§ § § -- December 12, 1992
The luau was in full swing when Timothy Ashcroft, alias Tricia Ashley, stepped into the clearing and paused to search for Roarke and Leslie. Tricia was impressed by the culinary abundance and the number of people who were in attendance; but she was not impressed by the three men who detached themselves from the crowd and gathered around her in a loose semicircle, raking their gazes up and down her form with hearty whistles of appreciation. Tricia squirmed with discomfort; she might be a woman right now, but she still felt like the man she really was.
"Cold?" one of the men inquired solicitously, seeing her shudder.
Tricia let out a bark of laughter. "Cold! Buddy, you probably don't know the meaning of the word if you have to ask that. Listen, I'm looking for somebody, so if you don't mind…" She moved forward with purpose; but the men closed ranks.
"Hey, pretty lady, there's no need to cut ol' Pat down to size," a second man said. "We were just thinking you might want a little company."
"Already got some," Tricia said, realizing as she spoke that she had seen this happen on quite a few other occasions when, as Timothy, she'd watched her work colleagues hitting on the few women in evidence. How many of them had had to endure this kind of pursuit? Had she herself been guilty of doing some of that? In the back of her mind she apologized profusely to those unknown women she might have offended. "That's who I'm looking for. Now please, let me by."
"Give it up, guys," advised the third man. "It sounds like this one's taken, and heck knows there're plenty of other more available broads around here." Fortunately, his friends listened to the voice of reason, such as it was, and the trio melted back into the crowd. With considerable relief, Tricia began to weave her way through guests from every conceivable locale, servers bearing trays of tropical drinks, and the local girls handing out the ubiquitous leis before finally spotting Roarke and Leslie speaking with a young man dressed in shimmering black clothing and wearing mirrored sunglasses. She hesitated a few feet away, just close enough to hear their conversation.
"…you do realize the problems that are inherent in such a fantasy," Roarke was saying. "Such are the vagaries of the lives of successful rock-'n'-roll musicians, Mr. Albans. It was your fantasy to live that life for one weekend, and now there is no stopping it."
The young man drew back slightly and actually lifted his sunglasses off his face to see Roarke properly. "You mean…you can't do anything?"
"Once a fantasy has begun, even I cannot stop it," Roarke said. "At any rate, it seems to me that you are not entirely averse to the attention you've been receiving."
"Whaddaya mean?" Albans asked, squinting at him.
"Look at you," Leslie said. "You're still wearing concert clothes, and mirrored sunglasses are such a rock-star cliché, I'm amazed you went for it. You aren't trying too hard to hide yourself from all those groupies you were complaining about."
The young man grinned sheepishly. "Well, you have a point there, I guess. It's just that I noticed one girl when I was backstage, and I've been trying to find her so I can talk to her, except the groupies kinda got in the way. Maybe you'd know her if I described her to you. She's about so high, short red hair, big blue eyes, some nice curves…"
Roarke and Leslie looked at each other. "Perhaps," Roarke mused, "you might have a better chance of finding the young lady in question if you take that path over there and follow it all the way to its end." He made a covert gesture to his left.
"Excellent! Thanks, Mr. Roarke, Leslie." Albans began to hastily dodge people left and right, zigzagging his way out of the clearing.
Tricia grinned and approached her hosts. "Great party. You do this every week?"
"Absolutely," Leslie said. "It's part of the package for all guests. So have you adjusted yet to your new identity?"
"About as much as I can ever hope to, I suppose," Tricia said, glancing behind her before focusing on Leslie. "I wanted to ask you something. When single guys like me come here for fantasies or whatever…do you get a lot of stares?"
Leslie glanced at Roarke, but he merely gave her an encouraging smile; so she took it as a sign to handle it her own way. "What kind of stares are you talking about?"
Tricia groped for the appropriate word. "I guess you could call them…lascivious. The kind of thing where to the guy, you're just a conquest to keep him from spending a night alone. My buddies at home call it 'trolling for babes'." Leslie's expression became reproachful; Roarke stifled a smile. Tricia turned bright red. "I just wondered if you have to go through a lot of that kind of stuff."
"Not too much," Leslie said, displaying her wedding ring at Tricia. "This usually keeps them at a safe distance. But there are always a few persistent ones. Why?"
"I just got some of it myself. Three guys all at one time," Tricia told her.
"I see," said Leslie. "Well, you're an attractive woman, and you're going to get that kind of attention now and then. It sounds like you handled it pretty well."
"Aw, man," Tricia groaned, sounding very Timothy-like. "I wasn't expecting something like that when I got this idea. I just wanted to have a better chance of getting Heather to say yes. I mean, I love her, and I really want her for my wife."
Roarke cleared his throat then, and Tricia and Leslie both glanced around instantly. Sure enough, a few people were eyeing Tricia oddly, and two of them were Camille and Myeko, who had just arrived and were waiting patiently for Leslie to finish her conversation. Leslie cast them a quick smile and leaned forward. "You'll have to be careful what you say," she warned gently, "unless you want to blow your cover." Tricia turned red again.
"Got it. Well…thanks." She sighed and meandered away into the crowd.
"What's up with your friend there?" Myeko asked.
"Just a chat," said Leslie evasively, sliding a sidelong look at Roarke, who merely shrugged. "I'm free for awhile if you want to sit and talk. Are Maureen and Tabitha and Lauren here yet?"
"Yeah, they're holding a table for us," Camille said. "Come on."
Tricia, feeling heartily confused, decided she might as well stand unobtrusively at one side and have something to eat. Better I fill my mouth with food than with my foot, she thought disgustedly and heaped a plate with every kind of fruit in the selection. She got a couple of odd looks from the natives manning the buffet table, but thought nothing about it till she had managed to find an empty chair and seated herself. Then a male voice remarked laughingly, "Either they're starving you on this island, or you just got out of prison where they didn't have any of that stuff."
Tricia looked up and found herself staring into the face of a somewhat nerdy-looking fellow with large square-rimmed glasses and a pair of deep dimples. He was slightly on the thin side and wore a light cotton pastel-plaid shirt with a white bow tie. To Tricia, he looked a lot like Eugene from the movie Grease. "Hi there, I'm Fred Carruthers," he said.
"Nice to meet you, Fred. Tim…Tricia Ashley." Tricia caught herself nearly too late and stuck out her hand at the other man. "Where you from?"
"Winchester, Kentucky," Carruthers replied. "And you?"
"Alaska," Tricia answered. Carruthers' eyes popped behind his lenses.
"No kidding! I bet it's fifty below zero up there this time of year. No wonder you came to Fantasy Island." Carruthers loosed a loud, hearty laugh that made heads turn, while Tricia smiled a little painfully and ate a particularly large chunk of cantaloupe to avoid having to reply. Carruthers sat up and leaned hopefully forward. "Listen, Miss Ashley…Tricia? Would you care to dance?"
Tricia paused mid-chew and stared at him. The guy seemed nice enough, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go that far. "Actually, I'm just enjoying my fruit right now…"
"Aw, come on," Carruthers coaxed. "This is really nice music, real exotic, romantic stuff. I know I don't look it, but I'm pretty popular with the ladies back home, and I know what they like. So how 'bout it?"
You, popular with women? Tricia thought derisively, but before she could make the mistake of giving it voice, suddenly thought, He could be a real source of information. If he thinks he knows what women want…who knows but he might be right? What could I lose by listening to him? She leaned forward in her turn and suggested sweetly, "Well, if I agree to dance with you, maybe you'll tell me what women like."
Carruthers beamed. "Why, of course!" Without waiting for her to put down the grape she had just picked up, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out to join a group of couples who were swaying to the languid Hawaiian tune the band was playing. When he started to pull her as close as most of the other couples were dancing, she cleared her throat and gave him a look he couldn't misunderstand.
"We just met," Tricia reminded him delicately.
"Oh." Carruthers grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry." He stepped back a pace or so and placed one hand on Tricia's waist, then took her hand in his other one. "Better?"
"Much," she agreed. "So. What do women like, Fred?"
Fred's grin had a faintly sly quality to it that made Tricia suspicious. "Oh, let's see. They like champagne, flowers, pretty clothes, nice jewelry, boxes of chocolates…plenty of attention, lots of little sweet nothings in their ears, and, uh…" Fred hesitated, and his face took on a bewildered look. "They all say they like to be cuddled."
"Oh?" Tricia prompted him, very interested.
"Well, yeah. I mean, geez, I've never understood that, I gotta tell ya. What's a woman mean when she wants to 'cuddle'? Whaddaya do when you 'cuddle'? Y'know, every time I hear that word, it makes me think of an eight-foot teddy bear with a woman hugging the stuffing out of it. Is that the kind of thing you mean?"
It took Tricia a moment to realize that the question was not rhetorical; Fred was staring intently at her, and it was clear that he really wanted to know. Tricia found herself backed into a trap; she had no idea what the word entailed either. "Well, Fred…I guess it just means they want you to hold 'em," she mumbled, forgetting herself enough that she said this the way she would have as Timothy. "Women are weird that way. My girlfriend sure is. Loves the whole 'cuddle' thing herself. If she gets held, I guess that's enough for her."
Fred peered strangely at her. "Your friend had to tell you that?" Tricia's eyes grew wide when realization dawned on her and Leslie's little warning popped back into her head. She grinned foolishly at him.
"Yeah, well, I guess you could say I'm not that much of a touchy-feely kind of guy…I mean, girl…and my friend is." Tricia sighed deeply.
"Oh," Fred murmured thoughtfully, processing this; then a gleam appeared in his eye and he directed a look at Tricia that she instantly recognized. It was that of a man on the make; she had seen it with her male friends far too many times to mistake it for anything else. Tricia's buried male instincts took over and she shook his hands off her so violently that she accidentally hit the couples on either side of them.
"I told you, Carruthers, we just met," she said icily and lifted her chin. "And I'm not that kind of girl." With that, she marched off the dance floor.
"Good for you, lady!" exclaimed a feminine voice, halting her before she'd gone more than half a dozen paces. "That's the way to tell him off!" A very pretty young blonde came up and stuck out her hand at him. "Hi, my name's Heather Adams."
Tricia stared in sheer shock at her. "Heather?"
"Yeah," Heather Adams replied, peering curiously at her. "Are you okay? Did he do something to you?"
Tricia blinked, swallowed and cleared her throat, trying desperately to hide her stunned reaction. How under the sun had Roarke found her? My own girlfriend! she thought incredulously. I'm gonna get Roarke and his daughter for this, I swear it… She sucked in a breath, rather like someone drowning, and pasted on a smile, finally sticking out her own hand. "Tricia Ashley," she said, shaking with Heather. "Nice to…uh, meet you."
Heather peered at her oddly. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Oh…you just remind me of someone I know," Tricia mumbled.
"Ah." Heather's face cleared, then grew puzzled anew as she in turn got a closer look at Tricia. "Say…you don't have any brothers in Alaska, do you, by chance?"
"Oh, uh, well…I—no." Tricia threw Heather a look of desperation and blurted out the first thing that came into her head. "Could we sit down someplace? I feel like I'm going to faint." That, at least, came pretty close to the truth.
"Oh, sure. Come on over this way…I'm sitting with Mr. Roarke's daughter and some friends of hers. Boy, I don't blame you for wanting to get away from that guy on the dance floor. He really looked like he wanted to drag you off with him. What a Neanderthal! I wish men would get it through their thick skulls that women are more than just bodies, you know?" Heather chattered on as she led Tricia through the crowd to a large table where Leslie sat with Camille, Maureen, Myeko, Lauren and Tabitha. There was one empty chair, which Heather had presumably been occupying.
"Hi, Heather, who's your new friend?" Lauren asked, reaching toward another table and pulling a seventh chair over. Tabitha, Camille and Maureen looked at each other and then at Leslie, whose face seemed dominated suddenly by a pair of very wide, very startled blue eyes.
"This is Tricia Ashley," Heather said, plopping into her own seat and making an urgent waving gesture at Tricia to indicate that she too should sit down. "Tricia, I guess you already know Leslie…and these are her friends."
"I met Tricia earlier today," Maureen put in. "So how's it going, Tricia?"
"Oh…it's going," Tricia said weakly, her gaze zeroing in on Leslie and taking in the latter's astonished expression. So she knows who Heather is. Wonder if she set us up? "It's a darn good luau…must be, since all these people showed up."
Everyone laughed. "Oh, this is normal," Myeko said. "I used to come to loads of these before I got married. I managed to talk Toki into letting me have a girls' night out, so he's with Alexander."
"He should be," Heather told her with a firm nod. Tricia stared at her suddenly-very-talkative girlfriend. What's with her? She's never this chatty at home. Maybe this tropical heat's gone to her head. "Men need to learn to do their share," Heather went on, leaning earnestly across the table in Myeko's direction. "They seem to think all they have to do is contribute half the DNA, and after that everything is the mother's responsibility. And then they go around yelling about how they had a baby."
Myeko and Camille both laughed. "I know what you mean," Camille said, getting into the spirit of the discussion. "Wouldn't you just love to see a guy coping with pregnancy? He'd spend the whole nine months complaining about everything, whining that he couldn't stand the pain, begging to be waited on hand and foot…and then when it was time to give birth! Men always pretend pain doesn't bother them, but let me tell you, sister, they don't know what pain is when it comes to labor. Any guy would be screaming his lungs out, if he hadn't already passed out."
"Isn't that the truth!" Heather exclaimed, and they laughed again. Maureen and Tabitha exchanged surprised glances; Leslie bit her lip and studied her folded hands on the table. Tricia, still watching Leslie, frowned, wondering what was going through her head.
"Aren't you being a little hard on the poor old male gender?" Maureen inquired with a grin. "Grady says he isn't sure he wants us to have kids, because he's afraid of what I'd be going through. Don't look so surprised. There are some very good men out there, and I'm lucky enough to have found one. Come on, admit it. Not all men are troglodytes."
"No, just most of them," Camille said with a smirk at a giggling Heather.
Lauren stared at her cousin. "Holy cow, Camille, did Jimmy say something to turn you into a man-basher all of a sudden?"
Camille sat up a little in surprise, obviously caught out, and shot a guilty look all the way around the table. "No, but…" She shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Well, for crying out loud, I wasn't talking about Jimmy specifically, just men in general. I've never really known guys to be famous for subtlety, actually."
"Maybe," Leslie put in pointedly, "that's because of your own mindset. You yourself aren't exactly subtle either, Camille. I wasn't going to get involved, but I can't stay out of this. Maureen's right: not all men are troglodytes. I can tell you this right now—if it weren't for Father, I might have grown up believing that. But he showed me otherwise, and my husband reinforced that." She lowered her chin and gave Camille a reproving look that clearly surprised her friend. "If you really feel that way about men, then how on earth did poor Jimmy ever talk you into marrying him?" She then turned the same look on Heather. "And you, Heather—I thought you were in love with your boyfriend."
Heather blushed brightly. "Oh, I am," she insisted. "But there are times when I wish I had the strength to make him eat his teeth." Leslie, though focused on Heather, saw Tricia's head snap around to watch Heather closely. "The man never lets me make up my own mind. Oh, I know he means well—but he's always making decisions for me. I don't get to pick my own entrees when we eat out; I don't get to choose the places we go on dates; he gets me the flowers he thinks I like when I'm really sick and tired of nothing but roses all the time. I have all the jewelry I could possibly want—I don't even wear much jewelry actually. As much as I like Alaska, I really hate the cold. It's brutal there right now, you know. I'd have gone for a nice fur coat or something, but Timothy trotted right out and bought me this enormous parka made by the Eskimos—"
"The Inuit," Tricia broke in without thinking.
All heads turned to her. "The who?" Tabitha asked hesitantly.
"They're not Eskimos. That's the white man's name for them," Tricia explained to her. "They call themselves Inuit, and that's the proper name to call them."
"That's something else he does," Heather burst out, slamming her hands on the table in front of her. "I can't get a full sentence out of my mouth without him jumping in and saying something of his own. And half the time it has nothing to do with what I was talking about. As I was trying to say…" At this point Tricia acquired a startled look and turned very red indeed; Leslie noted it and carefully suppressed a smile. "…he went out and bought me this enormous parka, made by the Inuit…and great big heavy boots to go with it. They look about as feminine as a beard and mustache." This was greeted with giggles. "I gotta admit, they keep me nice and toasty, but honestly, I feel like an overgrown grizzly in them. And then he says he's building me a house, and that he has all the stuff picked out for it. What if I want to choose something? That's assuming I'd even marry the guy! He's asked me more than once, but I keep saying no because I figure I'll never be allowed to think for myself for the rest of my life."
"I should have your problems," Lauren said, propping her head on the heel of her hand and eyeing Heather with irony.
Heather shrugged. "Then you haven't had too many boyfriends, or you'd understand. I just don't see why he can't let me make up my own mind sometimes. I really feel like this little fluffy-headed Barbie doll around Timothy. I admit, he's a looker, and he tries hard to be romantic, but he has these ideas about how to do it and he doesn't change them."
"So tell him," Leslie said simply.
Silence thudded down, and they all stared at her. Then Maureen said, "That sounds perfectly logical to me. Why don't you?"
"Because he'd probably interrupt me in the middle of it with some dumb story about what Craig Bonaventure did at work last week," Heather muttered. Leslie's gaze slid for a moment to Tricia, who looked quite stunned.
"Well," she said, "maybe you should try again." She smiled. "I have a feeling he might be desperate enough to listen."
Heather gave her a funny look but shrugged. "I'll take that under advisement. Can we talk about something else, please? I came here to have a good time. Timothy went off on some little vacation of his own, and I've always wanted to visit Fantasy Island, so I figured his being gone was the perfect excuse to come here for a weekend. So I want the full experience. I've been to the casino and the lagoon, and I went sailing this afternoon, and now I intend to enjoy the heck out of this luau." Unexpectedly she turned to Tricia. "Did you meet anybody besides that weirdo you were dancing with earlier? Any nice-looking guys? Thought I'd just scope out some men and maybe dance with some of them."
Tricia gaped at her, and Leslie broke in hastily. "I don't think Tricia'll be doing a whole lot of dancing this evening, Heather," she said. "But there are always plenty of guys around, so why don't you get up and mix with the crowd?"
"I'll go with you," Lauren offered, rising along with Heather. "I'm planning on having some fun myself. We can check out the guys and see if there're any cute ones." Heather agreed, and she and Lauren let the crowd swallow them.
Tricia shot Leslie a betrayed look, but Leslie merely shrugged. With Maureen, Myeko, Tabitha and Camille there, they obviously couldn't discuss the situation. Instead Leslie turned to Tabitha. "So how's Fernando doing these days?" It was enough to distract her friends, who listened to Tabitha talking earnestly about her friend Fernando's experiences in the hospital where he was now an intern.
In the midst of the narrative, an overbuilt young man bulging with muscles came to a stop beside their table and zeroed in on Leslie. "There you are! I can't find Mr. Roarke, so I guess I gotta talk to you."
Leslie stood up, recognizing another of their guests. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Kasek?" she asked, slipping into professional mode while her friends and Tricia watched with interest.
"I keep telling you, call me Roman," the man insisted, grabbing her arm. "Listen, I think the locomotive-pulling contest is rigged. I swear I saw someone sneaking around the engines this evening, but I didn't get a good look at him."
Leslie cast her friends an apologetic glance. "Maybe we should talk this over in a less public setting," she said. "You never know who might overhear."
"Then would you dance with me?" Kasek promptly asked. Tricia eyed the guy with disgust; he appeared to be some sort of professional bodybuilder, the kind whose muscles looked almost grotesque. "This really can't wait, and like I said, I can't find Mr. Roarke."
"All right," Leslie agreed and trailed him onto the dance floor. Camille snickered.
"Locomotive-pulling contest?" Maureen asked, with an aghast yet amused giggle. "I never thought we'd see one of those things here."
"It figures that a dork like that'd have a stupid name like Roman," Tricia remarked unexpectedly, glaring after Kasek and Leslie. "Guys like that give the rest of us a bad name."
The girls stared at her in surprise. "The rest of who?" Myeko asked.
Tricia was spared having to answer when Fred Carruthers hove into view and hesitated a few feet away, staring at her. When he realized she had seen him, he brightened with hope and approached. "Uh, 'scuse me, Tricia…I just wondered. I'm really sorry for the way I acted earlier. I didn't mean to come on so strong. Would you do me a favor and dance with me again, please? We can start all over again. If you don't mind, that is."
Tricia stared warily at him, which prompted Camille and Myeko to trade mischievous looks before starting right in on her. "Aw, go on, Tricia, he looks like an okay guy to me," Camille said, grinning.
"Yeah…after all, not all men are troglodytes," Myeko quoted Maureen, and both girls laughed. Maureen rolled her eyes but grinned tolerantly; Tabitha smiled faintly, still not completely easy around the new friends she had met through Leslie. Tricia, for her part, shot them all a dirty look before getting up with clear reluctance and acceding to Carruthers' wishes. He seemed genuinely apologetic, and she was willing enough to give him one more chance, although she was on her guard.
On the dance floor she let Carruthers lead her around, yakking earnestly all the while. Since he seemed to be quite thrilled with the sound of his own voice, she let some of her attention wander while glancing around, trying to see Heather somewhere in the throngs. Then she heard a familiar voice nearby and tuned in to what Leslie was saying. "A little patience, Mr. Kasek. Believe me, these things usually work out in the end…and yes, the name of Roman Kasek will be remembered, no matter what. That's your fantasy, after all."
Fred, still talking a mile a second, rotated far enough with Tricia in his arms that now she could see Leslie dancing with Kasek. Even as she watched, the muscleman drew an obviously unwilling Leslie into a closer embrace. "I need to hear you say that again," Kasek said in an unmistakably husky voice, crushing the startled young woman against him and then shoving his nose into her hair, taking a loud, deep sniff. "Your hair smells fantastic…like wild roses."
Tricia winced. How many times have I used a line like that on Heather? she thought. Geez, this fantasy is turning out to be the most educational thing I ever did. The more I find out about my own shortcomings as a man, the more I wonder what Heather even sees in me!
"Uh, if you don't mind, Mr. Kasek…" Leslie began as he turned them in time to the music. Now Tricia could see that the bodybuilder was wearing a huge smirk; even as she watched, Kasek reached down and grabbed Leslie's behind, squeezing. His smirk grew into a large grin filled with blinding-white teeth. Leslie let out a startled exclamation and began to struggle in Kasek's grasp.
Tricia forgot herself; Timothy's mind took over. " 'Scuse me, Fred," she said, stepping out of Carruthers' embrace, and marched the three steps up to Roman Kasek. "Hey, you. Who d'ya think you are anyway? Leslie's only trying to help you with your stupid fantasy, and here you are copping a feel. Whyn'tcha let her go and take on a real man for once in your sorry existence?"
Kasek stared at her in disbelief, then began to roar with laughter so hysterical that he drew stares from everyone within earshot. In so doing, he released Leslie, who seized the chance to dart hastily aside and then gasped when she realized that Tricia was confronting Kasek. "Yeah, right, lady," Kasek howled in glee. "What're you, aspiring to be a guy? You couldn't take me on if there was ten of you."
"Wanna bet?" Tricia retorted grimly, and without wasting any more words, she let fly with her left fist. A collective gasp went up when she connected very solidly with Kasek's jaw; in fact, there was a clearly audible crunch, and half of Kasek's face seemed to skew sideways all of a sudden. The sight was enough to turn quite a few stomachs, and groans arose while people cranked their heads away from the sight. Leslie swallowed loudly in the unnatural silence and looked aside too, wincing.
At that moment Roarke finally materialized out of the crowd, and Leslie's gaze met his with immeasurable relief. He glanced at her, took in the scene and demanded, "What exactly is going on here?"
Immediately at least a dozen voices tried to regale him with their version of the proceedings, and Roarke held up both hands. "I appreciate everyone's willingness to cooperate, but if you don't mind, I believe we should repair to my office and sort out the problem there. Leslie, you'll come with us, please." So saying, he led the way through the crowd, which parted to let him pass, and in his wake came Leslie; Roman Kasek, holding his jaw and looking decidedly greenish; and Tricia Ashley, otherwise known as Timothy Ashcroft, feeling more male than she supposed she should at the moment.
Ironically, the little parade passed Heather Adams, who reached out and patted Tricia's arm with a huge, delighted grin. "Good for you, Tricia!" she whispered. Tricia gave her a weak smile and wondered just how good it had really been after all.