When You Are Tired of London
Part Eight: Buffy’s Day
Three new pairs of shoes, one lovely new blouse and a sweater for Dawn later, Buffy found herself headed toward the restaurant where she was supposed to meet James’ friend. She realized that she was slacking off working for as long as possible, but really, how many times did she get to just goof off and have fun by herself.
“Count ‘em, never.” She thought.
London was strange and exciting. She thought it would be… sort of Gilesish. Kind of old and a little stuffy and kind of cool, in an old-fashioned sort of way. But London was as modern as L.A., and much easier to get around. It was kind of ironic, she thought, that London was so new to her.
It was also kind of quiet on the vampire front. “I mean,” she thought, “there are vampires here. Lots of them. They just don’t come in the Sunnydale economy bulk size.”
These days, when they got whiff of a vampire attack or whatever, one or two slayers had to go investigate. Sometimes she went, but not all the time, and if she did, she took a couple newbies. It was all kind of…low key.
Which was funny, she thought, because just about every mystic bad-ass over the age of 25 that she knew came from the British Isles. Giles, Angel, Spike, Wesley. Every member of the Watcher’s Council she’d ever met. Baddies like Drusilla and Ethan Rayne.
“It’s like they manufacture them here,” she thought, “and America imports them. Like how all the toys are made in China, but no one there actually buys gorillas that dance to La Macarena or bendy rubber cowboys or whatever. Huh.
“Maybe it’s a geopolitical thing,” she wondered. “Like, Britain was once the seat of world power, so all the mystical-type things congregated there, to be where the action was, and then when power moved to America, everything started trickling over. Huh.
“I wonder if someone’s ever done a study on that,” she thought, and then added, “I wonder why the fuck I’m thinking about this. Geez. I have been spending too much time at home.”
Her musings were interrupted by her cell phone. It was Faith.
“Hey, B.,” said Faith. “There’s this guy here pretending to be Giles.”
“Guy?” said Buffy. “Faith, that’s Giles’ cousin, James. Didn’t you get the note?”
“There was a note?” asked Faith. “I didn’t get a note.”
“It was on the fridge,” said Buffy. “Didn’t Dawn say something? She knew what was going on.”
“Didn’t say a word,” said Faith, a little confused. “Does this mean I should untie him?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Buffy, “Well, maybe. Yeah, untie him. He’s pretty harmless. We’re checking out some stuff here in London, but we should be home tonight.”
Faith said goodbye to Buffy, and hung up the phone.
“It’s your lucky day,” she said, turning to the trussed-up James. “Buffy said…Giles! Ohmygod! What happened? Who tied you up? Are we under attack?”
James looked like he was about to cry.
Buffy furrowed her brow at the call. Something weird was happening back at the ranch, but she figured Faith and Dawn could handle it until they got back. She came to the restaurant she was supposed to meet Terry at. Very chic, but not too formal. That was OK.
Terry, it turned out, would have been kind of babeish if he weren’t, like, old. “Of course,” she thought, “two-thirds of my last few boyfriends were over 100.”
“So you must be Buffy,” he said when she was brought to his table. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have gotten together earlier, but I had some business to attend to, and then an appointment with my trainer.”
“What are you being trained for,” asked Buffy, breezily.
“No, no. The person who tells me how to work out.”
Buffy smiled. “I know. I was just kidding. To be honest, I’m totally not any good at this Sherlock stuff.”
“Well,” said Terry. “You don’t seem the type. Lovely young woman like you should be spending her time having fun, not chasing after…what was it you said? A death threat of some sort?”
“Something like that,” said Buffy.
“Right,” said Terry. “Look, if James doesn’t want to do it himself, why don’t I just hire him a detective of some sort? Honestly, all this chasing around, running to Rupert for help business. Seriously, he’s been fixated on his cousin for too long.”
“Really,” said Buffy, who began fiddling with a spoon as Terry spoke, and wondering if she was going to have to pay for her own dinner. Then she realized she had Giles’ gold card, and stopped worrying.
"Oh yes. Idolizes the man. Don’t know why, really. Anyways, after dinner, I know I know this wonderful little place. Wonderful jazz pianist…”
Buffy began delicately folding the spoon into an accordion shape. Terry stopped talking.
“You work out, huh?” said Buffy looking up from her object d’art. Terry nodded yes.
“Cool,” said Buffy, a bit more seriously. “So tell me, who’d want to threaten James?”
“No one,” said Terry. “I mean, he dates lots of women, yes, and I think a few people owe him money, but…”
“Do you?” asked Buffy. “Owe him money.”
“Me?” said Terry. “Certainly not. Well, there was that bet on Arsenal last week, but that was just a few… wait, are you saying I’m a suspect here?”
“Don’t know," said Buffy. “Any reason you would be?”
“None!” said Terry, wondering how such a small woman could change from being so…girlish to so…intimidating so suddenly. It was as though, all of a sudden, she was remarkably… present. It was unnerving.
“Look,” said Terry. “James is my mate. Been friends for years. I’d never do anything to hurt him. I’ve let him stay at my flat when his was being fumigated. Gone with him to visit his pregnant daughter. Bought him that lovely African mask for his apartment.”