§ § § - November 13, 1983
Outside, having just left Lawrence to deal with "his" fantasy, Roarke had met up with Julie Mars on the porch, on her way up to come and see him. They greeted each other and strolled back down the steps; at the end of the walk they were hailed by Edmond Rome, the white-haired man who'd been speaking with Julie at the previous afternoon's cocktail party; he was a Broadway producer and, as Julie had just admitted to Roarke, he'd been gently badgering her all weekend to resume her career. Sure enough, once he had greeted them, he said quizzically to Roarke, "I'm sure Julie's told you she's going to do my Broadway show."
"She mentioned it, yes," Roarke said, casting Julie a look.
"I haven't been able to talk about anything else," Julie admitted through a laugh.
"With your permission, Mr. Roarke," Rome said, "I'd love to put out the word: Julie Mars Returns!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Roarke cordially. "The announcement will have to wait until tonight, after Julie dances."
Bewildered, she stared at him. "But darling, why? You said…" She turned back toward Rome as she spoke, and her voice died as her gaze fastened on something else. Roarke followed it; in the lane, making their way slowly along, were an elderly couple enjoying the sun. He was walking with a cane, and Julie couldn't get her gaze away from it. The couple spied them looking on, and the man tipped his hat at her as they both smiled.
Oblivious, Rome said thoughtfully, "You know something, Mr. Roarke, I think you're right. It'll be a much more exciting announcement after everyone has seen Julie dance again. You're quite a showman." He patted Roarke's shoulder. "We'll talk later, Julie." He popped a kiss on her cheek and left them there gazing after the old couple.
Roarke turned her to face him, about to question her as to his suspicions; but she spoke before he could. "That man—the one with the cane. I can't go back to that—the self-pity, the absolute despair of knowing I can never dance again. I can't."
Roarke drew her into his embrace. "Oh, Julie, Julie…"
Unexpectedly he heard her murmur, "The sacrifice." She drew back and stared hard at him. "What is it?" Roarke stared back, silent, pained, and she pressed him. "You told me there would be a price to pay. What is it?"
Despite himself, Roarke smiled at her intensity, and remembered, "You once questioned my love for you, Julie. When this sacrifice is met, there will be no need to question it ever again." He gently hugged her once more; then she, excited and relieved, smiled brightly at him and pulled out of his arms to pick a flower and tuck it into his lapel.
"For luck," she said. "Wear it tonight when I dance. Please."
"For good luck," he echoed softly, sadly. "Of course."
"I have a million things to do," she said and reached up to kiss his cheek. "I'll see you tonight, my love." She turned and rushed away, leaving him behind, racked with agony all over again.
He had a difficult time eating lunch, which escaped Lawrence's notice—preoccupied as he was with the Darnell fantasy—but not Leslie's. She could see the persistent sadness in his dark eyes and kept wondering about it, remembering his promise that they'd talk and trying to decide when the best time would be to bring up the subject. However, for the moment she refrained, suspecting that even with her scant knowledge, she still knew more than Lawrence did, and that Roarke didn't want to clue him in.
He seemed more and more worried as the afternoon wore on, and eventually even Lawrence noticed his employer's mien. However, he attributed it to the apparent deterioration of the Darnell fantasy, which had Lawrence himself very apprehensive, and decided that the remedy was a drink. "Here you are, sir," he said, handing Roarke a glass of white wine. "This will steady your nerves."
Roarke met Leslie's surprised gaze with a wry glance of his own before turning his attention on Lawrence and speaking as if the Darnell fantasy had been on his mind all along. "Thank you." He took a sip, then regarded the fidgeting butler. "By the way, Lawrence…the next time you want to arrange a fantasy for one of your friends, may I suggest you consider something a little less…"
He was still sitting there with one hand rotating in the air, searching for the word he wanted, when the door flew open and in marched Rachel Andrews and Audrey Wilkins. At sight of them, Leslie promptly shot to her feet from her own chair and watched them stalk inside, both looking quite haughty and self-righteous. Roarke arose too while Rachel said imperiously, "Mr. Roarke, we want to talk to you."
"Ah, ladies, I can see you have a problem," Roarke said, putting the wine glass on his desk and coming out from behind it, slipping around Leslie as he did so. "Please have a seat, won't you?" But Rachel refused with a quick series of "no"s.
"It's about a very delicate subject," Audrey informed him.
Roarke paused behind one of the club chairs and gave them his full attention, as Rachel added direly, "It's about Leslie Darnell and her butler."
"Yes?" Roarke prompted.
Audrey opened her mouth, then peered at Lawrence, and then over her shoulder at Leslie. "Uh…maybe, uh, they should leave?"
To Leslie's astonishment, Roarke smiled at her and said, "Oh no, no, I don't think so." That got a tiny, satisfied smile from Lawrence, who moved away from the desk so he could better regard the two women. Leslie remained where she was, but it felt almost as if Roarke had given her his permission to have her say—and she definitely wanted her say!
"Well, then, I'll just say it," Audrey said, sniffing. "Leslie and her butler are having a blatant affair, and you must put an end to it." Rachel nodded vigorous agreement.
"Must I?" Roarke inquired, his professional warmth beginning to cool.
"Yes," Rachel announced, while now Audrey bobbed her head. "If you care about the reputation of your precious Fantasy Island."
"Is that a threat, Mrs. Andrews?" Roarke asked. He sounded vaguely surprised, but there was an ominous undertone in his voice nonetheless.
"Take it any way you like," Rachel invited.
"I see," said Roarke, releasing the chair back and pacing the room as if in deep thought. "Would it interest you to know that all my guests—all of my guests…" He speared them with a look and a false smile as he said the italicized word— "are carefully screened before arriving on, uh, 'my precious Fantasy Island'?" He directed this last at Rachel, who merely blinked.
"This has nothing to do with us," Audrey said haughtily. "We're talking about Leslie Darnell and her disgusting affair."
"Oh, I quite understand," Roarke assured them, then moved back in their direction, his eyes chilly. "But what you may not understand is that when someone declares 'war', both sides are forced to use all the weapons they're able to…shall we say, uh, discover?"
The last word made Audrey and Rachel look at each other with the first signs of nervousness. Roarke, taking advantage, went on, "I seem to recall something about you and a certain gentleman in…Chicago, was it, not too long ago? Shame on you." Rachel's mouth dropped wide open and her gaze slid to Lawrence, as if afraid he'd repeat this, while Audrey snickered. But her turn was coming. "And I believe you, Mrs. Wilkins, have developed a very warm relationship with your dance instructor."
Leslie ducked her head and put a few fingertips to her mouth, smiling broadly behind them. She had to admit she was a little disappointed at not being able to let off her own steam at those two busybodies, but she loved the way Roarke was pulling them down a few pegs. Across the room, Lawrence giggled aloud before recomposing himself.
Rachel drew in a deep breath. "Mr. Roarke…"
"Yes?" he inquired, all solicitous warmth again.
"I trust that everything that's been said here today will remain in your confidence?" Rachel inquired, slipping a hand into his.
"Of course," Roarke agreed silkily, even going so far as to kiss the back of her hand. Leslie saw the women's gazes shift to Lawrence again; he gave them a brilliant little smile and even wrinkled his nose, which made Leslie push her fingertips harder against her lips to keep back her mirth. Roarke said, "Goodbye, ladies."
The two women hurried out, Audrey with the audacity to have Roarke kiss her hand as well. Lawrence followed them up and closed the doors behind them with a decisive click, at which point Leslie began to laugh. Lawrence turned and said with great admiration, "Sir, you were utterly magnificent."
"Thank you, Lawrence," said Roarke, catching Leslie laughing in her chair and grinning at her as he returned to his own chair and lifted his wine glass. "Let's hope they won't be giving Baldwin any more trouble."
Lawrence smirked. "I don't see how they'd dare, sir."
"Not after that," Leslie agreed delightedly. "I really wanted to tell them off, but your way was a thousand times better than mine. That was fabulous!"
Roarke winked at her again. "That, my dear Leslie, is called 'subtlety'." This time Lawrence joined in the laughter.
‡ ‡ ‡
Leslie wore the green dress again for that evening's show at the theater; she stood beside Roarke backstage, with Lawrence nearby holding a bouquet of roses, watching Julie Mars dancing with four young men clad in white. She turned in a flawless performance; and it was obvious she was in her element, judging from the huge smile that never once left her face. When Julie's fellow dancers bore her off the stage and into the wings, she jumped lightly down and flew straight into Roarke's arms. "You were magnificent, Julie," he said.
"Well, if I am, I'm your creation," Julie told him. Her joy tamped down a little as she asked him the question once more: "Oh, darling…what is the sacrifice?"
His smile died, but before he could speak, they all heard audience members, still applauding and cheering, call out Julie's name. He peered out onto the stage, and Julie turned to get a look of her own before beaming at him once again, thrilled at the raucous accolades. Roarke smiled and urged, "Dance, Julie. Dance for as long as you wish."
She returned to the stage; as soon as the spotlight caught her, the audience's cheering rose again and she received a standing ovation. Julie curtsied, then held out both hands to the wings. Roarke and Leslie watched the four young men run past onstage for another go at their routine, and Leslie watched, marveling again at the innate grace Julie displayed and wishing she had even a quarter of that in her own klutzy movements. She turned to Roarke to make a comment to that effect, only to see his face filled with the sort of pain she hadn't witnessed in him since Helena had died.
Unaware that his startled daughter was staring at him with growing alarm, Roarke focused exclusively on Julie. As though to himself, he said, "This is the sacrifice, Julie. To make your cure permanent, I must renounce my love for you…and I must take away any memory of your having loved me in return." As Leslie gaped, motionless, he closed his eyes for a moment, lowered his head and stood stock-still as though concentrating. After some ten seconds, he relaxed a little and refocused on Julie, but the pain remained.
Leslie wanted to give some kind of comfort, but she wasn't sure how, or how it would be received. Anyway, something told her that just now, Roarke wouldn't welcome any kind of platitude, no matter how well meant. The empath in her felt tears rising once more, and she turned away from the sight of his face, unable to bear seeing him hurting so much.
The dance ended and the theater once again rang with applause and loud cheers and whistles. The supporting dancers left the stage to Julie, while Edmond Rome and Lawrence went out with their bouquets to hand her. As Lawrence passed by, he noticed Roarke's expression and hesitated slightly before going ahead to deliver his roses.
Edmond Rome turned to the audience and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please. I have an exciting announcement concerning Julie. I'm happy to tell you that Miss Julie Mars will be starring in my new Broadway show next season." As he spoke, Julie cast a look backstage at Roarke, one filled with what looked to Leslie like curiosity; Roarke nodded and smiled at her as though she were just another guest, and she nodded and smiled back. Then Rome completed his announcement, and Julie beamed joyously, curtsying once more, basking in the limelight she had longed for.
Roarke removed the flower Julie had stuck in his lapel that afternoon and twirled it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger, then said softly, "Goodbye, Julie." Leslie, no longer able to restrain herself, slipped her arm through his, and he looked at her as if in surprise that she was there, before smiling gratefully and ushering her along with him.
They'd taken only a few steps before he stopped; automatically she paused alongside him, wondering what had happened. Then she knew, when he reached out for the abandoned cane that hung forgotten on a peg near a group of stage props, lifted it for just a second or two, then replaced it and walked away. She cast a last glance back through the wings before hurrying after him.
Leslie let Roarke's silence hold sway for the drive back to the main house; she was thinking of his promise to her to explain everything, but in the mood he was in, she wasn't sure she should press him for details. She followed him into the study and hesitated for a moment or two in the middle of the floor, while he checked for messages; then she turned toward the stairs. "I guess I might as well get ready for bed," she murmured.
"Wait, Leslie, wait," Roarke said quietly. "I promised you an explanation, and you shall have it. That is, if you still want it."
Leslie, with one foot on the bottom step, turned back and smiled. "I do, but I didn't think you'd be ready to tell me now, considering what you just had to do."
"I did what was needed," Roarke said, and that sharp pain flashed across his face again before he composed himself. "If you like, you may change your clothes, and then come back down here. Lawrence will be returning home for the night, so we'll have privacy."
They also had cups of hot cocoa, thanks to Mariki; Leslie tucked her feet under her and cradled her mug in her hands. "So tell me about Julie Mars," she said.
"What would you like to know?" Roarke inquired.
He had expected she'd have to think before she asked, but her first question popped right out. "I want to know what she meant to you in relation to Helena. I know you loved Helena enough to marry her. It looks as if you loved Julie just as much, even if you can't marry her. And I guess you've known Julie longer than you knew Helena…so what gives? I think what I really want to know is, were you in love with both of them at the same time?"
She in turn was surprised when he nodded and said simply, "Yes, I was."
"You're kidding," she breathed, shocked through and through. At his nod, she began to slowly shake her head, unable to grasp the concept. "How can you possibly love two women with the same intensity, at the same time?"
"It's perfectly possible, Leslie, and what's more, it's not even uncommon," Roarke said with a note of regret. "Despite my feelings, I always knew I was never destined to have a full and happy relationship with either Helena or Julie. As you overheard me explain to Julie yesterday, the powers I possess are for other people only, not for myself."
"That's really why Helena died, then," Leslie said, suddenly feeling enlightened. "That was the reason she had the tumor and died—because you weren't allowed to—"
She stopped because Roarke was shaking his head. "That isn't quite the way it went, my child," he said, amused and sad at once. "It would be more accurate to say it's the other way around, in a sense. Because Helena had that inoperable tumor, I was allowed a few days of happiness with her—because it was her fantasy to be my wife. Helena's last few days on this earth were spent with her fantasy fulfilled. I, on the other hand, was forced to continue on without her, because my powers are not meant for me to use for my own benefit. Do you understand?"
Leslie nodded. "I get it," she said. "But that doesn't explain why you were in love with Helena and Julie simultaneously." She took a sip of her cocoa, then shook her head once as if tossing the idea aside to examine later. "Okay, let me ask you this, then. Which one did you know first?"
"I met Julie first," Roarke said. "It was a number of years before you were born—for that matter, even before Tattoo became my assistant. She had just had her first blockbuster success in the movies, and was here on a Valentine's Day junket with a film company, shooting scenes for her next film. Quite to my own surprise, I fell in love with her, and she with me; but Julie was destined for greater things, and I had no right to stand in her way."
"So you let her go, even though you were really in love with her," Leslie said.
"Exactly. She returned to the island periodically, but not often enough to give either of us any illusions that there could be a future between us, my own restrictions notwithstanding. By the late 60s, a few years after your mother came here and requested her fantasy, Julie had stopped coming altogether, even for vacations. Her career was very strong and she was obligated to nurture it. So I simply continued on as I always had, living alone."
Leslie nodded. "Okay. So what about Helena? I mean, I sort of know the background on your meeting her. She came the first time when Jamie was little, right?"
Roarke nodded and settled himself more comfortably in his own seat. "It so happens that I met her on a Valentine's Day as well. Jamie was not quite seven years old, and Helena's husband, Andrew Marsh, had died only four months before."
"Was she here because of a fantasy?" Leslie asked.
Roarke smiled. "Yes. She had been working extremely hard by her husband's side at his hospital school in Calcutta as it was, along with taking care of her son. Now that Dr. Marsh had passed away, she couldn't seem to find time for a rest, and wanted nothing more than a change in her life. She had decided to resume the career she had embarked upon before meeting and marrying Dr. Marsh—fashion designing—but she needed some help, so I assisted her by entering her in one of the most prestigious fashion shows in the world at that time. Her fantasy was granted when she won the competition and was promptly hired by a very well-known fashion house in New York City."
"Is that when you fell in love with her?" Leslie asked.
"Not then, no," Roarke said, "but I do recall being very attracted to her. I found myself thinking of her often. But, as with Julie, Helena had her career elsewhere." He frowned suddenly and shook his head to himself. "And then Julie returned…"
"I figured that out," Leslie said, a little excited. "It was just about the time I had to go to the courthouse in California to hear my mother's will being read."
Roarke caught her eye and grinned a little, despite his increasingly wry mood. "It was in fact about two weeks or so before then, at the time of my birthday that year. Julie had come back to the island to help me celebrate; it was a Monday and the guests had departed, while she was here on a short vacation. She had scheduled a performance for that evening, and I attended, of course. Afterward…" He paused, and Leslie tilted her head to one side, cocoa forgotten, increasingly riveted and sensing something big coming. "Afterward, I met her backstage, and for the first time we spoke seriously of our love and where we thought it would lead us. Julie told me that she was at last ready to settle down, and she wanted it to be with me—but at her home, rather than here. I told her then, as I told her this past weekend, that it was impossible for me to leave the island. Unfortunately, at that time she didn't understand; I couldn't explain it to her so that she was able to grasp it. She saw it only as my refusal to fully commit to her. And that's why she rushed out of the theater, took the car…and had the accident that injured her knee and ended her career till tonight."
Leslie nodded slowly. "Oh…I see," she murmured. "And she eventually left, because you kept telling her you couldn't leave, and she thought you meant you wouldn't."
"Precisely," said Roarke. He let his gaze lose focus for a moment or two before that wry smile crept back across his features. "Then, a mere two weeks later, Helena returned to the island with Jamie—and let it be known that she had fallen in love with me."
Leslie, shocked, didn't realize her mug was slipping till Roarke pointed it out, and she barely rescued it before it splashed its contents all over her robe. She set it on the tea table with a thunk. "Oh wow! So that was…exactly five years ago!"
"Quite nearly to the day," Roarke agreed, still wry. "The irony certainly didn't escape me. As much as I loved Julie, I was still as drawn to Helena as I had been the first time she came to the island, and since Julie had left here without resolving our differences, I am afraid I found solace in Helena. It didn't take me long to fall deeply in love with her."
"And then you married her a year later, when she came back after she'd found out she had that tumor and just wanted her last fantasy to be granted—to marry you," Leslie filled in, dazed and wondering. "How crazy is that? You met them both on a Valentine's Day, and then two weeks after one leaves here thinking you didn't want her, the other shows up and you fall for her. And then you get married a year later—well, a week shy, if I've got my dates right." She cast him a questioning look and he nodded confirmation. "And now here it is, four years after that, and here's Julie, and you lost her love too. You lost Helena to death, and now you've lost Julie to her fantasy and her career."
"That seems to sum it up," Roarke said with a sigh, voice dry.
Leslie sat in silence for several minutes, trying to take it all in. Absently she drummed her fingertips on one knee while Roarke watched; then she frowned and shook her head. "I still don't see how you could love two women that much at the same time. And incidentally, that means you fell in with Helena on the rebound, didn't you?"
Much to his own surprise, Roarke burst out laughing. "It may look that way to you, my dear Leslie, but believe me—my falling for Helena was most assuredly not a rebound from Julie. As I told you, I had been attracted to Helena from the time I originally met her. Had that not been the case, I certainly wouldn't have fallen for her after Julie's departure five years ago, you can be assured of that."
Laughing, Leslie raised both hands. "Okay, okay, I'll take your word for it." They let a few beats pass; then she cleared her throat and leaned forward. "You said at the theater that you renounced your love for Julie—but even I know enough to realize that doesn't mean you don't still feel that love."
Roarke smiled a little. "You're growing up, Leslie," he said. "Yes, that's true. But forevermore, I must hide my feelings. In the end, Julie chose what really meant the most to her: her dancing, her career. You might say she, too, had two loves, except that she had to make a choice between them. And she chose the one with the greater hold on her heart."
"How did you know she loved dancing more than she loved you?" Leslie asked.
"When she decided she was ready to settle down, as I mentioned, she wanted me to come with her, to leave the island, and was upset when I couldn't do that. Had she loved me enough, she would have been as willing to retire and to remain on the island with me as she would have been to see me come to live with her. That wasn't the case. Dancing was always her first and greatest love; it was what made her happiest in her life. I could hardly refuse her that, and see her slowly become more and more unhappy. Besides, don't forget, there are restrictions on me."
"So there wasn't much you could do," Leslie said. "And you ended up relieving her of any choice in the first place, and just putting yourself through more pain. That doesn't sound very fair to me. I don't know how long you've been doing this, but I for one think you ought to get something back for giving so much of yourself all these years."
"Oh, but I do get something back," Roarke said, smiling at her. "I get the great satisfaction of seeing my guests leave here happy and satisfied. I love my work, I love this island, and I derive joy from providing my guests what they want, even if it's often in a roundabout way." He winked and she chuckled. "That's the return I get for everything I give. So, my child, never think I come away empty-handed. I may find some fantasies very difficult and very painful in the granting, but all in all, I am very fulfilled by what I do. So don't feel sorry for me. After all is said and done, I wouldn't change anything."
She nodded, absorbing his words; then her stubborn mind circled back around to the same conundrum once more. "Just tell me, though, did you stop loving Julie when you had that falling-out with her and fell in love with Helena?"
"Of course not. I still loved Julie," said Roarke. "Perhaps a little less, when I found that my love for Helena was so intense. But Julie wouldn't have me on the only terms it would have been possible, and even I cannot tell the future—at least, not always—" Here he grinned teasingly. "—so I set aside my feelings for her and gave my heart to Helena. And never, not once, have I regretted that."
"You'd think Helena would've sensed something," Leslie persisted.
"No, not at all. She never had reason to, and I never had reason to refer to Julie. And Julie has no knowledge of Helena. In the end, it didn't matter, don't you see? I was never meant to be with either of them, no matter how strong my love for them."
"Two at once," Leslie marveled, and Roarke rolled his eyes to himself, chuckling soundlessly. "I just can't understand that. I mean, you always hear there's one great love in a person's life, and I always thought yours was Helena."
"She was," Roarke said and smiled. "I may have loved Julie, but because Helena was willing to give more of herself to me, I loved her all the more for it, and wanted to give that much more of myself in return. If I loved Julie a little less, it was no less painful for the ending. Oh, it's possible, Leslie. Perhaps it will even happen to you one day."
Leslie snorted and pulled her feet out from under her, rising and indulging in a long stretch. "No way, not me. I'm going to fall in love once and only once, and if I lose him, that's it, once and for all. Well, good night, Mr. Roarke, and thanks for telling me." She rounded the tea table and kissed his cheek, and he watched her go, smiling knowingly.