§ § § -- January 24, 1998
Josie Waring was about five feet seven inches tall and some twenty-five pounds overweight, with wispy, chin-length hair of a caramel color, light brown eyes and a shy smile that showed a few slightly crooked teeth. "So when do I get to meet Devin Reilley, Mr. Roarke?" she asked eagerly, speaking rapidly in an excited alto voice.
Roarke smiled. "Have a little patience, Ms. Waring," he requested. "Surely you'd like to unpack and freshen up before you meet him."
Josie grinned sheepishly. "Well, yeah, I guess that'd be a good idea," she admitted. "But I can't wait to see him, and I'm just wondering how much longer I have to wait before I get my fantasy."
"There is one thing I must impress upon you," Roarke said, growing solemn. "While it was not very difficult for me to arrange a meeting for you with Mr. Reilley, I have no way of guaranteeing that you'll realize the other part of your fantasy."
"You mean to marry him?" Josie asked and beamed. "He's such a nice guy, from everything I've ever read about him…and the more I've learned about Devin Reilley, the more in common I find out I've got with him. How could we not be soul mates? Just give me enough time around him, and he'll realize it too, once he gets to know me." Leslie and Roarke gave each other amused, skeptical glances, which Josie missed. "When can I meet him?"
"I have arranged for you to have a late lunch with him," Roarke told her. "Due to his shooting schedule, he has irregular hours, so you will not be eating until two o'clock this afternoon. At one forty-five, a driver will be at your bungalow to take you to the pond restaurant where you will be dining." He smiled at Josie's delighted gasp. "I hope you will enjoy your time with Mr. Reilley, but do remember…I cannot control the man's emotions, so it is utterly up to him, and fate, as to whether your entire fantasy will come true."
But Josie was giddy at the prospect of meeting her idol at long last. "Don't worry, Mr. Roarke, it's going to be the greatest experience of my life! Thank you so much for doing this for me…you can't imagine how excited I am!" She giggled dizzily, waved at him and Leslie and tripped up the foyer steps and out the door.
"Yikes," Leslie said, shaking her head. "There goes the biggest case of impending disenchantment I've ever met up with."
"I'm afraid you're right, Leslie," Roarke agreed regretfully. "Unfortunately, too many lessons must be learned the hard way, and this is likely to be one of them."
‡ ‡ ‡
At about twenty past one that afternoon, Roarke and Leslie pulled up to a temporary beachside set just outside the fishing village, where the film crew had set up camp and had been busily filming assorted outdoor scenes for the last week and a half. They stepped out of the station wagon and made their way towards a large, nondescript-looking beige tent that housed the actors when they weren't shooting. Two island policemen stood near the entrance, relaxed but watchful; they smiled greetings at Roarke and Leslie as the latter two approached the tent entry.
"Hello, officers," Roarke said. "We have an appointment."
"Go on in, Mr. Roarke and Miss Leslie," one of the cops said and gestured at the entry. Roarke pushed the door flap aside and let Leslie precede him into the interior, which was surprisingly cool due to heavy-duty air conditioning. Several people turned to see who had come in, and two of them detached themselves from the group and hurried to meet them.
"Mr. Roarke, Leslie…hi," said the man, shaking their hands in turn. The woman followed suit. "Is it time for Devin's lunch appointment already?"
"Yes," Roarke said. "Has he completed the interview?"
At that precise moment Myeko Sensei emerged from behind a free-standing wall of the type found in office cubicles. "He has now," she said, looking a touch disgruntled and stuffing a small notebook into her shoulder bag. She glanced at the man and woman, gave Roarke a quick nod and fleeting smile, then leaned in towards Leslie and whispered, "Good luck. The guy's an unbelievable grouch."
"Oh, an improvement," Leslie whispered back, and Myeko exited the tent, snickering. Roarke raised an eyebrow at them; the man and woman looked a little embarrassed.
"Well, if you'll wait just a moment," the woman said, "I'll go back and let Devin know you're here." She left; the man sighed and shook his head.
"I sure wish we'd had a chance to enjoy your island, Mr. Roarke," he said wistfully. "Some of the crew have been checking it out during their downtime, and they all say it's utter paradise. But Carole and I…well, being part of Devin's regular entourage, we just can't seem to get any time to ourselves and have a look around."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Reilley," Roarke said. "Perhaps you'll be able to attend our weekly luau this evening. All guests are welcome."
"Reilley?" Leslie asked in surprise.
The man smiled ruefully. "Yup. I'm Devin Reilley's brother Steve—and I'm also his agent. Our sister Carole is his publicist. Sorry we didn't have the chance to introduce ourselves properly yesterday when you met us at the plane, Leslie. The luau sounds great…we'll do our utmost to get there. Uh…that reporter who just walked out…will she be there?"
Leslie looked at Steve Reilley in surprise. "I don't know. I can ask her—she's a friend of mine." Just then Carole Reilley came out with Devin right behind her; the actor looked as if he were being marched off to undergo Chinese water torture.
"And how long is this miserable lunch supposed to last again?" Devin Reilley demanded impatiently. "I've got work to do here, you know."
"Half an hour, Mr. Reilley, no more," Roarke assured him.
"You seem so sure of that, Roarke," Devin said, rolling his eyes. "If it isn't done by then, I'm going to leave anyway. Steve, phone the order ahead, willya, and tell them I want my usual—done better than they did it yesterday."
Steve sighed. "I'll look into it, Dev." He tossed Roarke and Leslie an apologetic glance and departed.
"Take it easy, Dev," Carole said. "Don't forget, you wouldn't be where you are without your fans. And I hear this one's dying to meet you."
"Aren't they all," Devin muttered, curling his lip. "So who is it this time?"
"Her name's Josie Waring," Leslie replied. "She's from Pennsylvania."
Devin glanced at her without interest. "That's nice. Well, come on, let's go." He swept out the doorway; Carole shook her head.
"Interviews always make him irritable," she said, shrugging. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Roarke, but I suppose the heat's getting to him."
"In an air-conditioned tent?" Leslie asked, amazed.
Carole grinned crookedly. "He just now left it for the first time today. He's been complaining about having work to do, but in reality he's held up the shooting schedule all day so far. We've been trying to get an AC unit into the beach-hut-interior set so we can at least get some of the indoor scenes done."
"I'll take care of that for you," Roarke offered, and Carole beamed gratefully.
"Would you, Mr. Roarke? You'd be a lifesaver. Thank you so much for all your help and hospitality…we haven't seen much, but what little we did see is gorgeous. I apologize in advance for the flak Devin'll be giving you on the way to the restaurant." Roarke and Leslie looked at each other in surprise, but neither commented.
Steve returned and smiled wearily. "We appreciate the break you're giving us, but I have to admit I feel sorry for whoever Devin's lunch date is. Thanks so much."
Roarke and Leslie replied acknowledgment, excused themselves and slipped out of the tent. Devin Reilley sat in the middle seat of the station wagon, glaring at the pair as they approached. As soon as they had settled into the car, he started right in. "My sister said we were supposed to get an air conditioner for the beach-hut set. How come we haven't yet? I gotta tell you, Roarke, your people sure aren't on the ball. Are we going to that same place I ate at yesterday? Cripes, I hope not—the chef needs some cooking lessons, if you ask me. And the hotel suite wasn't clean enough when I came back from shooting last night. Not only that, but…" He carried on relentlessly all the way to the pond restaurant; Leslie sat in an increasingly grim silence, constantly reminding herself not to give him a piece of her mind. Roarke, on the other hand, maintained a pleasant expression, as though Reilley were speaking in some foreign language he couldn't understand.
"Here we are, Mr. Reilley," Roarke said, coming to a stop next to the front pier walkway to the restaurant entrance and neatly cutting Reilley off in the midst of a word. "Since you are already familiar with this establishment, I trust you need no escort inside."
"And what if I get mobbed by fans?" the actor riposted.
"Our employees are well aware of your presence here," Roarke said, "and they know their jobs. You will be undisturbed."
Reilley sighed. "Okay, whatever." He slid out of the car and strode down the pier without another word. Roarke put the car in gear and made a U-turn.
"I hope he gets a raging case of indigestion," Leslie muttered, and Roarke gave her a glance of mock reproach—with a twinkle in his eye that she didn't miss—as he pulled back onto the Ring Road.
Devin Reilley entered the restaurant and paused in the foyer. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone here. Is she here yet?"
"Yes, sir, she's waiting at our best table," the maitre d' said politely. "Please follow me." Devin trailed the man through the main dining room and to a partially secluded table surrounded on three sides by waist-high walls topped with carved wooden railings that stretched to the ceiling. "Mr. Reilley, Miss Waring, please enjoy your meal." The maitre d' waited till Devin had seated himself, then bowed and made himself scarce.
Devin Reilley settled into his chair and then got a good look at his lunch companion. Josie Waring, wide-eyed and broadly smiling, exclaimed, "It's terrific to finally meet you, Mr. Reilley! I'm Josie Waring…just call me Josie."
"Sure, hi," Devin said halfheartedly, mentally bracing himself for the ordeal ahead. Yet another fawning female fan—and this one was plainer-looking than most, he thought. They all acted as if they were best buddies or something, and it was already clear to him that this one felt the same way. They'd jump through hoops for him and agree with everything he said, and he was invariably bored silly. This lunch date looked to be the latest in a very long and tedious string of them. Did it never end?
For her part, Josie was so excited that her hands trembled when she reached for her glass of water and gulped some back. She'd mentally rehearsed for so long what she'd tell this man when she finally met him…and now that she had, she was speechless. He was looking at her as if he expected her to say something, so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You're even better-looking in person."
"Is that so," he mumbled, letting his gaze wander.
Good one, Josie, congratulations, she thought, annoyed with herself. Let's see if you can make yourself look even dumber now. "I read you were born in Philly," she said. "I'm from Bala Cynwyd myself. Born and raised there."
"That's nice," came the distracted reply.
"My birthday's only a week after yours," Josie went on relentlessly, "and we both like Chinese, and we have the same favorite board games and TV shows…"
"You play Risk?" Devin asked, a spark of interest flaring.
"Risk?" echoed Josie, startled. "Uh…I thought you liked Monopoly."
"I play Risk, not Monopoly," Devin corrected.
Josie wilted slightly. "I'm terrible at Risk," she admitted with a self-deprecating smile. Devin's momentary intrigue petered out and he propped his chin on the heel of his hand, staring across the room again. "But I do like biking and walking…"
She snapped her mouth shut when Devin abruptly sat up and shot his hand into the air, waving at a passing waiter. "Garçon, get over here!" he called out, and heads turned all over the restaurant. Josie felt her face begin to heat up with embarrassed surprise. Was this really the same Devin Reilley she'd read so many glowing articles about?
The waiter registered the man's identity and detoured in their direction. "Yes sir, can I help you?"
"Yes, where's my lunch?" Devin demanded. "I've already wasted ten minutes here and my time is limited. My order was already called in, and I want it out here now."
Josie stared as the waiter nodded and gave a slight bow. "I'll bring it right out, sir." He turned to her. "And you, miss?"
"I'd like a Cobb salad, please," Josie said with a game smile, trying to make up for Devin's rudeness. The waiter nodded and left.
"Another woman on a futile diet?" Devin groaned, taking in her form and shaking his head. "Don't women ever eat anymore, for cripes' sake? Oh, but you do…" He eyed her with meaning, and Josie's cheeks grew fiery with embarrassment.
"I've been trying to lose a few pounds…" she mumbled.
"Well, keep trying," he advised. "Just don't get to where you look like a living skeleton. That's the ugliest thing on earth. Hollywood is so full of walking sticks, after a while you actually get used to them and every other woman looks like a butterball. Women have an ideal weight, and they need to stick to it." The waiter returned then with a tray which he set on the table in front of Devin and uncovered. "About time. I hope it's done properly…not like yesterday. That chef needs to go back to cooking school." The waiter winced, just perceptibly, then bowed slightly and retreated as fast as he could go. Josie peered at Devin's lunch, consisting of a heavenly-smelling lasagna and a large Waldorf salad with a tall glass of something that looked like tea, and began to wish she'd ordered more than just a salad for herself.
"That looks wonderful," she said.
"It wasn't very wonderful yesterday," Devin commented, taking a bite of the lasagna. He chewed slowly, considering, then shrugged. "Seems better this time. So, Jodie, where'd you say you were from again?"
"Josie. Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania," she said, a little stiffly.
"Uh-huh. Hmm, this isn't half bad. I might even order dessert this time, and if that's good, I won't complain to Roarke." Devin lifted the glass and drank deeply from it, then let out an "ahh" and actually smiled for the first time since he'd arrived. "Long Island iced tea. That's one thing this place does right. Say, Judy, aren'tcha gonna eat?"
"I'm still waiting for mine," said Josie flatly. Now she was the one who propped her chin on the heel of her hand and stared out into the dining room. She didn't want to leave without eating, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could sit here watching Devin gobbling his lunch in front of her, criticizing everyone in sight and botching up her name. If only those magazines had known what he was really like. Why did they portray him as such a terrific guy if these were his true colors?
"Well, that's pretty cruddy service," Devin said in an odd and brief burst of misguided chivalry. "Hey, waiter, where's Janie's lasagna?"
"I ordered a salad," mumbled Josie, tempted by the lasagna in spite of herself.
Devin grunted something, shoveling in a forkful of salad. The waiter came out just then and put a bowl in front of Josie; she thanked him effusively, and he smiled and departed again. She poured dressing on the salad, making Devin stop to watch, then lifted a forkful, only to pause with it halfway to her mouth when she caught him staring at her. "What?"
"All that dressing?" Devin blurted. "No wonder you're fat."
Scarlet with mortification, she dropped her fork and stared into the salad, reaching blindly for the strawberry daiquiri she had ordered before Devin's arrival and trying to hide her face behind the large glass. Devin went on eating, apparently unaware of the insult he had just delivered. She sat long enough with the glass to her lips that he eventually did take notice. "Aw, come on, Janet, go ahead and eat. You can diet, but we don't want you starving. Just don't put on so damn much dressing next time."
Without a word Josie put down the glass and began to eat, staring fixedly at a pink rose that faced her from the flower arrangement in the middle of the table. He's an egomaniac with a superiority complex, she thought morosely. Nothing at all like the fan rags said he was. Why?
Across the table there was a muffled crack that made her look up involuntarily, just in time to see Devin wince and clap his hands around his jaw. He let out a couple of heavy curses and grabbed a napkin, spitting something into it. "Dammit, I told them to put pecans in this, not freakin' walnuts! They're too hard on my teeth! Waiter!" Josie jumped in her seat, and every single human being in the building turned to glare. "That's the last straw," Devin roared, oblivious. "Roarke's gonna hear from me, you can bet on that. Between this stupid lunch date and the chef's incompetence, this has been the biggest waste of my time in ages. What're you staring at, Jilly?"
Humiliated beyond endurance, Josie finally saw red. "I'm staring at the biggest jerk I've ever met in my entire life!" she snapped, so angry she didn't think to keep her voice low. "Every word those magazines said about you is a bald-faced lie. You're a snob, a creep, and an uber-perfectionist, and you're conceited and insulting on top of that. I don't know what I ever saw in you, Devin Reilley." She snatched up her glass and, without even thinking, reached across the table and upended it, showering him with a thick waterfall of strawberry daiquiri. "And by the way," she snarled into his ear, "my name is Josie! J-O-S-I-E! Think you can remember that now?" Josie slammed the empty glass onto the table in front of him and stalked out of the restaurant in a royal fury, leaving behind a stunned and dripping Devin Reilley and a roomful of enthusiastically applauding diners.
"Oh, we're so sorry, sir," blurted several waitstaff in frantic chorus, hastily trying to mop him dry and whisking away the offending salad, hovering over him. Devin blustered as usual, but there was a twinge of disbelief in it this time. For the first time in years, someone had actually stood up to him. Imagine that lackluster little nobody treating him like that! When he complained to Roarke, he thought, he was going to have to find out which bungalow Josie was staying in…
