ISLAND OF LOST SOULS
Andy and Miranda enjoy a brief tropical vacation, and meet some rather strange natives. I do not own any of these delightful characters. Please comment nicely!
One: Two Castaways
"Unacceptable, Andrea. I refuse to be trapped here. Trapped on a tropical island populated only by strange, beast-like men." Miranda Priestly paced nervously back and forth, pushing her slim white fingers through her shimmering silver hair. "Why isn't anyone doing anything? Why can't they send Navy SEALS to rescue us? What do we pay these people for? More to the point, what do I pay you for, Andrea?"
The pretty, dark-haired girl on the bed just smiled. "Miranda, please sit down. You look like . . . like the world's most elegant nervous wreck." It would take more than a mad scientist and an army of primitive beast-men to make Andy Sachs lose her sense of humor. "Look at the bright side. Dr. Moreau didn't have to rescue us, but he did. We survived the plane crash. I'm sure someone is looking for us by now. You're a very important person, you know. And after all, the Pacific Ocean isn't that big."
"Spare me your cloying attempts at consolation, please." Miranda's arrogant disdain didn't match the concern in her cool gray eyes as she sat down beside her assistant. "Andrea, I've accomplished enough for ten lifetimes. If I go, I know how much I leave behind. But you've only just begun."
"Miranda, I . . ." Andy wanted to tell her demanding boss that there was nothing to be afraid of on the island of Dr. Moreau. The caring young woman realized that deep down fearless Miranda was both human and vulnerable. But what made her huge brown eyes suddenly well up with tears was the realization that Miranda wasn't worried about her own safety. All she cared about was protecting her . . . protecting Andy.
The two women were just leaning towards each other on the bed when there was a sudden sharp knock on the door.
"Dinner now," said the furry-faced little man in the white busboy's jacket. "Dr. Moreau say you come eat, please."
"I wonder if that poor creature knows that he used to be a dog before Dr. Moreau turned him into his assistant," Andy said thoughtfully, after the beast-like butler had left the room.
"We don't know that for sure, Andrea," Miranda cautioned. She was still in sharply creased black slacks and a classic white tailored shirt by Bill Blass, but she helped her assistant into a lovely floral-print sarong provided by Dr. Moreau. "So far, the man has been the perfect host."
"But it seems so cruel, taking these simple creatures and changing them . . . forcing them to perform such unnatural work." Andy gave a mouse-like squeak as Miranda's elegant white hand swatted her shapely bottom. She turned around feeling breathless, her eyes wide, her lips parted.
"Speaking from personal experience, Andrea, wouldn't you say it's possible they don't mind serving Dr. Moreau?" There was a strangely knowing gleam in Miranda's cool gray eyes. "He's transformed them completely . . . molded these clumsy creatures to fit his elegant design. Perhaps they enjoy that."
"Well . . . maybe they do." Andy flushed as she took in her imperious employer's true meaning. She was loyal to Miranda, but her feelings were a lot more complicated than pure canine devotion. There was respect, and admiration, and a constant smoldering attraction which was almost like a need or an ache or . . . well, whatever. She just had to help Miranda escape from this island of lost souls!