§ § § -- April 11, 1998

"I am really, really sorry," said Devin Reilley in abject apology, rising from the table and turning his hands palms up at the remaining fans who waited in line. "I hate to do it, folks, but I gotta call it quits for the day. My wife's waiting for me, and we're still on our honeymoon." He winked suggestively at Annie, who had been the very next person in line, then chuckled, waved at everyone and vanished into the tent. Groans and shouts of protest rose up, but a woman who looked quite a bit like the movie star stepped out and held up her hands, quieting the crowd for a moment.

"Sorry, folks, but we do have a schedule. Beneath a Tropical Moon is almost done, and we're trying to stick to the original timetable so we can pack up and get ourselves out of Mr. Roarke's way by the date we said we would. Thanks for coming, everyone." She ducked back into the tent, and in spite of the outraged uproar that followed, no one else came out.

Annie stared in disbelief. He knew there were dozens of fans still waiting in line, yet he brazenly stopped right in front of them and disappeared! If I were a famous movie star, I'd never, ever leave anyone hanging like that, she thought indignantly. I'd sign my name for everyone who came, no matter how bad my writer's cramp got. She smiled slightly, sliding into a daydream out of long-standing habit. She was unaware of the opal at her throat, its crimson veins glowing brightly as the daydream took hold.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be here till the bitter end," Andrea LaMorada laughed merrily, accepting a pen and an autograph album from an excited teenage girl and writing her name with a flourish across the first blank page. The teenager beamed and stepped aside, admiring the signature in her book, while Andrea…

Andrea? She peered down at herself and realized she was wearing a pristine yellow sundress complete with matching straw hat; she was seated at a table, and there was a long line of hopeful-looking people of all ages standing in front of her, holding autograph books, photos, magazines with her picture on the cover, all kinds of things. Whoa…I really am Andrea LaMorada! Ohmigod, this thing actually works! She fingered the choker, then giggled deliriously and turned to the next person in line. "And who would you like me to sign this to?" she asked cheerfully.

"Make it to Bill, Miss LaMorada, and thanks so much. This is really terrific…I've seen every movie you've ever made, and I think you're the best. You're a cinch the next time they nominate for Oscars. You gotta be." Andrea signed as indicated, beaming at him.

"You're very kind," she said graciously. "Thank you for being here, Bill."

And she kept her promise too, signing for all comers, till at last she had written her name for the final time and her right hand ached like the devil. "What nice people," she murmured to her publicist, who smiled wearily.

"Yeah, well, just watch out, Miss LaMorada, they might come back to haunt you. I'd be especially careful of that man who asked you to write that you loved him and were eternally grateful for his being your fan," he said. "What was his name, do you remember?"

Andrea thought for a moment. "I think it was Randall," she said. "Oh, come on, don't worry. Do you see anyone lurking around here?"

"There's not a soul in sight," the publicist said…and Annie looked around and realized he was right. She was suddenly back on the beach, beside the big tent, completely alone. No, not quite completely. There were two island cops standing guard beside the tent entrance, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Sorry, I must've gotten lost," Annie mumbled and sidled away, trying to look casual. As soon as she was out of their sight, she burst into a run. Despite her embarrassment, though, she was on an emotional high. What an experience that had been!

After awhile she slowed and found herself wandering a jungle path which eventually spilled her out onto a vast greensward, where dozens of people were playing games, having picnics, strolling, sunbathing, or just hanging around talking. Many of them, Annie noticed, were couples. Having never had a boyfriend in her entire life, she felt the old stab of envy coming on. Her frizzy, dishwater-blonde hair, her colorless gray eyes, her too-fair skin that burned at the mere utterance of the word "sunshine", those twenty or so extra pounds, all combined to make her stunningly ordinary. She faded so easily into the background that at times she felt like a ghost. Now if I had shining, silky-smooth golden hair, and eyes the same blue as the Caribbean Sea, and a nice even tan, and a little less cellulite…that'd make the men take a second look. Yeah… The fiery facets in the opal glowed once more…

…and there stood beautiful, golden-haired, blue-eyed, model-slim Anne-Marie Johansen, watching people with interest as she meandered aimlessly along the manicured green grass. Here and there, young men—and good-looking ones at that!—began to do double takes, and before she knew it she was flanked by a small group of six or seven guys, all of them asking her name and what she was doing that evening. Anne-Marie laughed a bright, tinkling laugh that sounded like wind chimes on the breeze. "You're all such nice men," she remarked in a low, breathy voice that sounded utterly unlike her. "But you know…this fella here was the first one to ask." She gave the sandy-haired man on her right a full-wattage smile that made him blink and then grin stupidly with triumph. "What's your name?"

"Greg," he said. "How about we just stay in…say at your bungalow this evening?"

Anne-Marie smiled demurely and dipped her head once in assent. "I look forward to it…Greg," she purred, and the guy grinned broadly, pumped one victorious fist, then brazenly planted a smacking kiss on her lips. The other men wandered away, looking for easier conquests; among them, unnoticed by Anne-Marie—or anyone else, for that matter—was a marginally good-looking, bespectacled black-haired man who frowned a little uneasily, shook his head and decided he might be better off coming back later.

Greg smiled meaningfully at Anne-Marie. "There's more where that came from…lots more," he promised. "See ya tonight, sweetheart." He departed, and Anne-Marie chuckled softly. She was going to have him eating out of…

…probably a very large plate. Annie blinked and realized she was standing all by herself once more, watching Greg swagger away, flush with the certainty that he was going to have a very good time that night. "Uh-oh," Annie mumbled to herself. "What've I done now? I wonder if I can turn myself back into Anne-Marie before he shows up…" She hoped so, because even to an innocent such as herself, it was patently obvious what Greg wanted. Otherwise, all they'd be doing was eating dinner, and she'd undoubtedly be adding to those twenty pounds she'd temporarily banished.

On her way back to her bungalow, she thought the situation over and finally came to the conclusion that she would just have to rely on Anne-Marie—and the choker's ability to transform her into Anne-Marie—to get through the evening. One thought kept trying to break through, but Annie kept shying away from the fact that even Anne-Marie might not be able to keep her cool when Greg decided he wanted to sample more than just the lips he'd kissed a couple of minutes ago.

"You present the appearance of a lady with a problem," observed Roarke, bringing Annie out of her uneasy ruminations with a thud that should have been audible. She stopped so abruptly that she nearly tripped over her own forward momentum.

"Hi, Mr. Roarke," Annie said. "I don't know if I have a problem yet, actually. I mean…I guess it could be a problem, but I won't know till tonight."

Roarke eyed her, looking slightly confused, but nodded once or twice, slowly. "Perhaps you are merely borrowing trouble, Miss Johnston. If you decide the situation—whatever it is—has the potential to become a problem, then it very likely will."

Annie pondered that, then nodded. "So if I decide it won't be a problem, then it won't. Is that what you mean?"

Roarke smiled. "Something like that. Otherwise, how goes the fantasy?"

"It's been really fun," Annie said, her enthusiasm blooming anew. "So far I've been a movie star who kept her promise to give her autograph to everybody, and I've been a very pretty lady who got a date for this evening. I'm thinking of taking a swim or something, maybe giving the choker a rest."

That made Roarke laugh. "That's probably very wise, Miss Johnston. If you make too much use of its powers, you may unwittingly get yourself into a very dangerous situation. Besides, there is much to be said for being yourself." He smiled and nodded. "Please excuse me." Annie smiled back, and Roarke departed, while she stood watching him go.

Being herself, however, held no appeal at all for Annie, so she wound up renting a horse and taking a ride in as isolated an area as she could just to keep from meeting up with more than the absolute minimum number of people. She wasn't the slightest bit graceful on horseback, but she could at least ride with some competence; so she soon relaxed and began to enjoy the lush tropical greenery. She spent most of the early afternoon constantly stopping to admire this or that flower; most were unique to her and, she surmised, probably to the world too. Maybe she could ask for some seeds or cuttings, she thought, and try to grow her own specimens in her father's greenhouse. Wait a minute—that was out. The memory came back to Annie with a rush of embarrassment. Back in fourth grade her science class had received an assignment to grow a flower—any flower—from seed to maturity. The more exotic and difficult to grow, the higher the grade. Annie had spent weeks trying to grow marigolds, sunflowers, pansies, tulips and daffodils, before a frantic descent to buttercups, violets and daisies. Everything had died within days…everything except a common weed. The entire class had roared with laughter at Annie's little pot of dandelions. To this day the memory made her face burn. Just once in my life, if I could only have a green thumb! Well, maybe I'll ask for some seeds anyway. There are books I could read, aren't there? Maybe I could try growing daffodils again—I always loved them. She started humming to herself as her horse plodded serenely along the path.

By the time she returned the horse and headed for the bungalow, it was late in the day and she was feeling vaguely optimistic about her chances of growing flowers. It would be nice to decorate her apartment with a few window boxes. Before the choker could turn her into Mary Quite Contrary, however, she bumped headlong into someone, and they both went down with loud "oof!" noises. Instantly Annie turned brilliant crimson again, noting that she had collided with a startled-looking black-haired man who wore glasses and was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that said, OFFICIAL FANTASY ISLAND SOUVENIR.

"I'm so sorry," Annie moaned. "I'm such a klutz…I hope you're not hurt."

"No…not much, anyway. My butt might be sore for awhile. How about you? Are you okay, miss?" the man asked anxiously, surveying her and then going from solicitous to puzzled. "Aren't you roasting in that blazer and skirt?"

That was when it dawned on Annie that she had never changed from the outfit she had worn on the charter plane from Honolulu early that morning. She winced so hard that the man said, "Oh, I'm sorry…I don't mean to sound insulting, but…"

"No, it's just stupid old me," Annie mumbled, biting her lip. Hesitantly she peered up at the man, amazed that he hadn't jumped up and run off yet. "I just forgot to change."

He chuckled. "I guess that's understandable. This place makes you want to get out there and start enjoying it right away." She grinned shyly at his laugh and reached out to shake his extended hand. "My name's Randall Heidema."

"Hi, I'm Annie," she said softly. Before she could even think to add her surname, a voice called Randall's name somewhere in the near distance, and he sat up in alarm.

"Cripes, I better move it if I don't want Aunt Beryl to catch up with me," he said and scrambled to his feet. "Hey, maybe I'll see you at the luau tonight, huh? Sorry about that…" And he pounded off down the lane, making Annie wonder what was so terrible about Aunt Beryl that Randall Heidema felt the urgent need to get away, before she got up and resumed her trek to her bungalow, dusting herself off along the way.

At her bungalow she showered and changed clothes, choosing a pretty pink sundress and wrapping a tennis bracelet around one wrist. The choker seemed to clash with the outfit; but Roarke's words were branded into her brain, and she wouldn't have taken it off for the world. She knew there would be a luau that evening and was eager to find out what it was like; this was the first time she had ever left the East Coast, and she was determined to get the full experience. She stuck her feet into her sandals and wandered out to the main room, picking up the ten-page brochure that provided all the details on the various attractions on the island and leafing idly through it. One item stopped her and she read it more carefully. Karaoke? Some of the girls at work talked about it from time to time, and she had always wondered what it would be like to throw your singing voice out there for the whole world to be impressed with. Or, in her case, to be nauseated by. Annie smiled wryly. There was no way she'd ever get up and sing, but it would be fun to watch and listen to others who had more nerve than she did. The karaoke contest was to be held 90 minutes before the luau got under way, in the same clearing. Annie checked her watch and decided to leave right then and there to get a good seat.

She found a chair in the second row and settled down, watching people come in and take seats, talking earnestly. Soon the chairs were all full and people were standing on the sidelines. After a bit a handsome native man who made Annie stare in appreciation came out onto the small raised platform that served as a stage, fiddled with the large, expensive-looking karaoke machine set up to one side, then tapped the microphone. The audience quieted with surprising speed.

"Good evening, and welcome to the weekly Fantasy Island karaoke contest. There's no formality here. If you want to sing, just jump up and volunteer. Hope you all enjoy it!" He stepped back, and immediately a rather drunk-looking young man stumbled onstage and announced that he was going to sing "Stairway to Heaven." Laughter erupted out of quite a few folks, and Annie rolled her eyes to herself. This was clearly a college kid taking a dare. Only a verse and a half into the song, the audience playfully booed him off the stage, and he took it surprisingly well, executing a huge comic bow and then trotting aside for the next contestant. There were, in fact, a surprisingly large number of would-be singers.

As she watched, in spite of herself she started wondering what it would be like to be up there singing—and to sound good while she was at it. "And now, singing 'The Power of Love', here's Annalyn!" The announcer moved back from the microphone…

…and Annalyn launched into one of her very favorite songs, gentle and tentative at first, but then really getting into it when she saw some people exchanging impressed looks in the front rows. Oh wow! she marveled as she sang. For once I have a decent singing voice…imagine that! Heartened by her own talent—however fleeting—Annalyn sang for all she was worth, letting down her guard and belting out the song the way she often did in the car where no one else could hear her. When the song had drifted off into its dreamy ending, the audience broke into loud applause, cheering, whistling and even stomping their feet. Annalyn smiled and took a couple of quick little bows, then slipped off the stage. She missed seeing Roarke and Leslie, who had decided to come a little early and catch the end of the contest. They looked at each other thoughtfully, but neither said anything.

"Thank you, Annalyn!" said the native man acting as emcee, his gaze lingering on her for another moment before he pulled himself together and cleared his throat into the microphone. Leslie grinned to herself. "Now it's time to award the one-hundred-dollar prize for the best singer. Will our judges please make their decision now?"

Leslie noticed Annalyn standing with several others near the stage, and turned to look curiously at Roarke. "Seems to me this particular daydream has some staying power."

"Of course," Roarke replied, deadpan. "She has yet to find out if she will win."

"It's her daydream," Leslie pointed out. "Is there any doubt she will?" Roarke laughed softly and nodded agreement, and they looked on while one of the judges handed the emcee an envelope. The emcee ripped it open and grinned broadly.

"It was unanimous, ladies and gentlemen…the winner is Annalyn!" Loud applause broke out and the emcee reached over and played a noisy fanfare on the karaoke machine. Annalyn, grinning a little foolishly, stepped onto the stage and accepted a check, looking at it in wonder. Not that she really needed it; she'd probably cash it and spend it on souvenirs. She raised a hand and waved at the audience, then turned to step down…

…and tripped over the edge, barely catching herself before she landed flat on her face. Laughter welled up and Annie scuttled into the trees, mortified. Of all the stupid times for the daydream to suddenly lose hold on reality! She rubbed the opal on the choker, wondering just how much control she really had over the thing. It might not be a bad idea to talk to Roarke about that. Oh well…at least she'd actually won the karaoke contest and earned a quick hundred dollars. Maybe she'd cave in and buy her parents and siblings souvenirs of her trip…and then again, maybe not, she thought, reconsidering. They didn't even know she was here, and she didn't want them to know. Some things were best kept private.