Parallel Lives by Mabel Marsters

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: 15 :: 16 :: 17 :: 18 :: 19 :: 20 :: 21 :: 22 :: 23 :: 24 :: 25 :: 26 :: 27 :: 28 :: 29 :: 30 :: 31 :: 32 :: 33 :: 34 :: 35 :: 36 :: 37 :: 38 ::

Chapter 4: A Day At The Office

Author's Notes: Thanks to my wonderful betas Carol and dawnofme *hugs*

Spike walked through to the garage and he looked at the selection of cars he had to choose from. There was the brand new SUV with its tinted windows, and the little sporty bright blue open top. “A chick’s car,” thought Spike with a grin. It also had a couple of dents in it, proving that cars and Buffy were still pretty much unmixy things. Spike sighed with pleasure as he walked to the car at the far side; his beloved Desoto. He’d owned it since his first year at college, and loved it just as much now, as when he bought it. He’d had it totally renovated over the years. Unfortunately, pretty well every Dingoes fan knew it, and he didn’t drive it as often as he’d like these days. He tossed the keys into the air and caught them again.


“Fancy going for a drive, love?”


“I told you that I’d drive myself today. There’s no reason for you to drop me off,” said Buffy, walking up behind him. “And, I want to call in to see Mom and Rupert on the way home.”


Spike glanced at Buffy and quirked an eyebrow.


“Wasn’t talking to you, pet.” He grinned.


“What?” Then Buffy spotted which set of keys he had in his hand. “Oh, I get it. You’re taking your mistress out today?”


“Jealous?”


“No way! I totally had you claimed as mine before she showed up,” joked Buffy.


“Well, it’s been a while since she’s been out, and as I’m only going to the studio I thought it’d be okay.”


“Just make sure that you keep your passenger door locked. Remember what happened at the lights that time?” she laughed.


“God! Yes,” snickered Spike at the memory.


It was just when the Dingoes had been signed, and starting to get airplay on radio stations and interviews in music magazines. One printed a photograph of the band standing around Spike’s Desoto. A couple of days later, Spike had been driving to collect Buffy and had stopped at a red light, when a girl opened the door and got in next to Spike as bold as you like. The lights had changed, and Spike had driven forward intending to pull over as soon as he could without blocking the road. Well, that had been the plan anyway, but when Spike was halfway across the intersection the girl had leaned over and put her hand on his crotch. He’d been so shocked that he’d swerved and ended up side-swiping a car coming the other way. Hence the renovations!


“Well, I’ll see you later, sweetie,” said Buffy, giving him a kiss.


“Yeah, say hi to the folks for me.”


He watched as she got into her car and backed out of the garage. He climbed into his black car and followed her down the gravel drive. Both paused waiting for the electronic gates to open before driving through. Buffy turned right, heading for Rich’s office, and Spike went left to go to the recording studio.


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Spike pulled the car into the studio parking lot and climbed out. He could see by the array of vehicles that he was the last to arrive. He hurried into the building.


“Hi guys. Sorry I’m late,” he said as he walked into the rehearsal room.


Oz and Pete were lounging on the couch, and Joey was busy setting up his drums.


“Up late…again?” said Oz with a grin.


“No,” said Spike, defensively.


The three band members stared at him in disbelief.


“Okay. Okay. Point taken,” he added, holding up in hands in defeat. “I just can’t help myself.”


“No willpower, that’s you,” joked Pete.


“Not where Buffy’s concerned anyway,” said Oz.


“Um…so what’s the plan for today then?” asked Spike, successfully changing the subject from his love life.


“I want to run through those six new songs that we’re adding to the set list. I’m not happy with how my bass came through last time,” said Oz, all businesslike.


“Great. Hey, Joey, are you ready, mate?” called Spike.


Joey gave a little drum roll and a crash of the cymbals.


“Yep, I’m good to go.”


Pete and Oz picked up their guitars and Spike took his place at the microphone. They then worked hard at getting them spot on.


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Over at the other end of Sunnydale, Buffy walked into Rich’s office, finding, as usual, that he was already there, phone to his ear. She waved at him and then went into her own office and sat at her desk. The in tray containing fan mail was full to overflowing. She glanced at it for a second, but then turned her attention to the list of hotels that the band was booked into, on their upcoming tour in the UK.


They had planned their current tour in three parts. They had already played several dates in mainland Europe, then had a month off ,and next week were going to do dates in the UK. The US leg was the last one, and again, was starting a month after their return from Britain.


Buffy picked up the telephone and called the first hotel on the list. The tour would end with three nights in London, and Spike and Buffy were going to stay in the house that had originally been owned by Spike’s aunt and uncle. Once the mess of Spike’s identity had been sorted out, its ownership had passed to Rupert. He’d decided to keep it and it was now used whenever friends or family went to London. Buffy and Spike were planning on staying in London for another ten days or so after the last gig, and she couldn’t wait.


After an hour, Buffy had finished the hotel bookings and was just opening the first of the fan mail, as Rich walked in carrying two mugs of coffee.


“Hey, babe, ‘ow ‘ave yer got on? Everythin’ all right?”


He grinned at her, as he passed a mug over and sat in the chair opposite. Despite his years in the States, he sounded as English as the day Buffy had first met him.


“Hi, Rich. Yeah, all the hotels are confirmed as are the flights,” replied Buffy. “I’m just about to start on this mess.” She pointed to the pile of letters.


Rich followed her finger and grimaced when he saw how high it was.


“Least none of the envelopes look like they’ve got knickers stuffed in them.”


“Thank God!” exclaimed Buffy. “I’m sure the last pair that were sent weren’t clean. Eew!”


“Are yer sure you’re still ‘appy to do the fan stuff? We can always take somebody on.”


“No, I don’t mind, Rich. I like to keep busy, and if I had a regular job I’d not be able to travel with you on tour.”


“I was kind of thinking that yer didn’t need to work at all. Yer do know ‘ow much Spike earned last year, don’t yer?”


Buffy laughed, “Yeah, I know, but I’m not a sit at home girl. I like doing this.”


“That’s fine by me, ‘cause I’d miss yer if yer stopped comin’ in.”


“So what have you been doing? You were on the phone for ages.”


Rich looked a little shifty. “Um…I was talking to a breakfast TV show in London arranging an interview with Spike.”


“And the rest of the band, of course?”


“Er…no…just Spike. It’s only a short spot - about fifteen minutes - so it’s not possible to have them all on. Oz, Joey and Pete know about it and are cool.”


“But Spike, on TV…on his own!” cried Buffy. “He’s not the most eloquent in those situations, Rich. You know that.”


Even though Spike was the band’s ‘front-man’, off stage he could still be painfully shy and unsure of himself. Rich usually tried to have at least one band member with him for each interview in case he froze.


“I know, but it’s too good an opportunity to miss, and I’ll be there - you too, if you like. Hell, the guys can be there to ‘old his ‘and off camera if necessary. He’s twenty-six now, an’ it’s about time he learnt to give a good interview.”


“He can’t help the way he is, Rich,” admonished Buffy.


“He ain’t shy when he’s playing to crowds of fifteen thousand, and I’ve already got stadium gigs organised for next year.”


“But he still nearly tosses his cookies before each gig,” said Buffy.


Spike was certainly an unusual character. Larger than life on stage yet off it, he was quiet and shy, preferring to be home with his family and friends than going to celebrity parties and such like.


“The word to focus on there, Buffy,” said Rich with a grin, “is ‘nearly’. He’ll get better at interviews. God knows he can’t get any worse.”


Buffy threw a pen at him.


“You are so mean.”


“But truthful.”


“Yeah, truthful. Spike totally sucks at publicity,” said Buffy with a chuckle.

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