The beeping of his computer yesterday had reminded him of what he had forgotten so easily. He had put the thoughts of the special evening that he had planned for the two of them aside when he and Virginia had broken up. But he still had the ballet tickets that he had ordered almost three months ago. Giselle, his favorite, performed by American Ballet Theatre. Virginia would have loved it. They would have enjoyed a special dinner first. No, Wes, no self-pity. He would still go and enjoy the ballet, and maybe even have the nice dinner he had looked forward to. Now he had to find a companion.

"Cordelia, how would you like to go to the ballet with me tomorrow?"

"I'm sorry, Wes. There's a party where some casting directors are supposed to be. I really need to go and make some contacts. I hope you understand." She didn't tell him that she didn't enjoy ballet; why make him feel worse?

Angel and Fred had gone to a weekend retreat. Fred was having trouble adjusting to being back in civilization after five years in Pylea. So Angel had suggested that perhaps a few days of psychological counseling, a healthy regime of diet and exercise, and his companionship would be helpful. After all Fred had been eating tacos, sleeping, and catching up on television watching since she had been back in Los Angeles.

That left Gunn. When Wes asked him if he'd like to go to the ballet, he had laughed. "Man, you gotta be kidding!" So that was that.

He had a few other ideas. Kate Lockley? Her phone was disconnected with no other number given.

Anne Steele? She was sorry, but she never left the shelter on a Saturday night. Too much could happen then. Maybe another time on another night. . .

Lindsey McDonald? He would probably have gone, and Wes knew he would have enjoyed it. But, like Kate, Lindsey was among the missing. He had set off in his old rusty truck and, as far as Wes knew, had not looked back.

There was only one thing to do. He logged on to the KCMO website and accessed the ticket exchange. Yes, he could sell the extra ticket. If anyone were interested, the station would sell it for him and direct the buyer to leave the money at the ticket window for Wes. So he gave his name, the seat number, and the asking price, asking them not to give out his name to the buyer.

Saturday evening he made a reservation for himself at Danielle's, a lovely French restaurant that he and Virginia had frequented when they were a couple. They did a fine steak Diane. Perhaps he'd return after the ballet for dessert.

Arriving at the box office, he picked up his ticket and an envelope containing the price he had requested for the ticket. Very well. At least he'd have someone sitting next to him rather than an empty seat. He stopped at one of the small tables set up in the lobby and had a glass of wine. Then he found his seat in the middle of the second row.

The seat next to him was occupied by a beautiful woman in her early thirties, dark-haired, with the cheekbones of a model. Her hair was up, showing off diamond stud earrings. She wore an elegant black dress, simply cut, perhaps just a touch too low in the bosom and too short in the skirt. Although not in bad taste, it caught the eye. As he sat, she looked up at him.

"Thank you for selling your extra ticket. I wanted to go, but it was sold out. I love Giselle, and Julie Kent is outstanding in the role."

"Yes, I've enjoyed everything I've seen her dance. I'm glad you were able to come."

"I don't get much chance to go to the ballet. My late employer loved the opera, and so did one of my colleagues. I went to one opera with each of them, Faust and Aida, but it wasn't enjoyable for me. I even fell asleep in Aida, somewhere between the marching elephants and the entombment." She laughed. "He told me that I had been snoring. He never asked me again, for which I was grateful."

Wes also laughed. "I also prefer ballet to opera. Did you study ballet when you were a girl?"

"No, I wanted to, but my father wouldn't allow it. My mother had died in an automobile accident when I was very young, so I had to be the son he wanted. I don't know if I would have had any talent, but I'm sure I would have enjoyed it."

Wes heard the sadness in her voice. It sounded as if she felt as melancholy as he did. Maybe this was a mistake. In spite of the gaiety and light-heartedness at the beginning, Giselle was a ballet about betrayal and death, unlike Coppelia or Sleeping Beauty. But then the conductor was entering the pit. They both stood and applauded.

The performance was fantastic. Julie Kent and Ethan Steifel were perfection as the doomed Giselle and her duplicitous lover Count Albrecht. During the intermission, he invited her to the lobby for a glass of wine, but she declined because the lines for the rest rooms were always so long and she definitely had to visit it. In fact, she just made it back to her seat in time for the second act curtain. Paloma Herrera danced her first Myrtha, Queen of the Wilis. She would be a great Myrtha some day. Her dancing was flawless, but she needed to work on achieving the imperious regality of Myrtha. The evening passed too quickly. They were on their feet, wildly applauding the dancers.

As she rose to leave, Wes picked up her wrap and helped her drape it around her shoulders. "Would you like to join me for dessert?"

"Thank you. That would be lovely." He offered her his arm, and she took it. Together they left the theater.

"Do you have a car?" Wes asked.

"Yes, do you?"

"No, I came by taxi."

"Then we'll take my car. Where shall we go?"

"Danielle's has magnificent pastries and excellent crepes Suzette. Does that appeal to you?"

"Fantastic." She led him to her car, a red Jaguar convertible. Suddenly Wes wondered why this magnificent woman was alone on a Saturday night. Was she a high-class call girl? They had chatted, but, aside from what she had said about her childhood, she hadn't given him much information about herself. He hadn't shared anything of significance with her either. There was too much to hide from the average person. After all, who would believe that he had been a member of the Watchers' Council, responsible for a vampire slayer, and that he now worked for a vampire with a soul? And he was a good-looking man alone on a Saturday night as well.

She drove well, handling her powerful sports car with skill. They arrived at Danielle's and waited in the bar for a table. Wes had a whiskey and soda while they waited; she sipped a white wine.

The crepes Suzette, prepared tableside, was excellent, and they relished every bite. The discussion revolved around various topics that were considered safe for people meeting for the first time. Wes had another whiskey and was starting to feel the effects. As they left, he was glad he wasn't driving. "I guess I should get a cab now."

"Don't be silly. The least I can do is drive you back to your apartment. After all, you provided me with the means to see Giselle tonight, and then you bought me dessert and wine. I owe you a ride home, at least." He got into her car. "Why don't we go to my place for coffee first? You could stand a little caffeine."

She pulled into the parking garage of an expensive building. Alcohol had loosened Wes' tongue and his inhibitions, so he asked her straight out, "Are you a prostitute?"

"You might say that. I'm an attorney." She guided him into the elevator and up to her floor. Unlocking the door, she led him into a beautiful condo. "I'll get the coffee. Please make yourself comfortable."

Wes sat on the sofa, trying to stay awake. When she returned with the coffee, she had taken her hair down. She was so beautiful. "I'd like to kiss you. May I?"

Sitting close to him, she rested her hand on his knee. "If you'd like. Very few men have ever asked if they could kiss me. Most of them have just taken what they wanted. One or two haven't even tried."

"It's their loss. And the ones who just took what they wanted didn't know how to treat a lovely lady like you." Wes leaned over and kissed her. She responded to his kiss, her tongue searching his mouth. He slipped a strap off one shoulder. As he had suspected, she wore no brassiere. She took his hand and guided it to the breast that he had just bared. He slid off the other strap and let her dress fall to her waist, caressing the one nipple while he gently kissed the other.

Her hands removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. As she slipped it open, she noticed his scar, the lasting reminder of the bullet he had taken from the zombie policeman. He had almost died that night. "Oh, how awful! Is it still painful?" Her fingers gently brushed it, warming it with their touch.

"No, it's quite healed, at least as best it can be."

She opened the buckle of his belt and unzipped his fly, opening his trousers to completely expose his scar. Tracing it with her lips, her tongue moistened it. Then she ran her finger gently over it again. "I have something for this." She stood up, allowing her dress to fall to the floor. She wore black lace bikini panties and her high heeled black sandals. She headed for the bathroom and returned with a small vial. Moistening her finger with her tongue, she took just a little powder on her finger and retraced the scar. Where the powder touched, the wound healed completely and the scar disappeared. Wes saw the symbol of a Pakla demon on the vial. He didn't care. Her perfume was making him dizzy with lust, and her body was fantastic. He stood to drop his pants to the floor.

"Let's go to the bedroom."

"I can't wait," he said, pulling off her panties. She pushed him gently back onto the sofa.

"You'll have to wait until we get to the bedroom unless you have condoms with you. That's where I keep mine."

"No, I can't wait." So she knelt in front of him and very skillfully provided him with enough relief that he could make it into the bedroom.

Finally they reached her bed, where their bodies joined again and again. Virginia had been experienced, but nothing like this woman. And he didn't even know her name! At last they fell into an exhausted sleep.

When Wes awoke, bright sunlight streamed through the window. His head ached from his hangover. Looking at his stomach, he saw that all traces of the scar were gone. Unbelievable! And she was also gone, but he smelled coffee. He rose, wrapped a sheet around his waist, and found her in the kitchen wearing his shirt and, as far as he could tell, nothing else. "So you finally decided to get up?"

"You've been up for a while?"

"Long enough to make a recipe of waffle batter and to heat the waffle iron. I make excellent waffles, if I do say so myself. Of course, you had a lot more to drink than I did, which is probably why you slept so long. You couldn't tell that you had been drinking while we were enjoying ourselves last night, though. You have incredible stamina."

"I might say the same of you. It was amazing!"

"Sit down. I'll have your waffle in a minute. She poured batter into the iron and, turning to the microwave, heated some syrup. Shortly a golden waffle sat on the plate in front of him. She quickly made one for herself and joined him at the table. "So can you stay a while longer, or must you leave?" She sounded a little wistful.

"I have a great many things to do, but I can stay a while. I'll need my shirt."

"After you've eaten, you can have it. You'll have to take it off of me, though."

So, after they'd eaten, he did. They spent another couple of hours in bed until Wes knew he'd have to leave. He had a scroll that should have been translated yesterday. However, with Angel away, it didn't matter so much.

As he was ready to leave, he knew he'd like very much to see her again. "May I take you to dinner sometime soon? Maybe next Saturday?"

She smiled, a bright, radiant smile. "I'd love that. Let me give you my number." She opened her purse and took out a business card, writing her home and cell phone numbers on the back

When he took the card, his face fell. It said,

LILAH MORGAN

Vice President

WOLFRAM & HART

Attorneys at Law.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't know. I'm truly sorry. I'd like to see you again, I really would, but I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why? What did I do?"

"It's not what you did, it's who you are, and, more important, whom you work for. I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

"Angel's right-hand man. I had no idea. I guess you're right. There's no way this would work. But, for what it's worth, last night was the best time I've had in years."

Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her gently. "Me, too. If anything should ever change. . ."

"No, I'm not as brave or as foolish as my ex-colleague Lindsey. I can't leave. Goodbye, Wesley."

"Lilah, thank you for everything. I don't mean just for healing me. I mean everything."

"Goodbye, Wes." Closing the door behind him gently, Lilah sank to the floor and let the tears come.