A/N: Part 2 at last! The characters of Toni Karlsen and Elin Kristel Granath appear in other writing projects of mine (some of Toni's story is posted on FictionPress as well).


§ § § -- August 9, 1991

When Prince Errico finally departed the main house, Leslie breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Fulfilling his fantasy should be easy now," she said.

"Leslie…" Roarke began.

She held up her hands. "Look, Mr. Roarke, after what we just went through getting me out of this mess, anything would be easy."

Roarke had to laugh. "Perhaps so," he said, "from your point of view in particular. But as we have seen, the man's natural arrogance clearly comes with a modicum of stubbornness, and we can only hope he takes to heart my repeated suggestions that he introduce himself to as many young women as possible."

"At least we finally talked him into actually going out and doing it, instead of hanging around in here moaning and whining about it," remarked Leslie, rolling her eyes. "So, now that he's out of the way, what's on the agenda?"

"You will need to meet the evening charter," Roarke told her, "for the prince's three children will be on it, right on schedule. Except for that, there are only the routine duties for the afternoon. Of course, you did mention that Michiko should be coming to see us."

Leslie nodded. "I wonder what's on her mind that she needs to talk to us about it."

They found out around one o'clock, when Michiko let herself into the house, clad in a pale-green sundress and sandals. She was still petite; as long as Leslie had known her she had had waist-length hair, but now it had been cut back into a pixyish style that perfectly framed her delicate face. She and Leslie hugged each other again, and then Leslie urged her into a chair and took the one beside it. They chatted for a couple of minutes until Roarke returned via the French shutter doors.

"Ah, Michiko!" he said. "It appears that your newfound fame agrees with you."

"Mostly, yes," Michiko said, her face clouding for just a moment. "Mainly it's exhausting. I've never been so busy in my life. I'm a little surprised I was allowed to come home and see my family and friends. And now that I'm here, you'd be amazed how tempting it is to just stay. My career was actually less hectic when I was just singing in Broadway shows—and things were much more predictable."

"But now you can pick and choose your projects, can't you?" Leslie asked while Roarke settled into his chair behind the desk.

"That's what I'm told," Michiko said. "But I'm also being told I'd better think very seriously about doing a concert tour, which would keep me on the road the rest of this year and well into next year. I don't know if I want to travel quite that much. I'd go back to Broadway in a heartbeat if it weren't for—" She stopped short and blinked, as if surprised by what she had almost said.

"If it weren't for what?" Leslie prodded gently.

Michiko gave her a helpless look and then cast it at Roarke, who said, "Have you been able to speak with your family about whatever is troubling you?"

Michiko shook her head miserably. "I just couldn't bring myself to tell them. My parents are very traditional Japanese, Mr. Roarke. They supported my choice of career, but I know they had their misgivings. And if they ever found out…it would almost be scandalous. I just couldn't tell anyone, and it's been eating at me. So when my agent told me I had a few free days, I told him I was coming to Fantasy Island and there was no room for argument. You see, I thought that if there was anyone on earth I could tell, it would be you two."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other, both perplexed; then Leslie turned to her friend and said, "We don't want to pry, Michiko, but I think you'll feel much better once you do talk about it. It must have been devastating to you if it's bothering you this much."

Michiko gazed thoughtfully at her for a moment, then nodded a little. "I think you're right, Leslie. Well, okay." She took a deep breath and sat up straight in her chair. "Have you ever heard of Russell St. Anthony?"

Both Roarke and Leslie had, and they looked at each other again, this time in surprise. "Yes, the Broadway actor," Roarke said.

"Incredibly talented," Leslie added. "If I recall correctly, he's won three Tony awards, and he's the closest thing Broadway can get to a guaranteed box-office draw."

Michiko nodded. "Exactly. He's been inordinately successful at his craft—and he has an ego the size of Mount Everest. He's very charming, the consummate host, and he can sweep a woman off her feet with the best of them."

Leslie coughed discreetly and shot Roarke a glance, unable to resist saying, "I know someone who could take some lessons from him." Roarke chuckled.

"Not so fast," Michiko said. "He puts up a wonderful front—but once a woman's been involved with him long enough, he turns into a dreadful rake. I think for him, the excitement lies in the chase and the eventual conquest. But he's so persuasive that the poor woman he's charming out of her socks inevitably falls for him like a dropped safe, and when he dumps her, she's never the same again. Rumor has it that no fewer than three of his former girlfriends committed suicide because he split up with them."

By now Leslie and Roarke had some idea where she was going with this, and Leslie leaned forward over the arm of her chair. "Don't tell me you got involved with him," she said, slightly alarmed. "How else could you know all this?"

"Unfortunately, I did," Michiko admitted, staring at her hands which were tightly clasped in her lap. "He went through his whole routine with me, and I was such a naïf, I fell for every line. I'd heard of him, naturally, but I knew nothing about him, and no one saw fit to warn me if they knew. Anything he asked for, I let him have, because I was so besotted. Then he got bored and dumped me, with almost no warning at all."

"You seem to be holding up rather well," Roarke said carefully.

"That," said Michiko, "is because once the initial pain subsided somewhat, I was very angry. Why should I let him affect me that much? I still can't think of him without that pain and anger—and a sense of shame, too." The last half-dozen words came out in a tiny whisper, and she hung her head.

"If anyone should be ashamed, it's St. Anthony," Leslie said indignantly. "He sounds like the worst sort of cad. Why should you be ashamed, Michiko?"

"I…he…" Michiko looked up, and they saw that her eyes were filled with tears. "This is why I couldn't tell my family. He was so convincing, so charming…I thought it would be forever, so I…let him sleep with me." She turned bright red and covered her face with her hands, as if trying to hide from her hosts.

"Oh, Michiko," Leslie said softly, putting a consoling hand on her friend's arm. "Like I said, you're not the one who should be ashamed."

"From what you have told us," Roarke said, "you had every reason to believe that you and Mr. St. Anthony had a chance at a permanent relationship. It appears that he led you on, and you felt secure enough with him to allow such a thing to happen."

"My parents would never forgive me," Michiko cried, staring pleadingly at him. "Don't you see, Mr. Roarke? As I said, they're very traditional and very old-fashioned. A well-brought-up young Japanese woman would never let such a thing happen until she was well and truly married to the man. And you know how it is: the woman is always held responsible for any transgression. I simply can't tell Mother and Father. They would be so disappointed in me…they might even disown me."

"That doesn't sound like your parents at all," Leslie said, amazed.

"You never really got to know them that well," Michiko told her, shaking her head in abject misery. "That's the reason Toki rebelled so much growing up—he was fighting the strictures of our traditional Japanese upbringing. But in the end, even Toki didn't make the mistake I did. Besides, he's a male, so it'd be much less serious if he'd done it. Being a girl, I'll be seen to have committed the worst crime imaginable."

"That isn't right," Leslie said flatly. "No woman should ever be held responsible for something that wasn't her fault. Did St. Anthony propose to you?"

"No, not in so many words," Michiko said, brushing away a tear that had finally escaped. "But he talked about our future together on enough occasions that I began to feel he eventually would pop the question." She heaved a sigh and stared unseeingly out the window. "I'm sure the Fantasy Island Chronicle is going to insist on an interview, but I just don't have the emotional strength right now to put up with probing questions from the media. What I'm asking, I guess, is that I be treated like just any ordinary islander who's home for a visit. I don't want the star treatment and I don't want any special or unusual attention. I'm just plain Michiko Tokita while I'm here."

"If you can," Roarke said, "tell me: how is it that no one knows you were involved with Russell St. Anthony in the first place?"

"Russell tends to keep his affairs private," Michiko said. "He loves publicity, don't get me wrong, and he's constantly seeking attention from wherever he can get it. But he never talks about whatever woman he happens to be seeing. It's not so much the fact of the affair that's a secret; it's only the identity of the woman." She frowned slightly. "He keeps that part of his life so private, actually, that it never came out about his numerous affairs till after the second jilted actress had taken her own life. Both she and the first one had left suicide notes, and after the second one, the press went crazy making up rumors. Russell sued a couple of tabloids, but he lost both suits and it infuriated him. The third actress he jilted was found dead not long after he dumped her, but it was never clear whether she committed suicide or what. The autopsy indicated death by overdose, but it was from a prescription drug that she'd been taking anyway, one known to be addictive if its administration isn't very carefully monitored. So the question of Russell's degree of involvement was never really resolved, and to this day it still hangs over his head."

"I'm surprised it doesn't affect his popularity as an actor," Leslie said.

Michiko raised a gracefully-winged eyebrow at her, a sardonic look on her features. "You shouldn't be. The world is a very morbid place. People come to his shows these days as much to see the guy who supposedly drove three actresses to their deaths as to see his performances. He refuses to discuss the women themselves, or his affairs with them, but he's overjoyed with the extra publicity. As long as it gets him the attention he craves, it makes no difference to him why people come to see him."

"Good grief," Leslie murmured, shaking her head.

Roarke regarded Michiko with some concern. "You've been scheduled to sing on Sunday at a formal gala. If you feel that you aren't able to do so, please advise me now, so that I can apprise the proper people." His expression softened and he smiled. "You should certainly feel no guilt or shame if you decide not to sing."

Michiko hunched her shoulders. "I'm actually not sure just yet, Mr. Roarke. Maybe when I've had a chance to rest a little and be treated as just another person, I can make a decision. But right now…"

Roarke nodded. "Quite understandable. As Leslie insisted, you have no reason to feel ashamed of what happened. You certainly aren't the first woman to be in such a situation, and you won't be the last. I know that's cold comfort at best, but it's very much the truth."

Michiko smiled faintly. "I'll try to keep that in mind, Mr. Roarke. That old saying really is true—misery loves company." Roarke and Leslie both laughed softly. "Incidentally, I just heard about this gala a few days ago, and I don't even know who's hosting it."

Leslie settled uneasily back in her chair, a strangely guilty look on her face. Roarke said smoothly, "The host is a guest of ours, and if you should decide not to sing at the gala, I will inform him accordingly." His voice warmed. "I assume you're staying with your parents while you're on the island."

Michiko grinned sheepishly. "To tell you the truth, I was relieved when I discovered I wouldn't be able to. They turned my old bedroom into a study for Father. So I took a room at Julie's bed-and-breakfast inn."

"Good for you," said Leslie, joining in Roarke's laughter. "You'll be glad you did. Julie can cook like almost nobody else, except for Mariki. So look…if your parents don't expect you to spend the rest of the day at their house, I think you really ought to just relax and roam around the island, visit the other girls, whatever you want."

"I was thinking the same thing," Michiko said. "Right now I just want some time to myself, without anyone bothering me for autographs or anything else. What's the most private place you recommend to guests who are looking for that?"

"You are probably best off at Julie's inn, in that case," Roarke observed. "She had a swimming pool installed not very long ago, as a matter of fact, and restricts it to her guests only, so that you won't find yourself confined to your room. I believe that your best chance of finding peace and privacy will be there."

"Sounds wonderful," Michiko said and stood up. "Thank you both so much for just listening to me, and not judging me. I knew I could count on you for that."

"That's why we're here," Leslie said. "Just come over and see us if you need anything. If you want company for supper, come over and eat with us; if not, then you'll have a truly terrific meal at Julie's. So you can't lose either way."

"I'll let you know," Michiko promised. "Thank you both again. See you later, Leslie." She left quietly, and Roarke and Leslie settled back into their chairs, looking at each other with faintly pensive expressions, but neither one speaking.