mister dickensRating:PG
Posted: August 29, 2000
Notes: Mention in passing to previous "Brief Conversations".... Angel and the X-Men, Morbidity and Thin Ice.
"I need to talk to you,” said Cordelia.Angel looked up from his book. Cordelia seemed distinctly nervous, standing in the doorway, plucking at the corner of a spiral-bound notebook clutched tightly in one hand.
“What’s up? Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Cordelia sat stiffly on the edge of the visitor’s chair. “I’ve applied for another job.”
Angel carefully closed “The Mystery of Edwin Drood” and slid the book across the desk. “An audition?”
“Um, no. No, this would be for actual paid work,” she explained, still fidgeting with the notebook.
Angel had never seriously considered the possibility of Cordelia leaving. How could she leave? Cordelia belonged. “You don’t want to work here anymore?” asked Angel, dazed.
“Oh, I could never stop helping you - this...this would be an extra job.”
Relief flooded Angel until he realised other employment could still take Cordelia away from him. Almost all Angel’s non-investigating, non-demon hunting, non-prowling time was spent in Cordelia’s company. No more Scrabble evenings, no more roller-blading, no more watching as she watched tv. Financially, he could understand her need for more income. Angel Investigations hardly paid top line salaries and he knew Cordelia was finding it difficult to make ends meet.
“Can you manage two jobs? I mean you wouldn’t get too tired or....”
“Well, I’d sort of be doing them at the same time - that’s why I needed to talk to you,” said Cordelia glumly. “Heck,” she admitted, “the old Cordelia wouldn’t have thought twice about using your time to earn money somewhere else. Here’s the new me, worried about imposing! Okay, not exactly worried, but caring enough to mention it to you first.”
“How? You won’t be one of those people who call trying to sell frying pans or insurance?” asked Angel, holding back his sanction until he knew the full story.
“No! I’m applying for a post as a reporter - a journalist,” she said proudly.
Angel sat silently, a small frown creasing his brow. As far as he knew, reporters did a lot of scurrying around and attended war zones, riots, crime scenes and even press conferences. He wasn’t comfortable. He tried to imagine Cordelia running her own “Deep Throat” and inwardly blanched. The furrows deepened.
“I’d email stories - reports - into the newspaper from here. I wouldn’t have to work at another office or anything - is that why you look worried?”
“You’d sit there and the news would come to you?” asked Angel, disbelieving.
“It sort of does already, don’t you think?”
“Cordelia - you can’t write about the work we do here!”
“I didn’t think you would like that,” she sighed. “Rebecca-I-wanna-be-young-forever would have made a neat article, huh?”
Angel grimaced at the memory and scratched the back of his neck. “Tell me - why do you want this extra work? Money? Or you’ve always yearned to be a reporter?”
“Money - I thought that would be obvious. And I know you can’t pay me any more than you do - there is no extra! What with the apartment and food and odds and ends like, uh - living - there just isn’t enough. A second job would really help.”
“How can you even apply for this position? You’ve never worked as a reporter!”
“Oh. I sort of lied,” she admitted casually. “I said I had worked on a newspaper in Sunnydale.”
“Cordelia - you can’t lie. They can check!”
“I told them the office was blown up - you know, kind of at the same time as the school. Oh, and I said the editor ran off to Peru with a barmaid from the Bronze.”
Angel quickly put his hand to his mouth, a valiant effort to prevent the crack of a smile from spreading. To Cordelia, Angel appeared to be in pain.
“And I put you down as a character reference,” she finished meekly.
“Trying to drag me into your world of deception and lies, Cordelia?” Angel asked with mock severity.
Cordelia’s face fell. Angel relented. “Cordelia, if the newspaper calls me I will give you a character reference.”
Cordelia remained uncertain. “You’ll leave out the part about me being a ... a liar?”
“I will tell them you are imaginative and resourceful - that’s no lie,” he said soothingly.
“Thanks,” she said with a small smile. “Actually, there’s something else - while I’m here. You see, I said I had done interviews before...and, well I need to practice - in case I get the job.”
Angel sat forward in his chair, warily watching Cordelia as she opened the slightly mauled notebook.
“Uh-uh...not me. Try Wesley.”
“He’s at the library.”
“Wait until he gets back,” Angel suggested desperately.
“Just a few questions - come on you aren’t doing anything...anymore,” she said with a contrite glance at Angel’s discarded book. “You will have to pretend, by the way.”
Angel groaned. “No, please. You know I can’t do pretend.”
Cordelia callously ignored the plea. “Oh, I will need to give you a name. Who would you like to be?”
With a mournful glance at his book, Angel submitted. “Um.....Dickens.”
“Dickens? Angel Dickens? Eww. Remind me, when you shanshu, not to let you choose your own last name. Ready?”
“Well....” Angel’s attempt at an excuse was mercilessly cut off. “Fine.” Cordelia crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt and poised her pencil. Angel decided he would be better off sitting back and enjoying the show.
“Mr Dickens, thank you for giving me some of your valuable time today,” Cordelia crooned.
“My pleasure, Miss Chase.”
“Oh, please call me Cordelia!” she gushed in her best interviewer voice.
Angel’s lips compressed into a thin line. Angel might have been successful in controlling his mouth, but he couldn’t stop the smile lurking in his eyes.
“Mr Dickens, your first movie has just been released. How does it feel to be suddenly catapulted to fame as a sex-symbol?”
Angel coughed. Several times. “Um...Cordelia, I don’t know anything about....”
“Oh, come on!” said Cordelia ruthlessly. “Work with me here. How do you think it would feel to be adored by millions of women....and men?”
“What, er - which newspaper is this again?”
“‘The Anaheim Weekly Tribune and Southern Community Herald’ - it’s a free community weekly,” she explained politely.
“And this, um - newspaper - interviews movie stars?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, I don’t really know. But this is LA! You should always be prepared to interview an actor or celebrity. Please Angel, just try,” pleaded Cordelia.
“Okay,” he sighed, “may I have the question again?”
“Your first movie has just been released. How does it feel to be catapulted to fame as a sex-symbol?” Cordelia repeated.
Cordelia sat back in her chair, fascinated with the expression on Angel’s face. She thought she could actually see his imagination working on the scene.
His reply, when it came, was stiff and practiced, as though he had been learning lines. “I try to keep my life in perspective. I don’t let fame affect my day to day life.”
“Wait up - ‘perspective’...” Cordelia muttered as she scribbled hastily on her notepad.
“You aren’t actually writing this down are you?” asked Angel. “I thought reporters used those recorder things.”
“Not yet. Money issues,” Cordelia murmured as she finished writing. She looked up with her professional smile. “And the millions of adoring women out there, dreaming of you as they fall asleep?”
“Um....that’s scary.”
“Angel!” she remonstrated.
“I - er - hadn’t actually considered that aspect of my fame. How do you know they dream about me?” he inquired, suddenly curious.
“It’s automatic. Some drooly guy makes it big in a movie and ... you know.... he’s going to be invited home by all those women.”
Angel sat pondering, his mind going back to the movie he and Wesley had been dragged to by Cordelia. “That movie we went to see - with the Wolverine - did you...do you dream about.....”
“I still have quite a few more questions, Mr Dickens. May I continue?” asked Cordelia hurriedly.
“Yes, but - when you were watching Wolverine you went all....”
Cordelia steamrolled Angel. “Is it true you had an affair with your co-star, Mr Dickens?”
“How am I supposed to answer that?”
“Honestly.”
Angel thought for a moment. “No.”
“You had fabulous on-screen chemistry - that didn’t flow to off-screen?” Cordelia continued without pity.
“I don’t understand the question,” quibbled Angel in a vain attempt to staunch the whirl of questions.
“You make a boring interview,” lamented Cordelia.
“The questions hardly have much application to me, Cordelia,” Angel apologised.
“Next question.” Cordelia paused to assume her ‘interview’ voice. “Mr Dickens, how have you handled the transition from day-time soap opera to the big screen?”
“With a great deal of help and support from my friends and family,” he answered after consideration.
“You mention your family - are you all very close?”
“No. I haven’t seen them in a long time.”
“But they helped you with the transition?”
“Yes - by not being around. Giving me room to, um...transist!”
“Geesh,” she blew out under her breath, but carried on bravely. “Is there a romantic interest in your life right now?”
“Possibly.”
“Oh?” Cordelia brightened. “Who?”
“I can’t say,” he replied stodgily.
“Why not? Is she married? Is there some juicy scandal here?”
“No. I just don’t want to go public with my feelings.”
“Does she know how you feel?” Cordelia persisted.
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh....you know, you could tell her over dinner and a dozen red roses with...”
“Cordelia! Are we finished?”
“Sorry. A couple more. What do you like to do in your spare time away from the studio?”
“I like to read,” he said; and as a pointed afterthought, “when I am allowed.”
“Is that all?”
“What do you want me to say? I like to kill two demons before drinking dinner?”
“That would be interesting - better than ‘playing with my dogs’.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Nothing - just some P.R. type answers fed to the media.” Cordelia glanced at her notebook. “What is your favourite holiday destination?”
“The Bahamas,” he replied instantly.
“Really? I thought, you know - too much sun?” Cordelia wrinkled her nose.
“You told me to pretend.”
“Oh, right. You were getting wonderfully immersed in the character there!”
“Is that it? Can I go?” asked Angel hopefully.
“Almost. Now you ask me to have dinner with you tonight,” Cordelia instructed.
“I do?”
“Yes, it is customary for the handsome celebrity to ask the bright young reporter to dine,” Cordelia explained kindly.
“By that, I guess, I ask if I can cook you a meal, as usual?”
“Of course! Unless you know a restaurant that serves blood as part of their nouvelle cuisine?”
“Is there anything else customary I should know about?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. Because if,” said Angel, studying his clasped hands intently, “later on, I decide I would like to.....er, kiss you ... well, I’d rather it was because I wanted to and not because it was expected.”
“After dinner?”
“Maybe. On the other hand, maybe before dinner.”
“This is my regular goodnight-kiss on the forehead, right?”
Angel merely shrugged.
Cordelia’s eyes lit up. “You know, I’m hungry now. Could we have an early dinner?”
“Cordelia, it’s two-thirty.”
“I’ll just go tidy up. We could still finish a little early?” Cordelia smiled wistfully before closing the notebook and dashing back to her own desk. She sat and dreamily fiddled with the bundle of files. So far there had only been the two kisses; the half-Angelus, rather aggressive kiss and then the roller-blading kiss only the other day, when she had been too busy trying to breath to derive any real enjoyment from the moment. Angel’s voice interrupted her reverie.
“Miss Chase?”
“Huh?” Cordelia swung her chair to face Angel. He leant down quickly and covered Cordelia’s mouth with his, gently opening the welcoming lips, his tongue swirling softly against her own. Angel quietly released Cordelia and smiled into her misty eyes.
“So,” he asked, “how does it feel to have been kissed by a sex-symbol?”
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Disclaimer: The characters are Joss Whedon's, Mutant Enemy's and probably a heap of other people about
whom I know nothing.
I lay no claim to ownership of the characters, I simply like to ask them out to play now and then.