So she's singing, and Spike's asking around, trying to find the blonde in the denim suit, which he can't do, since she's dead and buried. No one remembers her -- not the Asian bartender, not the woman with pre-Raphaelite hair. Not surprising, since, truthfully, she wasn't that memorable. Spike's slipping, he is. Aimee sings; Spike glowers and heads upstairs. Buffy asks her cell phone, "He hit you?" On the line, Xander cops to a knockout, and says Spike's been gone for at least half an hour. As Buffy wonders where to, we're back at the Bronze. Spike sips from a flask and surveys the crowd below as a female voice beside him asks, "One of them take your wallet?" Oh, she's quite a number -- and I had no idea that brown people go to Aimee Mann shows! The world never ceases to amaze. She thinks he's watching the folks below like he's out for blood. Just looking for "a certain bird" from the other night, says Spike. Tonight's vixen asks if it might be her, as she leans down to caress Spike's arm -- dude, he really is a hoochie magnet these days. She gets a bit miffed when he tells her no, but doesn't quit. "Not even if I ask nice? Or are you the type that needs to be convinced?" she purrs, as she slinks over and sits down next to Spike, who really just wants to be left alone.
Fat chance. A bit more flirty banter, and then, suddenly -- it's Blacula! She goes full vamp, asking if Spike wants to pick the crowd off one by one, or block the exits and get jiggy with it. Wondering what's up with Spike's wallflower act, she says, "You didn't seem so shy when you were…biting me." Spike looks confused and repulsed as she continues. She's not seeking an LTR -- just a little fun, she explains, eyeing an all-American dancing couple. "I take him, you take her. Or the other way around. Whatever," she suggests. Kinky and open-minded -- I love that in a blood-sucking demon. Not Spike, however. He grabs her shoulder, she lands a solid punch to his face, and he responds with a kick to the rack and an equally strong punch, which send her to the floor. She turns and asks, "Is that all I was to you? A one-bite stand?" Oh no, she di-in't. As two Latvian midgets in sequined thongs appear out of nowhere to bestow the Stupidest Line Of The Evening sash on this toothsome bit player, the camera cuts back to Aimee Mann, and then back to the fight, which continues in earnest. Aimee. Fight. Drummer. Fight. Aimee. Fight. And so on and so yawn, until Spike topples the hopefully mortified vampette over the railing and she crashes to the floor, exploding into a cloud of dust. The music grinds to a halt, as both band and crowd stare at the now empty space. Ever the showperson, Aimee starts playing and singing again, mesmerizing the crowd with her sonic spell, as Spike looks down from above, utterly perplexed.
Unable to resist the allure of Sunnydale's suddenly booming nightlife, Buffy strides to the front of a velvet-roped line. Generic techno seeps out of frosted glass doors. She heads for the doorman, but it's the bouncer (who I wish were DB Woodside moonlighting, but alas) who got this scene's speaking part. He opens the door and offers her entrance, since reed-like blonde things should never know the pain and humiliation of waiting in line, but she doesn't want to just sail inside -- she wants to flirt with the bouncer, thus ensuring immediate entrance at any moment in the future. She's tells Bouncer Boy that she's looking for Spike -- "bleach blond hair, leather jacket, British accent, kind of sallow, but in a hot way." Huh. I'm not sure I've ever heard her call Spike hot. But then, I'm not usually going over an episode with a fine-tooth (and oh so finely tuned) comb. And we're walking, we're walking. BB refers to Spike as a "Billy Idol wannabe," which inspires Buffy to reveal that "actually, Billy Idol stole his look from…" The verging-on-annoyance expression on BB's face stops that remark cold; he wants to know if Spike's her boyfriend. He's not. Probably a good thing, since BB's seen Spike, who shows up often and leaves with a different girl every night. "How many girls?" asks Buffy. Look, says BB, lose the zero and get with a hero -- this blond bloke's "a real player." And Buffy Summers is nothing if not a player hater.