Title: Love's A Funny Thing
Author: Pattyanne
snapkik@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS
characters belong to me.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: AU. Buffy is (believe it or not)
working as a stand up comedian. Spike owns
the club where she's currently performing.
AN: I got a lot of good feedback on the first
chapter of this one. People either really liked it,
or they didn't want to hurt my feelings. In either
case, I decided to see how far I could push it.
Part 2....
The fact that her comedy routine was peppered
with sexual innuendo and questionable language,
did nothing to help Buffy control the blush that suffused
her body as Spike McAllister whispered his naughty
suggestion in her ear.
She couldn't have turned any redder if she'd been doused
with a bucket of tomato soup.
It was embarrassing. A woman who had reached the ripe
old age of twenty-seven, blushing like a sixteen year old
virgin.
Her current employer seemed more amused by her
antics now than he had been by her comments on stage.
"I promise you," he said, tickling her ear with his breath,
"that I definitely know how to do it properly."
Yeah, she just bet he did. He was so damned good
looking, he probably had the the girls lining up for a
demonstration.
Oh, God...NOW what was she doing? She was actually
allowing him to maneuver her back into a dark corner of
the hallway adjacent to the main room.
"I know just where to lick you," he whispered, nuzzling
her throat. "And where to suck...."
Was this sort of thing even legal? It couldn't be.
Employers weren't allowed to talk to their workers this
way....even if those workers had a habit of discussing
their most intimate thoughts and experiences in front of
a crowd of paying customers.
But she wasn't a baby who was going to scream "Sexual
Harassment!!" just because she was on the receiving
end of some slightly risque remarks...and what sounded
like an invitation to sample the man's goods.
"Not that I doubt that you're fully capable of delivering
on that promise," she said, trying to sound as though the
whole thing was a huge joke, "but I have another set to do
in a few minutes and...as good as I'm sure you are...I just
don't have the time."
Shrugging cheerfully, she ducked under his arm and
dashed out into the hallway, plowing right into one of the
bus boys heading towards the kitchen with a bucket of
dirty plates and glasses. She caught his arm and steadied
him, then took off like a bunny running from a hungry fox.
"So, we'll talk later then, luv?" she heard called after her,
but did not respond to.
**************************************************
"I'm sometimes insecure about my looks. I guess a lot of
women are, unless they're the ones doing the back stroke
in the supermodel gene pool. I don't think THEY'RE too
worried. But I go through phases. Sometimes I feel like
I look...not bad...seen worse. Sometimes I actually think
I look pretty good. Those are the times when I'm at my
ideal weight, my skin is clear, and my hair is doing what
I want it to do."
Settling herself on the stool, she sighed.
"But then I'll go through periods of feeling that I look...well,
you've heard the expression "looking like something the cat
dragged in"? I look like something the cat dragged in...then
dragged back out...then back in...then back out...then down a
gravel road...over a patch of cactus...through a land fill...you
know what I mean. I look bad.
Everybody has days like that, right? It's...it's not JUST me,
is it?"
One person clapped a little.
"Oh, thank god. Nice to know I've got company. So...what I do
is pull out all the stops. New hairdo, new make up, new wardrobe,
I do it all. Then I can look at myself in the mirror and say 'I look
damn fantastic for someone who's now nine thousand dollars in
debt.'
Because it's expensive, isn't it? Looking good costs big
bucks. A new hairdo alone can set you back three or four
million dollars...plus tip! But it's worth it. Because you look
absolutely fabulous."
She shook her hair out and tossed her head in a sexy manner.
"For one day," she added, holding up one finger. "Just one. Take
a good long look in the mirror before you leave the salon, girls.
Commit your look to memory, because the minute you step outside
the door, it begins to fall apart. It'll never look the same again..until
your next appointment. I don't care how easy the stylist tells you
your new look is to maintain...it's only easy for HER. For you, it
would be easier to invent cold fusion."
***************************************
Taking a sip of water, she once again saw Spike at the rear
of the club. Their eyes met, and he...ohmygod!! He winked at
her!
***************************************
"Of course she's gonna tell you that all you have to do is
get up in the morning and shake your head three times to the
right, then three times to the left...et viola!"
She gestured grandly with her hands around her head.
"Believe me when I say that the only way it will be "voila" on
a daily basis, is if you conk her over the head, drag her home,
and handcuff her to your bathroom door."
She made eye contact with a man sitting at one of the tables
closest to the stage.
"You men...you're so lucky. You go to get your haircut and it's just
'snip-snip...whatcha been up to lately?...snip-snip...seen any good
movies?...snip-snip...how about them Lakers?...all done, twelve bucks
please...ten minutes tops'. Girls have a whole different experience,
don't we ladies?"
There were several loud words of agreement spoken.
"You know they block off HOURS of time in their appointment
books for women? The only thing we could get done in ten
minutes is....well, there's nothing we could get done in ten
minutes. We have to be evaluated, consulted, washed,
rinsed, washed again, rinsed again, conditioned, cut, colored,
moussed, styled, combed out, blow dried and spritzed. We
go in on Saturday morning, we'll see you sometime Sunday
afternoon."
Buffy waited for the applause to die down.
"Then you pay the bill, and on your way out the door,
you hear your stylist. "Wait a second" she trilled in a
syrupy voice. "Come on over HERE for a moment," she
added, pointing with the style of a game show hostess
showing a prize.
"You turn around and see her standing next to a piece
of furniture three stories high that contains a smorgasbord
of hair care products..." She adopted her 'stylist voice'
again..."not available anywhere else in the known universe!"
Buffy folded her arms and shook her head.
"They want you to buy this stuff because...'You want to
maintain your look....don't you?' Like we're gonna
shrug and say, 'no, not all that much.' Then the stylist
says...'Well! Now that we've got it started...this is your
easy sixteen step daily regimen to keep it that way.' "
"They're very serious about this. They ask you what you've
been using, and no matter what you tell them, they stare
at you in absolute horror. As though you've just admitted
that you wash your hair with a bar of Irish Spring and
condition it with Ajax."
Holding her hands to her cheeks in shocked amazement,
she used her stylist voice again. "Oh, my gosh...oh, my
dear! Thank goodness we've caught you in time. You must
never...EVER...use ANYTHING but our products from now on
or your hair will fall out of your head....and never...grow...
back!"
She made a worried face and checked to make sure her
own hair was still attached.
"By the time they finish telling you what the other products
will do, you believe every word they say. YOU'RE thanking
THEM for rescuing your hair before it was too late. Because
they're the authority, right? They've been to Beauty College. They
KNOW hair, and you wouldn't argue with them any more than
you'd argue with a mechanic about needing a new transmission."
She deepened her tone, and put on a serious face.
"They are the chosen ones, sent by God himself, to lead YOU
through the valley of the shadow of bad hair care. They are like
MOSES...with a brand new set of commandments."
The stage lights dimmed, with one small spot lighting up
her face.
"Thou shall NOT...use inferior products...and you know what they
are. Thou SHALL ...wash every day, in lukewarm water. Thou
SHALL condition every OTHER day. Thou shall NOT...overdo it
with the curling iron. Your hair is burning, you idiot! Can't you
smell it?
Thou SHALL...protect your hair from the sun, the rain, the wind,
the smog, the hole in the ozone, the cheap hair spray.
And the most important commandment of them all...Thou shall
NOT...consult with strange hairstylists, who will tell you anything
different than you've already been told right here."
***********************************
Her applause lasted a good two minutes, thrilling her. She
looked towards the back just in time to see Spike pass his
tongue lightly over his upper lip.
**Good lord!**
**********************************
"Once they get done scaring the crap out of you, you'll
buy everything in sight. 'I'll take one of those...one of those...a
couple of those...two...no, three of those...a case of THAT!' You
want it all, don't you? Well, buy it all, ladies. Your hair
will look gorgeous....for ONE day every eight weeks. Once you
accept that fact, you'll lead a much happier life."
***************************************
With hands that barely trembled, she accepted a glass
of water from a waitress. That man was going to cause
serious upheaval in her nice little life. She was quite sure
of it.
***************************************
"So, why do we do it? Does anybody know why women put
themselves through what would have been considered torture in
the middle ages? Hmm? That's right. We do it for you, men.
Please don't ask us why. We don't know. It doesn't make sense
to go through time consuming, expensive, sometimes painful
procedures...just to please someone else. We don't enjoy it.
We're doing it for you, boys. Love is strange."
****************************************
Why in the world he was singling her out for his attentions,
she didn't know. She found herself to be fairly cute, most of the
time, but this man could have any woman he wanted. He had
the whole package. Looks, sexiness, money, and a brand new,
top of the line, black as sin, Corvette.
****************************************
"I think it's true for most women. Not all women, of course.
There ARE women out there who don't give a damn how they
look...ever! They're drop dead gorgeous and they know it.
They are the 'naturally' beautiful ones. They don't spend a
lot of time on their hair because they get out of bed in the
morning looking like they just spent the night with Monsieur
Henri of Encino...stylist to the stars.
They roll out of the sack, give their head a little shake, and
every single hair falls into formation like a soldier lining up
for reveille. 'We're up! We're here! And we are ready to be
stunning! Don't even bother checking the mirror...we look
fanTAStic! Follicles! Fall in!"
*****************************************
She leaned over and set her water glass carefully on
the floor. When she sat back up and shook her hair out
of her eyes, he was gone.
**Shit!**
*****************************************
"Make up? Don't be ridiculous! You don't need make up!
Swipe on a little cherry chapstick and seize the fucking day!
Boy, there's one of THOSE in every crowd, isn't there?
But most of us have to expend a little effort to look
really good. And we end up spending so much time and
money in that effort, that we really want to be appreciated.
Men of the world....listen up! I've been in that bathroom
for over an hour and someone better...fucking...notice me!"
**************************************
"I noticed you, luv."
Buffy had collapsed on the little sofa in the 'wait room' after
her set. She could hear the routine of the comic following
after her, and she was laughing with her eyes closed, so she
didn't hear the door swing open and closed.
Now, she shot up into a sitting position and stared at
the man standing in front of that door, blocking her exit,
and keeping anyone else from entering.
He'd shed his tie, and had unbuttoned the first two buttons
of his shirt. Leaning back against the door, hands on his
hips, he grinned at her in a way that made her forget her
own name.
"I noticed you the minute you walked in here looking for
a job. And, just in case you're wondering, I think you're.." his
eyes moved up and down her frame slowly, "...very lovely. And
I have nothing but appreciation for everything you do to make
yourself that way."
Oh, boy. Just what she needed. A man who actually
listened! How many of THOSE were out wandering around
loose?
"Thanks," she squeaked, then cleared her throat and tried
again. "Thanks. You're very kind."
He chuckled and shook his head. "I'm not kind at all, pet. But
I DO know what I want."
Buffy took a deep breath.
Oh, man! This was officially her best day EVER!
TBC.....
(Is it working?)
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