* * *

Cordelia's on the phone.

"Aw, that is sweet. Don't worry about it. Sure, honey. That's it? You're feeling playful today. Oh? I can tell. Incredibly impressed, yes. An occasional word."

She bursts into hearty laughter, and I can't help grin back at her. Looks like she's got herself a boyfriend. Good for her. She probably has a hard time in LA, working in a man's world and all. I don't think I've ever seen her involved stably with someone. Her high-school relationship with Xander was serious but can't exactly be considered stable, and the flirt/crush thing she had going with Wesley senior year suddenly seems vaguely incestuous. I'm glad she found herself someone; you can tell it's done her good. She's speaking in a carefree, teasing tone. I wonder if she'll be bringing him tonight?

"You go, lover-boy."

I wink at her slyly. Who is this man? Maybe we know him.

"Of course not, buttercup." She starts to wrap up the conversation and I listen intently to her side, trying to catch a name to go with all those terms of endearment. God. When have I become such a nosy Aunt Myrtle? "Listen, I've still got preservation liquid to scout for, so—All right. I love you."

Aw, she's cute. Saying that with a little roll of her eyes and a smile playing on her lips. I never thought the day would come when I thought Cordelia Chase was adorable.

Come on, say his name.

"I love you, Angel. Without a doubt."

Back up.

What was that?

You've got to be kidding me. He—you—he—

You have got to be kidding me!

"No, I love *you*!" She practically yells. Whoa, intense.

She hangs up and turns to me with an apologetic little smile. "Angel," she explains, "you know how he gets."

I nod weakly. I simply cannot believe this. This is like... this is like finding out that the Master is sleeping with Tory Spelling.

Oh, my god, what a lameass example. I must be completely shocked.

How can *Angel* and, and *Cordelia*, Cordelia who as a cheerleader threatened me with pompoms, Cordelia who thought that the NKVD actually were a fashion police, Cordelia who was the first advocate to kill Angel, be... be... you know, shtupping together.

God, I can't even think the word. In English.

This is like a twilight zone. A twisted version of reality. I mean, beyond the fact that he's with Cordelia, there's still matter of Angel being with *anyone* else to accept.

I don't know why I care so much about this. Except—

Oh! I must be feeling guilty! Because of Angel and me kissing yesternight. Not only did I betray Angel, but I betrayed Cordelia as well. Of course. It's so simple.

This must be the explanation for that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"He's just silly sometimes, you know?" I realize she's still talking about Angel.

Suddenly I say, "Rob's silly too!"

Cordelia directs me a puzzled expression. "What?"

"I'm just saying, Rob can be very silly. In fact, only last night I was thinking that. About Rob being that sometimes. Silly. He did this sock thing."

"Oh. Okay."

"He's great that way. He can be really funny too. He told me a joke the other day about this man and a hole and whatnot and let me tell you, I was on the floor."

"He sounds like an extremely talented man."

"Yes! Multi-talented. Generous. Sensitive. Passionate. And he's punctual. Not that Angel isn't punctual, that is. I mean, as far as I remember Angel was one of the most punctual vampires I've ever met, so you've got nothing to worry about."

"Well, I don't normally worry about Angel being punctual, but thanks for reassuring me. Are you feeling fine?"

"I feel superb. I'm happy, I'm in love, I'm a very satisfied woman, if you know what I mean. It's not like I go off randomly kissing other men. But if I were, they sure as hell wouldn't be Angel--again, not that there's anything wrong with him. He's just a little too hair gel for me. I know some people like that, I'm just not into the whole spikes thing. But he does have his pluses. Great chest. You probably know what I'm talking about."

"Uh... yeah?"

"So, anyway, I better get back to shopping. Gotta be ready for tonight. Did I mention Rob was cooking? Fabulous chef, that man."

"So you said. Playing along, I should probably point out that Angel's quite handy with a frying pan."

"That's so wonderful for you two."

"Buffy, were you out in the sun this morning? Like, for a very long time? Maybe we should check your temperature."

"I told you, I'm perfectly fine. You on the other hand, seem a bit odd."

"'Freaked' would be the appropriate term."

"Whatever you like. Anyhow, I'll get back to my FOEs."

"Your foes."

"Orange eggplants *are* the enemy."

"Ah, yes. Your secret lovers."

I stumble and choke out, "ha! Yes. Good one."

She backs away from me slowly, moving towards the exit. In a placating tone she advises, "You should go home. Get some sleep before tonight. Become not insane, or whatever. Not everyone will think it's cute."

"You know who's cute?" I call after her. "Rob!"

The bell hanging on the door tinkles in response.

So, do you think she recognized that I'm acting a bit strange?

Cordelia and Angel. Angel and Cordelia. You know, this brings in a whole new level of awkwardness.

I just can't wait for tonight.

* * *

I rush back to The Tulip to beat Cordy's arrival. When she walks through the room door she announces: "Buffy doesn't like your hair gel."

"I beg your pardon?"

She shrugs. "Just thought you might like to know. Where's Wesley? I got the stuff. For the stuffing."

"I'm here," he states as he enters the room. He gathers her purchases which have been dropped on the table, ignoring me.

Why doesn't Buffy like my hair gel?

I try to inquire. "Did she say anything? Uh, I mean, you met Buffy today? Wow, what a coincidence. Did she say anything?"

"She was acting totally weird. Her boyfriend's hot, though."

"Her fiance," Wesley points out. Evilly.

I throw him a black stare and turn back to Cordy. "You met him? What's he like?"

"Mark Wahlberg," she answers, with what might be interpreted as a dreamy sigh.

"That's what Allison said too," I mutter.

"Who's Allison?" Wesley asks absently, while pouring a mysterious blue liquid into a measuring glass.

"The he-vamp I extracted information about Commy from last night, right after--" I poisoned your hamster. "...never mind."

"His name was Allison? Isn't that a little girlish? Not to mention very Melrose Place."

"I thought so too."

Cordy pipes up. "Isn't 'Amanda' from Melrose Place?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if that were his middle name." The two others smile. See? It's just a matter of time till they forgive me.

Wesley's dealing with--ick--the carcass, and I decide to play some atmosphere music. I go to the stereo, conveniently provided by the money-milking five star Tulip, and put in a CD from the office collection--we always make sure we've got some in the car. You know, to spare us See Gas.

Perfect for the mood. Simon and Garfunkle's 'Sounds of Silence'. Sad, quiet, yet serene.

Wesley's stuffing to the rhythm of the music and Cordy flashes me a little thumbs up of approval. I can be sensitive.

"So," I quietly bring up the subject again, "does Buffy seem to, you know, love Commy?"

She rolls her eyes at my perfectly legitimate nickname and says, "She is marrying him, you know."

"Yeah, but does she, like, love him?"

"Very much, it appears. The last five minutes of our conversation were practically a glorified Ode to Rob."

"She didn't mention me?"

"I got the impression that she was trying to be nice about you so as not to insult me. Why do you think that is?"

"Uh, I dunno," I feign ignorance. Wow. If she hadn't thought I was with Cordy she would have said bad things about me? Not going according to plan. Plus, she hates my hair gel.

"I saw them together. They really seem to love each other."

Not helping me, Cordy.

We sit in silence and watch Wesley for a while, and I let the music depress me some more.

Eventually I blurt, "Othello and Desdemona die at the end of the play."

Cordelia and Wesley both look up with surprise, and Cordelia rises to come sit on the armrest of my couch. "It was a stupid example, Angel," she says softly.

I take awhile before I respond.

"Yeah."

"It doesn't have to be the same."

"Yeah."

She clasps my hand with her own and rubs my palm with her thumb.

Dinner tonight should be quite something. But whatever happens, I know I've got my friends to back me up. However stupid they think my intentions and strategies and plans are, they'll support me, whatever the consequences.

It gives me strength. And I think that might make the difference.

I freeze as the song ends and the next track opens with a familiar tune. Before any of my friends can comment I sprint to the stereo and turn off the power button, lest the song reach its chorus.

'Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme.'

Figures.

I look up sheepishly. Both of them are staring at me accusingly for what seems like the hundredth time in a single week.

...And then Wesley starts laughing. Cordy's light, teasing laughter follows.

I join them.

* * *