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CHAPTER 18 -- Covergirl

Buffy thought that day at the salon getting her hair done was the most she’d ever been fawned over. She was wrong. Buffy sat on a stool, blinded by florescent lights and buried in make-up artists and hair stylists. She had one guy fluffing her hair with a round brush, working to pull it back in a elegant low bun. Buffy’s eyelids fluttered when two women in front of her began dotting her face with little brushes. Another woman yanked a little on her hand, asking her not to move as she continued to paint her nails. It was a complete circus all around her. Everyone was hurrying and stressed, but Buffy sat silently through it all. She wished Spike was there. She hadn’t seen him in two hours since he’d handed her over to the hair and make-up crew. She needed a friendly face.

“Okay, who stole my favorite pen? You know I cannot approve layouts without my favorite pen,” a woman demanded from the doorway. Buffy swiveled in her seat to see the woman. She was the kind of girl that Buffy had always shied away from in high school -- perfectly put together, make-up flawless, and moves graceful. Buffy had been on the receiving end of some very snotty comments from girls just like her.

“Oh,” she smiled perfect teeth, “You must be Buffy. You’ve had to deal with Spike for the past couple weeks haven’t you? How unfortunate. Although I must say, I’ve enjoyed the vacation from him immensely. I find my skin looks better when I don’t have the stress of having to baby-sit him.” Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the brunette’s bluntness mixed with a hint of egocentrism. She offered her hand and Buffy took it, “I’m Cordelia Chase, fashion editor. I’ve worked at Vouge, Marie Claire, and In Style, but have somehow ended up staying at this fine establishment.” She said it with a hint of distaste, glaring over at a young man who had followed her into the room, offering her coffee, a donut, and the sky if she so requested it. Cordelia sighed, “I hate interns,” she remarked. “Well, good luck at the shoot. If Spike gets out of hand, just throw something sharp and pointy at him, it works for me all the time.” She rolled her eyes at the boy waiting for her at the door. “Okay, shadow, let’s go,” the kid flanked Cordelia out of the room. Buffy smiled at the welcome interruption, Cordelia Chase had breezed into the room and easily took it over, every eye off Buffy and hanging on to her every word, guys and girls alike. She couldn’t help but marvel at the ability.

There was a flourish of white in front of her and Buffy whipped around to see an older white haired woman standing in front of her, a measuring tape around her neck and extra pins in her collar, “Here’s your dress, I hope it’s exactly how you wanted it,” she said to Buffy nervously. She pulled off the white zipper-down clothes cover.

Buffy let out a small gasp. In front of her was her dream wedding gown -- strapless A-line gown with twelve foot veil. “Oh my God,” she whispered quietly. Buffy looked up at the seamstress, “It’s beautiful.” The older woman looked down at the young girl, pleased that her work had been appreciated.

A group of five women help Buffy get into the gown, completing complex buttoning up the back and holding her steady as she stepped into the beaded ankle-strap sandals. Buffy stared at herself in the mirror, running her hands delicately over the veil. She was almost sad her mother wasn’t there to see her, this would probably be the only time she’d ever get to see her daughter in a wedding gown, as the real thing was not going to be happening in anyone’s lifetime.

Buffy sighed, deciding to enjoy herself the best she could playing the psedo-bride, and took the bouquet of pink gardenias offered to her.

“There’s are little cover girl!” Buffy turned to see and older woman walk through the door. The way everyone in the room reacted to her, told Buffy that she must be the one in charge. “Hello, Buffy,” she spoke in soothingly precise words, as if Buffy was a small child and that talking to her slowly would help her understand the big words. “I’m Liliah. I’m so glad you could come up to L.A.” Oh, this must be Spike’s boss, a/k/a “Babe” as Spike had called her on the phone. Buffy immediately decided she didn’t like Liliah. “Well, it’s getting late, I’m sure Spike’s already set up to shoot,” she spoke Spike’s name intimately, like she was the only one who truly knew him. Buffy almost snorted, like Spike would be dumb enough to sleep with his boss. Then she considered the man she was thinking about, the thought instantly sobered her. Oh my God. Spike slept with her!? His boss!? Ewwww. Gross. At their whore-of-a-boss’s suggestion, the room ushered Buffy out the door into the studio.

Buffy entered the set of the shoot, flanked by three make-up and hair crewmen, who were to stand in the wings, swooping in every so many shots to do touchups. On the set -- a replica of her dream wedding.

Rose petals lay scattered up the short white aisle. A stain glass window was at the front, signifying where the alter would be in a church. Over to the right was a table decorated to her exact specifications, like it was taken out of her reception.

The round table was scattered with rose petals and a short cut-crystal vase with tight, short-stem arrangements of pink roses served as the center piece. Several Japanese Peony candles were in clusters around the glassware. Her entourage having dissipated, Buffy sat at the reception table in the silent studio, smoothing over the white linen that covered the table, lost in thought.

“Ready?” Buffy twirled around, her veil swooshing behind her. Spike came into the room, taking his place behind the camera and it’s stand. He wore blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and well-wore Vans. She felt silly being so overdressed.

He looked over her and the scene around her, earlier he had silently pushed everyone out of the room and had leaned up against the doorframe, just watching her. She was glowing and looked perfectly in her element. She was the most perfect, exquisite bride he’d ever seen. “You look beautiful.”

She glanced over her ensamble, blushing slightly, “Thank you,” she answered softly. Something caught her eye, sitting off to the side of the table was a five-tier vision with roses, piping, and swags.

“Is this real?” she asked, pointing to the cake on the table.

“Try it,” Spike replied with a knowing smile.

Buffy swiped a finger into the confection, placing her recently French-manicured finger into her mouth. Just as she suspected -- red velvet, just like she’d wanted, had the wedding been real. But it all was kind of real. A little too real.

Sensing he was losing her, Spike took her hand, leading her into the middle of the set, “Just have fun with this okay, luv? Promise me?” Buffy gave him a sweet smile and shook her head. Spike grabbed a remote -- pointing it at the stereo in the corner, he pressed play. The romantic tunes of Frank Sinatra began to filter through the stereo. “I usually have Sex Pistols, Generation X, The Clash, or some other equally ass-kicking tunes in here, luv,” he winked at her, “But for you I made an exception.” He gestured to the music currently playing, “Thought it set the mood -- classic and romantic.”

For the next three hours, Spike took hundreds of pictures of Buffy. He had her sitting at the reception table with her hand resting on her chin, sitting on the floor with her dress billowing around her, and standing with her bouquet close to her face. She’d never seen Spike so much in his element. Just as she suspected from witnessing first-hand his inability to stay still in any situation, he was an active photographer. He had laid on the hard floor to get a shot of her standing with the stained glass behind her and followed her around the set, asking her to act natural. She sent him an exagerated glare, and he laughed, requesting her to maybe not be THAT natural. Buffy had laughed and he had taken the opportunity to snap several shots. His mind reeled with creative possibilities. A fan blew a light breeze at Buffy and he took a string of close-ups for the cover.

They were getting so carried away that they hadn’t heard Spike’s assistant enter the room, “Hi, Buffy,” Tara greeted quietly, “You look really pretty.”

“Thanks,” Buffy replied happily.

Tara took Spike’s place behind the camera and he joined Buffy on the floor.

Buffy looked slightly alarmed, “What are you doing?”

“Getting in the picture.” At her quizzical look, he continued, “It’s customary, in our world of fashion, to get a couple taken of the photographer and his subject. They use them in the contents, with blurbs on who worked on which layout.”

“Oh.”

Feeling her begin to tense at not being sure what to do, he took her hand, “Here,” he reached over and changed the track on the CD player. The exotic beat of Dean Martin’s “Sway” began to play, and Spike firmly pulled her towards him, putting on arm around her waist. He began to move them. He twirled her around the floor, Spike leading easily and Buffy following. He began a basic tango that Buffy was surprised he knew.

Buffy laughed, “You know how to dance?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he swung her around the floor with renewed furvor, adding a few more complicated steps and dipping her back.

Tara smiled behind the camera, as the couple continued to giggle on the floor, both collapsing against each other when the song came to an end. This was going to be a beautiful shoot.

TBC

Author’s Note: Please stick with me, I know you’re getting antsy for some major Spuffy and it’s coming -- a major realization next chapter, and I’m updating sooner to get to the ultimate payoff a little quicker!





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