§ § § - September 13, 1997: Fantasy Island
The auditions were being held in the Fantasy Island Theater in Amberville; Melanie, with Roarke in attendance, sat in the front row along with the film's producer, director, and casting crew. The casting director stood just in front of the stage, armed with a clipboard that held a thick sheaf of papers, checking his watch frequently.
"Is that clown here yet or not?" he shouted backstage at one point, and there was a muffled yell of response that he apparently took as affirmation. "Okay, then, let's get this show on the road. First up, Clay Agresti."
A handsome young man strolled onstage and accepted the film script, and the casting director gave him a set of lines to read. Melanie listened intently, wondering if she had ever seen Clay Agresti before. He didn't look familiar. Roarke seemed to sense her confusion and said quietly, "Mr. Agresti has been in several successful television series and is now looking to make the jump into movies. He has won two Emmy awards, so there is great potential in him. What do you think, Ms. Downs?"
Melanie absently patted her compressed lips with a fingertip. "Seems like a nice guy, I guess, but he's a little too light-skinned to play Julian. A little young, too." She grinned. "But I think he should still have a part in the movie. He'd be a perfect Brooks Buffett."
"Brooks Buffett?" Roarke echoed blankly.
"Sorry. He's one of the younger agents in the intelligence outfit that employs Julian," Melanie explained. Roarke nodded comprehension and sat back.
"Ms. Downs, what's your impression?" the casting director asked.
"He doesn't quite fit the image of Julian, but he'd be exactly right for Brooks Buffett," Melanie told him. "If I were you, I'd put it in writing."
The casting director glanced at Agresti over his shoulder. "We'll definitely put him at the head of the list for Buffett," he said. "Okay, that's it. Jack Crawley!"
Somewhat more than two hours later, Melanie was valiantly stifling yawns. Roarke had stepped out for about half an hour to attend to the other fantasy, then returned with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses for himself and Melanie. However, that was long gone, and the day's tropical heat was beginning to build inside the theater. "Why didn't they turn on the air conditioning?" Melanie wondered idly, fanning herself with her copy of the script.
"The casting director requested that it not be used, apparently for fear of the noise the system makes," Roarke said. "The auditions are nearly over, so it shouldn't be much longer."
"Okay, thanks, pal," the casting director said and checked off another name on his list. "Next up is Kieran O'Keefe…God help us all."
Surprised, Melanie shot him a curious look and then turned the same expression on Roarke, who chuckled. "Kieran O'Keefe is a very talented Irish actor with quite a reputation for rakishness," he said. "He is a charmer, I'm told, but can be difficult to work with."
"Uh-oh," Melanie murmured. "What's he been in?"
"He is most famous for his role as Colin in John Angus Walsh's first magnum opus, Highlander Fair," Roarke said. "Are you familiar with the film?"
Melanie nodded eagerly. "I loved that movie! I must have seen it twenty times. Toni Karlsen was the star and she was wonderful. I didn't realize the hero was this guy. Do you think he—"
At that point Kieran O'Keefe strolled onstage and Melanie fell silent and gaped at him, unaware of Roarke's gentle amusement. O'Keefe stopped and thumbed through his script, giving the designated page a once-over. "You know what to read, so have at it," the casting director said. He too had sat down by now and was looking very weary.
"Save us from hell, man, ha' ye ne'er heard o'air conditionin'?" demanded O'Keefe, staring at him. "Ye could roast a br-rrace o'rabbits in here. I'll be thinkin' ye're a sadist, no doubt in my head. Well enough, then…" His voice died out as he spotted Melanie. "Ah, now, an' who've we got here?"
"I'm Melanie Downs," Melanie told him. "I wrote all the Julian Noble books, and I get final say on who wins the starring role."
O'Keefe nodded slowly, turning this over in his head for a moment. "Julian Noble, a man after me own heart," he remarked. "All right, here goes." He cleared his throat loudly and at length, till Melanie winced and put a hand to her own throat in sympathy, before launching into his reading. Melanie tilted forward farther and farther in her seat as he read, her face a vivid picture of astonishment. Somehow O'Keefe had perfectly captured Julian Noble's mostly American accent, without putting much apparent effort into it, and was clearly having a whale of a time being the character despite the fact that the scene he was reading was one in which he confronted the film's nemesis.
Finally Roarke, grinning outright, reached out and put a hand on Melanie's shoulder, making her sit abruptly back in her seat before she wound up tumbling out of it. In the silence that fell after O'Keefe had read his final line, she blurted, "He's incredible! I had no idea he did accents—it was dead-on! And he's dark enough to be Julian Noble, too. Black hair and five-o'clock shadow, the works!"
"Excuse me, but I don't have the same color eyes as Noble," O'Keefe broke in from the stage, looking apologetic. "Shoulda asked me mum for another color, eh?"
Melanie burst out laughing. "So your eyes are dark blue instead of brown—so what? I don't care—you're closer to being Julian Noble in the flesh than anyone else who's been here today. I say you're it." She turned expectantly to the casting director.
"What she says goes, people," the man said and grinned. "I think that makes it official. Kieran O'Keefe will be Julian Noble…let's start the press machine rolling."
O'Keefe pumped a fist into the air in triumph and vaulted off the stage, landing directly in front of Melanie. "Me lovely lady, ye've made me day," he said, lifting her hand and kissing it. "I'll be thinkin' this shall be me favorite film since Highlander Fair ta work on…and wi' such a beauteous woman as yerself supervisin', it'll be a true pleasure."
"You are a definite rogue," Melanie said, but she was flattered and didn't bother to hide it. "You know, I kinda like you, O'Keefe."
He beamed. "I like you too, an' it's more than 'kinda'. Matter o'fact, if ye'll be callin' me Kieran, I'd be honored. An' I'd also be honored to escort you ta a late lunch, an' then ta dinner, an' anywhere else ye'd be wishin', for that matter."
"I accept, and call me Melanie," she said immediately.
"Wi' pleasure!" O'Keefe agreed. "Mr. Roarke, ye've no idea just how fortunate I am. Never thought that when I came to this island, I'd be findin' a lady ta take off runnin' wi' me cynical old heart. I don't know how ye do it, but 'tis grateful I am that ye do." He shook hands with a broadly smiling Roarke. "Now, Melanie me lass, 'tis off ta lunch."
§ § § - September 12, 1997: Tokyo, Japan
Christian and Leslie looked at each other, then at Marina. "Then go ahead," Christian said when Leslie remained silent.
Matter-of-factly Marina said, "I realize the situation you are in, and I know exactly how it is. I am in the same one. So if you two wish to share a bed, it means nothing at all to me. I would do so with the man I love, had I the option."
Leslie blushed so fiercely that Christian grinned at the sight, but he was no less amazed at Marina's words than she. "It makes a mockery of our marriage," he said, solely for argument's sake.
"Our marriage is a mockery in and of itself," Marina said. "I don't know what the law would say—adultery, I expect—but for myself, I simply don't care. Christian, it's Leslie who should be your wife, not I. If you want to be together tonight, then do so."
Christian slanted a glance at a still-crimson-faced Leslie, his hopes rising despite himself. It was plain in his expression. "You continue to amaze me, Marina," he said.
Marina shrugged. "Leslie?"
Leslie looked away and hung her head, too mortified now to meet Marina's gaze. She knew Europeans were much more frank and open about such matters than Americans, but that didn't lessen her discomfort. "That's…quite an offer," she said carefully, "but…" She cleared her throat loudly and finally managed to look up again. "As tempting as it is, I can't do it. You see, I was still in my early teens when I came to live on Fantasy Island, and young enough to be influenced by my guardian—which is what Father was to me for my first few years there. He has a very strong ethical sense, and I acquired that just by being his ward and then his daughter. To me, it would be wrong to…spend a night with Christian as long as you and he are still married." She grinned a little crookedly. "And somehow, even if I defied that sense of ethics and gave in to temptation, I'd never be able to shake the awful feeling that Father would find out."
Marina laughed in her breathy voice. "I understand, Leslie, believe me. I may not agree, but I do see your point of view."
"Marina hasn't let it stop her," Christian noted dryly. "But I won't force you, my Leslie Rose. If you feel it isn't right, then I'll respect that. Besides, I have no particular desire to incur the wrath of my future father-in-law." They all laughed at that.
Marina pushed her plate away and looked back and forth between them. "Still," she said, "there's no reason you two can't be alone. I have some friends in the city whom I mean to visit, and this is the perfect time for that. Don't argue with me, Leslie. I know you are here mainly to see Christian, not so much to tour the country. You'll have little enough time with him as it is, since we are leaving Monday. I only wish it were possible for you two to see some of the sights together. As royalty, Christian and I are easily recognizable, and the media would turn any sight of you together in public into a global catastrophe."
"True," agreed Christian with a heavy sigh. "But I can't say I mind being confined to the hotel. I don't want to be in public with you, Leslie…I'd far rather keep you to myself."
Marina smiled at the look the two shared. "That settles it, then. Please enjoy your evening together, and don't worry if I don't return tonight. I may decide to stay the night with my friends." She got up.
"Thank you for dinner," Leslie said, still a bit discomfited.
Marina shook her head. "Not at all. Enjoy yourselves." She went to the phone, made a quick call to the front desk, then smiled at Christian and Leslie and let herself out.
Christian promptly shoved back his plate as well. "I'm not hungry," he said. "At least, not for food." He eyed Leslie with a look she couldn't possibly misread.
"Christian…" she began.
He put up a hand, stopping her. "Yes, yes, I know…your ethical sense, inherited from Mr. Roarke, won't let you indulge as we both wish. Don't deny it, Leslie Rose, you'd like to give in as much as I wish you would. But as I said, I won't force you any farther than you're willing to go." He rose from the table and made busywork of replacing domed covers on assorted dishes. "Having said that, I should warn you that I'm going to do my utmost to tempt you beyond redemption." He grinned at her.
Leslie, too, got to her feet, slowly and deliberately, smiling faintly at him. "I'd like to see you try," she said.
Christian dropped the last dome atop a dish, came around the table and gathered her into a close embrace. "You're playing with fire, you know," he breathed, dipping his head as he spoke and preventing any riposte on her part with a kiss that stole her breath away. She was barely aware of his gradual maneuvering of himself and her towards the plush sofa where they'd earlier sat chatting with Marina; he pulled her down onto it with him, without ever breaking away from her, and tried to draw her in even closer to him, one hand splayed over her back, the other cradling her head with his fingers entangled in her hair. Without a sound she surrendered, lost in him and in what he was doing to her.
The effect Christian's kisses always had on her gave him an advantage, and he lost no time exploiting it. He moved slowly, testing her with each push of the envelope. She made no protest when his hands tugged her blouse out of her slacks and began to tentatively explore underneath; encouraged by her tacit acceptance, he caressed her skin, reveling in its warmth and softness. For her part, Leslie fell farther under the spell he wove; her resolve was weakening steadily, but her conscience loitered in the back of her brain, watching, waiting for its chance. She had seen him shirtless only once, the day they'd spent an afternoon on the beach, and soon was learning the feel of his skin too.
His mouth finally left hers at just about the time his hand settled directly underneath one breast. "Tell me to stop," he warned in the barest whisper.
She was lost, and her conscience was still quiet. "…what?" she murmured, almost inaudibly. Christian sighed out something in his own tongue and took this as permission, setting off a bonfire somewhere inside Leslie. He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck; automatically she let her head fall back to give him access, her eyes closed, her senses alive and her mind free-falling.
This went on for some time until Christian, aroused nearly beyond his own breaking point, strove for that last step. "Leslie…please?" he moaned.
There was a wealth of meaning in those two words, and her conscience recognized it and jabbed her so sharply she almost felt it as a physical sensation. But she was still far enough under his spell that her deeply-ingrained reaction came as in slow motion. She half-opened her eyes, laid a hand on his arm to still his movements, and whispered, "I can't."
Christian went absolutely motionless for one long, suspended moment. "So," he murmured at last, his voice a little rough with need, "the ethics have finally awakened."
Leslie swallowed thickly, fighting her own need, and said, "I'm so sorry, Christian, my love…" Her voice was heavy with desire and regret, tinged with a trace of resentment for all they were being denied.
Christian chuckled, sounding strained. "You warned me," he said quietly, "more than amply. I won't blame you, my darling. But to tell the truth, I went into this believing you would stop me far sooner than you did."
Leslie's smile was sour. "I thought I would, too," she confessed and released a deep, mournful sigh. "Oh, Christian, you can't imagine how much I wish right now that I had Marina's nonchalant attitude. She knows you wouldn't care if she slept with someone else, and does it without a second thought. And she said in so many words that she doesn't care if you and I do…and it's almost like having permission! And yet I can't, damn it!"
Her frustration made Christian pull back enough to meet her gaze, cradling her face in one hand. "There are other factors to consider," he said and smiled a little. "Apparently your father has more of a presence than even you knew. I've had the feeling this entire time that someone's been watching me."
Leslie laughed. "Well, at least I know I'm not alone." She leaned into him, wrapping him in a tight hug, before releasing him and getting up. "I think it's time I practiced the better part of discretion and went back to my room, now that we know how close we came to the edge."
She did return to her room for a while, trying to watch a desperately insane Japanese game show on TV, but her mind kept wandering; when the phone rang, it startled her. But it was Christian, who invited her back upstairs to keep him company—and there was just no way she could refuse. She packed her suitcase and overnight bag with high anticipation, her mind slaloming: would she lose all her resistance and let him make love to her, so she could know what it was like to be with him, to experience the fullest extent of their love? But if she did, would she ever get out from under the guilty feeling that Roarke would somehow know? All she knew was that she had to be with Christian.
As it happened, they ended up within a hairsbreadth of making love after all, till he—not she—regained sense; but nothing on earth could have stopped them from sleeping in each other's arms that night, leaving Leslie's hotel room unused altogether.