you go grab some wine?”

I sheepishly nodded and grabbed my purse.

****

I picked up the phone hesitantly. I knew I was nervous ’cause it was Anne Summers but she was just a chit with a pretty smile and I’d easily dealt with plenty of those in my time. I opened up ‘The Watcher’s Diaries’ and flicked to her picture with a dazzling smile. There was no way the 2D black and white pic could display her true beauty. But that didn’t stop me from ripping the precious page from my book and tacking it onto my wall. Normally, I’d never desecrate a book but this occasion definitely called for it. I looked at the numbers, already memorised and picked up the hand held to type in when it started buzzin’ in my hand.

“What do you want, I’m busy.”

“William, is that you?”

“Bloody hell, is that the Irish brogue of Liam Angel?” My eyes burned angrily.

“Yes, Pratt. It’s me. I was just calling to–,”

“Did my mother ask you to call, Peaches? I knew we were in the same city but I didn’t think I’d have to talk to you.” I really didn’t want to hear whatever the hell that ponce had to say.

“William, I’m calling to invite you to a dinner and talk. I thought you may enjoy it. One of my authors is giving a talk to kick off the writer’s festival and there is a spare seat that I thought you’d like.”

I didn’t answer. Bloody Captain Forehead following my mum’s instructions, trying to make me ‘into a mature young man, just like that Liam boy’. Stupid old bint thinks Angel is a…well angel. I could hear him getting nervous at my silence.

“Yes, I spoke to your mother and I think you’ll both agree this is a great event.” He paused. “I heard what happened in London.”

“Yeah, what of it? My tone darkened more quickly than the sky in a thunderstorm.

“The thing with Dru had nothing to do with me.” I growled a growl that could make a vampire quiver. “Just come to the Casino at 8pm tomorrow night. I swear you’ll enjoy it.”

I hung up on the great poof. All I could see what blood and gore when I looked down at the phone in my hand. Calling Miss Summers would have to wait until I had my demons in control.

****

The bell rang as I slipped the last dish into the dishwasher. I picked up the intercom and whispered a tentative ‘hello’.

“Hi, Buffy, wondering if you could let me in?” I heard Angel’s voice across the buzzer.

I pressed the key button and heard the automated voice announce the door was open. In my room, where most of the junk had been thrown onto my floor and bed, I slipped into my heels and proceeded to the front door as he knocked.

“Hi, welcome, come in.” I showed him into the living room and gestured for him to sit down.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Actually,” he didn’t finish because the phone started ringing.

Xander called out ‘I’ll get it’ and I turned back to Angel.

“So what’s the problem with my contract?” I clipped my heels on the kitchen tiles as I scooted around to pour the wine into freshly cleaned glasses.

“Well, I only said that so I could come over. I actually wanted to talk to you about the writer’s festival–,” Xander walked out from his bedroom brandishing the phone.

“Some guy called William is asking for you.”
I excused myself from Angel and walked onto the balcony.

“Hello?”

“Is this Anne Summers?” A British voice asked hesitantly across the line.

“Why yes, and who is this?” I had a strange feeling that I knew exactly what gorgeous, lean, blue eyed body this Brit accent belonged to.

“William Pratt, I, ah, met you on the bus this morning.”

“NO WAY DID JJ ABRAMS SAY THAT! You’re telling lies Angel. Lies, all lies.”

Angel chuckled in the background and continued telling Xander his anecdote.

“Is that bloody Liam Angel at your place?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I’m going to bloody kill that sod.”

He hung up on me! Busboy hung up on me! And I didn’t even get to tell him my real name. I turned around with my jaw dropped and my eyes shocked. Angel cleared his throat.

“I just came over to say that you are going to talk at the Writer’s Festival dinner,” I tried to interrupt but he talked over the top of me. “…Whether you like it or not. Tara called me and told me you were refusing and asked me to give you some incentive. You attend and present the speech or you’re manuscript deadline will be brought up.”

He stood and left, the clogs of my brain hardly whirring to comprehend. I was still struck out on the fact that Busboy, no William, had hung up on me. Before I could ask whether he knew William, Angel was out of the door. Utterly defeated I dropped onto my sofa with a thud.





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