§ § § -- April 16, 1994
Toria was taking her swim and Gabi had left for the room she shared with her new husband at Julie's B Samantha sat at the table, sipping a margarita and people-watching. She didn't mind the solitude; it was refreshing after all the rushing she had to do in her work and all the people she had to deal with on a constant, ongoing basis.
"Excuse me…are you sitting with anyone?" asked a male voice, and she pulled her attention away from her sister's long, fluid strokes in the pool to see a man somewhere in his mid-to-late thirties watching her hopefully. He, like her, was in a wheelchair; he was fair-haired and hazel-eyed, and already sported a sunburn.
"No," said Samantha, "just my sister, and she's in the pool right now. You know, you really need to get out of the sun. That looks like it'll turn into a heck of a burn."
He grinned sheepishly. "That was part of the reason I asked if I could sit here. That umbrella's throwing shade in the perfect spot." They both laughed, and he extended his hand to her. "My name's Darryl Kellett, from Chicago."
"Samantha Elliott, from Saskatoon," she told him, shaking his hand. "Let's see if we can get this chair moved so you're out of the sun. Boy, you'll be hurting later on. Didn't you bring any sunscreen with you?"
"Yeah, well, I forgot to put it on," Darryl Kellett admitted with a shrug, wheeling behind Samantha and helping her drag the chair aside. "But what the hey…when I get home, everybody can envy me for having been to a place where I could get sunburned to begin with." He grinned when Samantha laughed again and wheeled himself into position in the shade of the umbrella. "Ah, that feels a lot better. So you're from Saskatchewan, huh? I've got a cousin in Meadow Lake—manage to get up and visit him a couple times a year or so. It's been a little harder since I got stuck in this thing, though."
"How…" began Samantha, hesitating.
Darryl shrugged again. "No big deal. I have muscular dystrophy. I've known that since I was a little kid, and I also knew I needed to take advantage of my healthy time to the best of my ability. So I went into stock brokering, made some canny investments, and was able to retire before I was permanently confined to this thing. That was almost three years ago. What about you?"
"Oh…" Samantha bit her lip and glanced toward the pool, where Toria was currently doing the backstroke. What on earth was she going to tell this guy?
But Darryl looked sympathetic. "Must be recent," he guessed. "Well, we don't have to talk about it. So you're here with your sister?"
"That's her in the pool, carrying on like an Olympic swimmer," Samantha said with a grin, relieved that Darryl had let her off the hook, at least for the moment. "Her name's Victoria, but we just call her Toria for short. She's a couple of years younger than I am. What brings you to Fantasy Island?"
"Vacation. Chicago's cold and wet right now and I needed a change." Darryl rested an elbow on the table and propped his chin on his fist, studying her with appreciation. "I didn't expect to meet someone like you. I consider it a bonus."
Samantha felt her face turn red and smiled foolishly at the tabletop. "Well, thanks."
"Anytime." He leaned forward and waited till she looked up at him. "I hope you're not relying on your sister to take you to the luau tonight."
She cleared her throat. "Well, I was, but I don't think she'd mind if I changed the plan," she said shyly.
Darryl grinned and sat back, as if to say, Mission accomplished! "Great! I'll come by for you about six, how's that? Where're you staying?"
"In the Hibiscus Bungalow," she told him.
"Aha…you're guests of Mr. Roarke, then," he said, his eyebrows waggling. "Us mere vacationers have to settle for the hotel or the B&B. Actually, I tried to get into the B&B, but it's booked solid for the next two years. I wasn't willing to wait that long to take a trip here." He grinned again. "So then, it's a date for this evening. And meantime, you and I can get to know each other a little better."
Samantha nodded, slightly wary. She already really liked this guy; he seemed to be very friendly and personable, and she was more than happy to spend her afternoon with him. But how close should she let him get, and should she tell him about hers and Toria's mutual fantasy? And what would happen if she did? The questions rolled around in her head, and in an effort to chase them away, she lifted her drink and took a sip before suggesting, "In that case, why don't you start. So far I know you're Darryl Kellett from Chicago and you're a retired stockbroker. How about some vital stats? Birthplace, age, family, stuff like that?"
"Your wish is my command," he said amiably and proceeded to tell her. She eagerly concentrated on his voice, trying to shut out her nagging conscience.
‡ ‡ ‡
Kurt Jensen returned to his bungalow with another large walletful of cash, finding himself shadowed by the same three native women he'd run across in the gift shop that morning. Once he got safely inside the bungalow, though, he stepped on something and looked down to find a number of colorful brochures on the floor. He picked them up and sifted through them; they were all gaudy investment advertisements. "Golden opportunity!" trumpeted one. "Strike it rich!" shouted another. A third blared, "Retire by age forty!" I already could, Jensen realized, right this minute actually. Well, that is, if this wasn't a fantasy. Boy, it's funny how word gets around when you've got money…
Jeff McKay came out of the bedroom, rubbing a towel over his face. He was dressed in a set of the new shorts and T-shirts that Jensen had bought earlier and had just shaved, judging from the dots of white cream he was toweling off his jaw. "Hiya, Kurt. What's that stuff? Anything interesting?"
"Nah, just some investment ads. So, you wanna hit a tailor in town before we go job-hunting for you?" Jensen asked, tossing the brochures onto a glass-topped end table.
"Think we better," McKay agreed, glancing at the brochures. "I don't expect anyone'll hire me if I come in wearing this getup. Thanks again for all this, man. I can't tell you what it means to me, especially since I'm a total stranger to you."
"Heck, it'd be pretty selfish of me not to share some of the wealth," Jensen said. "So let's get going, huh?"
They strode along the path in the direction of Amberville, discussing job possibilities; after a few minutes McKay's focus seemed to shift and he canted his head, turning it slightly. Jensen peered at him and asked, "Something wrong?"
"You hear something?" McKay queried, and they both stopped right there and turned around. The three native girls were some twenty yards behind them, but clearly following along. McKay grinned wryly at Jensen. "Looks like you've got some admirers."
Jensen rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Ladies," he said, raising his voice, "I already said I'd go to the luau with you this evening. What'samatter, afraid I'll break our date?"
They all giggled and sauntered up to join the men; they assessed McKay, smiled a greeting at him and began to fawn over Jensen. McKay watched for a moment, but it soon became clear that they were there for the duration. He sighed and removed the hands of the nearest girl from Jensen's chest. "Okay, ladies, I think you better run along. We've got some business to conduct, and I'm sure you have things to do too."
A station wagon appeared around a bend in the road and drew to a halt beside them; Leslie sat in the driver's seat, having dropped off Maureen at the hotel to eat with Grady. "Is there a problem?" she asked.
"Groupies," Jensen kidded, grinning.
Leslie perused the native girls and shook her head reproachfully. "Anuhea, Malu and Napua…just what are you doing?" Then she remembered something and scowled. "Don't tell me…you're the three Father was talking about when he mentioned fending off 'amorous young ladies' to Mr. Jensen earlier."
They all turned red, but Malu—the boldest—spoke up. "Actually, Miss Leslie, Mr. Jensen agreed to come to the luau with us this evening."
Leslie stared at her. "All three of you?"
"Yes," Malu said, smirking.
"He was being very generous," Napua said shyly.
"I'll say he was," Leslie commented dryly. "Look, the three of you are needed over at the luau area anyway. It's going to be bigger than usual this weekend, and they need all the help they can get setting it up. Are you already heading in that direction, or would you like me to give you a lift over there?"
"We were just on our way," Anuhea assured her. "Weren't we?" She nudged Malu as she said this; Napua nodded in quick agreement. Malu heaved a sigh, but strolled along after her two hurrying companions, casting a meaningful look at Jensen over her shoulder and winking in a very exaggerated way.
"Give me strength," grumbled Leslie to herself before smiling ruefully at their guest. "I hope you'll accept our apologies."
"Oh, no problem," said Jensen with a grin. "I really did tell them I was going with them to the luau—yes, all three of 'em."
Leslie eyed him, unsure whether she should be impressed or disgusted. Finally she went with an impulse and inquired, "Did it occur to you that they're interested in you only because of your lottery win?"
Jensen glanced after Malu. "Pretty native girls must be a dime a dozen around here," he said. "I wasn't looking to fall in love anyway—I'm just here for my fantasy and to have a good time. If the money attracts the women, then bring 'em on. Besides, I never get that kind of attention at home." He smirked.
Leslie shrugged and gave up. "Well, it's your fantasy, Mr. Jensen. Have a good afternoon, and we'll see you at the luau." She drove off, waiting till she could see Jensen and his companion in her rearview mirror before amending sarcastically, "You and your harem."
‡ ‡ ‡
The weekly Saturday-night luau was far more heavily populated than usual, mainly due to the Wildwood High School reunion. Roarke and Leslie did their usual circulating, greeting guests left and right, making sure all was well and fantasizers and vacationers alike were happy. It took them nearly an hour to accomplish this; then they paused near the buffet table, which was twice as large as usual and laden with the combined efforts of Mariki, Romana Tomai and her catering service, and their new chef, Kazuo Miyamoto. All three were fielding scores of lavish compliments on the food, and they were beaming.
"Tasty as heck," announced Kurt Jensen from behind them, and they turned to see him munching on a plateful of tempura that Chef Miyamoto had prepared just that afternoon, immediately upon arrival. Anuhea, Malu and Napua were behind him, hovering faithfully, reminding Leslie of barnacles and making Roarke eye them askance.
"Thank you, sir," Chef Miyamoto acknowledged Jensen's praise. "I have plenty more waiting, so help yourself." He turned to Roarke and Leslie. "You too, sir and Miss Leslie."
"Why not?" Roarke decided and picked up a plate, using tongs to deposit four or five morsels on it. He then tried one and nodded in appreciation. "Superb! Mr. Omamara did a fine job choosing our new chef. You are very much to be commended."
Leslie filched a bit off Roarke's plate, then grinned. "Mmm. Delicious. Is there anything else you need, as long as we're here?"
"Not a thing, Miss Leslie," the chef said, smiling at her.
"Very good," said Roarke. "Incidentally, Chef, I would like to see you tomorrow morning for a menu discussion. Are you available at ten o'clock?"
"The breakfast rush should be over by then. That'll be fine, Mr. Roarke," the chef said. Roarke nodded in response and turned to Kurt Jensen. "So, Mr. Jensen, it appears you are enjoying your fantasy immensely."
"Uh-huh." He seemed to ignore his hangers-on, although Roarke eyed them narrowly. Napua and Anuhea looked slightly nervous.
"Ladies?" Roarke said, the one word carrying myriad undertones.
The native girls caught them all, too. "It's our evening off, Mr. Roarke," Malu told him earnestly. "Mr. Jensen didn't mind if we came with him to the luau."
"All three of you?" asked Roarke incredulously. "At once?"
"He's a very nice man," ventured Napua, reddening.
Roarke merely raised an eyebrow and addressed Jensen. "I sincerely hope these ladies are not a bother to you," he said questioningly.
Jensen shook his head, looking preoccupied. "Nah, they're just nice company."
"Well," Leslie said, her eyes trained somewhere in the near distance, "I'd say you're about to get some more of that nice company."
Everyone followed her gaze to where three very tall, very muscular young Polynesian men were advancing grimly in their direction. Napua squeaked and fled toward one of them; Anuhea groaned, and Malu simply rolled her eyes. Jensen blinked; the faraway expression vanished from his features, and he thrust his plate at a startled Roarke. "I think it's time for me to do some mixing and make some new friends," he blurted and dodged away into the crowd before anyone could react.
Almost all the way across the clearing, Toria Elliott was having the time of her life dancing to the music; at the moment the band was playing contemporary tunes, and she was taking advantage of their fast beat. Two or three young men watched her with interest, now and then dancing alongside her or in front of her. Four of Toria's onetime classmates stood a few feet away from the edge of the packed dance floor, staring at her in amazement.
"If that isn't Toria Elliott, then I'm blind as a mole," stated Josh Dinwiddie.
"It is Toria Elliott," said Bill Wallis, "but I can't figure out how. I know for a fact that after our accident, she never walked again."
"Then how could she be dancing?" demanded his wife, Lacey DeHart Wallis. "I heard she was in a wheelchair. Permanently paralyzed from the waist down."
"Not anymore, I guess," observed Anne Carleton. "I say, good for her. They must have discovered her paralysis wasn't permanent after all. She looks great!"
"But that makes no sense at all," Lacey insisted. "That was the worst accident any of us were ever in." She glanced at her feet. "I swear, sometimes I hear that steel rod in my leg creaking in cold weather."
"Some people just get lucky," Josh said, shrugging. "Too bad Aaron's not here to see."
"Yeah," the others murmured, turning aside to pick up their share of food from the buffet tables. None of them noticed that Toria, worn out enough to stop for a rest, had overheard the last three statements, beginning with Anne Carleton's compliment. She now stood frozen on the edge of the dance floor, her mind spinning back fourteen years, seeing the lights bearing down at them head-on in the middle of a rainy evening. She, Anne, Bill and Lacey, Josh, and Mark Hailey were all in one car, coming home from a graduation party, and Bill had been driving, unable to avoid the oncoming car. Lacey had screamed and screamed, clinging to Bill's arm; Toria, in the passenger seat with Lacey wedged in between her and Bill, had been frozen with terror. Anne, Josh and Mark had been shouting at Bill to get off the road, and he'd been yelling back that he couldn't, because of the ditches on both sides. The twin beams had come closer and closer…then the horrific impact, the crunch of metal, the screaming and shouting, the blare of a stuck car horn, the rain in her face and the numbness in her legs…the blood glistening on skin in the skewed headlights…the cries of pain and fear…then she had blacked out and not known anything till three days later. By then, Mark Hailey had died of his injuries, and she was forever robbed of her future.
"Aaron Weld," she whispered. Till this moment, she had never known who'd been driving the car that had hit them: in her pain and rage over her fate, she had refused to speak to any of her classmates again, including those who had been in the car with her. How was it that they could all get up and walk again, despite their injuries, and she was stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of her days? She had spent the subsequent years hating the nameless, faceless perpetrator of the car wreck, wishing desperately for some kind of revenge on him, at least wanting him to pay for what he'd done. He'd crippled her and taken Mark Hailey's life. Why wasn't he being punished?
Now she knew. Aaron Weld had been the driver of the car that had changed her life forever. Granite-faced, she began to search for him.
She was so busy scanning the crowd that she never noticed when she strode past Kurt Jensen, once again surrounded by a bevy of women—this time not only a few of the native girls but several vacationing guests. Never in his life had he had quite this much female attention; he had already begun to think there was something to Roarke's warning about "hazards". More than one angry boyfriend or husband or date approached him and yanked away a protesting female companion, but new women always seemed to be taking the places of those who left. Finally Jensen squirmed out of the knot of women and took off, leaving the luau altogether and pounding away down the first path he came to, running mindlessly till it disgorged him into a small clearing on a clifftop overlooking the ocean. He stumbled to a halt, panting heavily, nearly colliding with someone standing a few yards away from the edge of the cliff, stargazing.
"Hey, watch where you're going!" a female voice exclaimed indignantly.
"Sorry, I didn't see you there," Jensen apologized between frantic breaths. The young woman turned and regarded him curiously for a moment before recognizing him.
"Hey, I know you. Your picture was on the front page of the morning paper," she said. "I'd've thought you'd be at the luau whooping it up with all the new friends your money's undoubtedly bought you."
Jensen slanted her an annoyed look. "You got a problem with my winning the lottery, lady?" he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Or just with the fact that I haven't gotten around to sharing it with you yet?"
The woman rolled her eyes and presented him with her back. "I don't want your money," she said. "If you don't mind, I was here first."
"This your private property?" Jensen retorted.
"Fine, I'll leave," she said frigidly and turned to go down the path from which he'd just emerged. Jensen stood up straight and caught her arm.
"Wait—wait," he said. "I'm sorry about that. I'm just a little P.O.'ed right now on account of some of those 'friends' you mentioned. I'm Kurt Jensen, but you probably already knew that." He grinned apologetically and offered his hand.
She reached out and shook it, looking a little wary but willing to make amends. "I'm Caitlyn D'Angelo," she said. "I live on Coral Island near the Air Force base—I just came over to enjoy the luau, but there must be five hundred people there."
"Heard there's a high-school reunion there," Jensen said. "Sorry to hear your plans got spoiled, Caitlyn. Frankly, it was getting a little crowded for me too. Mind if I share your little piece of paradise here?"
"No, not at all," Caitlyn said and smiled. They both turned to take in the scene before them. A slender crescent moon painted an undulating silver-white line across the waves, and the sky was spangled with dozens of twinkling, glittering lights. A soft breeze, lightly scented with exotic flowers, teased their hair and gently rustled the leaves on the surrounding trees. Fantasy Island's "night crier" bird gave its distinctive call of three two-part rising notes, two soft lamenting wails and a final shuddering cry, paused and repeated the sequence. The man and woman were quiet, listening to a few cycles.
"Never heard that bird before," said Jensen presently.
"It's found only on Fantasy Island," Caitlyn told him. "I had a friend who used to live here, and a couple of times I spent the night at her house. It was really something listening to that bird. I barely slept all night long, trying to figure out why it was crying."
"Crying?" Jensen echoed, amused.
"Well, listen to it. It sounds like it's grieving," Caitlyn said. "Anyway…I did go to high school here, and one of the required courses in eleventh grade is a comprehensive study of the island's history. I guess more of it stuck with me than I realized. That's why I know about that bird. It doesn't have an official name, although I hear Leslie Hamilton named it the 'night crier'. It's as good a name as any, I suppose."
"I see," mumbled Jensen, and at that point they heard sounds other than those of the nocturnal bird. As the noises grew louder, they realized it was human voices, and most of them were female and calling Jensen's name. "Aw, dammit, those freakin' women are still looking for me." He squinted at Caitlyn in the faint moonlight. "You must know your way around. How can I get away from them?"
Caitlyn peered at him askance, then said, "You're serious, aren't you?" He nodded vigorously, and she cast a glance over her shoulder at the path he'd barreled out of. "Well, I think I can get you back to the main house, but from that point on, you're on your own."
"Okay, lead on," he agreed, and plunged after her down a path that led through some eerily dense jungle before spilling out into the side yard of the main house some fifteen minutes later. "Great. Thanks, Caitlyn."
"No problem. My car's parked up here someplace—time for me to get on home."
"Wait…uh, will I see you around here sometime?" Jensen queried hopefully.
Caitlyn studied him. "Well, like I said, I live on Coral Island, but I was planning to do some shopping here tomorrow. Maybe we'll run into each other."
"Why don't we meet for breakfast in town?" Jensen pressed.
She considered this, then shrugged and agreed. "Oh, well, why not? I've always wanted to try the brunch at the pond restaurant; I just never got around to it because it's beyond my budget. But I hear the food is superb there."
Jensen grew abruptly suspicious. "I thought you said you didn't want my money…"
Caitlyn threw her hands in the air. "Never mind. Just forget breakfast altogether. I'm not keeping company with someone who keeps eyeing me like I'm a cat burglar." She strode away from him down the lane.
Jensen cursed himself and ran after her. "No, no, I'm sorry, Caitlyn, really!" But she never broke her stride, and after a moment he gave up, staring after her. Maybe you're better off, Kurt, he thought moodily. Who knows what's really going through her head anyway. He gave a loud sigh and decided he'd earned a good solid drunk, and to that end headed for the hotel and its bar. If the drinks were exotic enough, maybe he'd give the bartender a nice reward.