§ § § -- April 11, 1998

"Uh, excuse me…Leslie?" Leslie stopped just inside the entrance to the nightclub, located in town and only recently opened, and looked around for the source of the voice. It was a man perhaps a little younger than her nearly 33 years, with black hair and glasses, wearing one of those silly souvenir T-shirts that always made her snicker whenever she saw one. She recognized him almost instantly.

"Hi, Mr. Heidema, how're things with Aunt Beryl?" Leslie asked cheerfully. She still found the whole thing rather hilarious, though she sympathized with the fellow.

Randall Heidema winced. "No different. I keep trying to tell her I'm not—" Something apparently caught his eye and he stopped in the middle of his sentence to stare. Leslie followed his gaze, wondering what had so thoroughly snared his attention, only to find herself watching a very lithe blonde dancing sensuously on the nightclub stage.

"Oh my goodness," Leslie mumbled to herself. Even from here she could see the red veins in the choker's opal gleaming brightly in the nightclub's low lighting. That had to be quite some daydream, she reflected, remembering Annie Johnston's remark that she'd been thrown out of her first and only dance class.

"I met her," Randall Heidema said dazedly from beside Leslie, who turned to look at him in surprise. "She sure didn't look like that then…"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the fabulous Angelique!" a voice boomed off the club walls, and loud applause, punctuated by piercing wolf whistles, welled up. "Fantasy Island has never seen a dancer like her! What a talent!"

"What a daydream," Leslie murmured, too low for Randall to hear. That choker was really getting a workout! To her companion she said, "You met her? When?"

"We kinda ran into each other," he said with a little grin. "She seemed sort of shy and quiet, y'know? I was going to ask her to come to the luau with me, but I heard Aunt Beryl call me, and I had to get away quick." Leslie let out a soft huff of amusement before his grin faded and he trained a dubious eye on Angelique. "But she's…different, somehow, every time I see her. I mean…what is she, some sort of chameleon or something?"

At a loss as to how to answer this, Leslie stared at him with her mouth open as if to speak. Fortuitously, someone called out her name and she again wheeled around to find the owner of the voice. "I'm sorry, I think duty calls. Excuse me." She gave him an apologetic, but relieved, smile and plowed through the throngs to check out the problem.

Randall sighed gently and let his attention wander back to Angelique. He knew she was the same frizzy-haired blonde he'd collided with before, but he didn't understand why she kept trying to change herself so thoroughly. Maybe she's one of those multiple-personality types, he thought uneasily. She must've sneaked away from her family and gone off her medication, and now here she is playing every strange role that pops into her head. I don't know…Leslie didn't seem willing to explain it, and I bet Mr. Roarke won't either. But if she really is a multiple personality, then why would they hide it? This question confounded him to the point that he gave up and decided he might as well hit the casino. The way Aunt Beryl felt about gambling, she'd never come within a hundred feet of the place, so he ought to be safe there. But on his way out, he couldn't keep from casting one last glance over his shoulder at Angelique.

On stage, Angelique was getting quite a charge out of the amazingly supple movements she was making. It actually felt good to let her hair down for a change and be an entirely different person; there were a lot of admiring men in the audience, although she'd noticed some pretty dirty looks from some of the women in attendance. Well, it wasn't as if she was going to be this way forever. She lost herself in the fantasy and danced till the music faded into thunderous cheering. With a languid smile, she departed the stage.

"You're asking for trouble, lady, dancing like that," snapped a pretty young woman in the front row. "And I'll come give it to you if you don't watch out."

Angelique eyed her. "Hey, the stage is free if you want to get up there and impress your guy, honey," she drawled, letting her eyebrows pop up meaningfully for a second before lowering them again and strolling towards the ladies' room. What she needed was…

…a slap upside the head! Inside a stall, Annie wilted against the closed door and stared unseeingly at the wall across from her, astonished not just at her own boldness with all that dancing, but at the fact that she'd actually thought of a snappy comeback for that woman who'd heckled her. Despite her own amazement at this, the most uninhibited yet of all the personalities she'd dreamed up, she was filled with a heady sense of accomplishment, as if she'd managed to set herself free, even just for a little while. No one was around to give her the slap that might have restored her senses, so she settled for splashing her face with water at a sink, patting herself dry and slinking out of the nightclub unheeded.

The gentle breeze helped cool her down as she headed back to her bungalow, and she was looking forward to a good night's sleep. But a mere five minutes after she'd arrived and changed into her comfy old sleep shirt, there was a knock on the door, and a man's voice called, "Anne-Marie? I brought some goodies!"

Annie froze and her eyes popped wide with shock. It was Greg! She thought about ignoring him, but the knocking came again and she knew it wouldn't work, since she had turned on some lamps and they were visible from outside. And in the end, she just didn't have the guts to do that to the poor guy. She drew in a few deep breaths and called up the image of the bronzed blonde goddess she'd imagined into existence earlier that day. Anne-Marie will know exactly how to handle good old Greg. We'll just have some champagne and talk awhile, and then… Once more the opal gleamed red fire.

…Cautiously she opened her eyes and noticed she was now clad in a red satin teddy. She smiled, a little nervous in spite of everything, and sashayed out to the main room, where she finally answered the door. "Hello, Greg," she purred.

His smile threatened to split his lower jaw right off his face. "Hiya, gorgeous," he said and stepped in, brushing up against her as he did so. "I brought champagne…best I could afford. Hey, nice digs you got here."

"Of course," Anne-Marie murmured, following him into the main room several paces behind. "Shall we order dinner?"

"Nah, I'm not hungry. Not for food, anyway." Greg leered at her, and she sighed and stopped where she was.

"We only just met," Anne-Marie informed him. She could hear Annie's primness in her voice. "I like to know something about the men I meet."

Greg actually rolled his eyes. "Aw, baby, c'mon. This wasn't meant to be a marriage proposal, just a nice little get-together, one on one. Who needs names for that?"

"I do," Anne-Marie said, gathering herself together as best she could. "After all, how would you know whose name to call out at a strategic moment?"

Greg considered that, then grinned. "Ya know, babe, you got a point there," he said. "Thing is, we already know each other's names. What more do we need?" He put down the champagne bottle, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Anne-Marie relaxed, surprised to find that it felt quite nice. She could get used to this…

…then the kiss turned into something Annie was nowhere near ready for, and the daydream crumbled to ashes as she began to struggle in his arms. Greg released her and stepped back, then gawked at her in disbelief. Annie could see all sorts of emotions in his face: shock, annoyance, even fear. His jaw worked back and forth for a moment before he found his voice and croaked, "You sure as hell aren't Anne-Marie!"

"No, I'm not," Annie managed, even more frightened of him than he was of her inexplicable transformation. "Don't hurt me, okay? Please?" Already she was backing towards the bedroom, too scared to think clearly.

"Lady, I don't even want to touch you!" Greg blurted and fled the bungalow, leaving the door wide open behind him. Annie watched, breathing heavily from fright. As soon as he was gone she ran for the door and slammed it, locking it carefully and then sliding down it till she landed on the floor, wide-eyed and panting. "No more Anne-Marie," she decided. "The sort of men she attracts are just too much for mousy little Annie Johnston to deal with." She swallowed and concentrated on getting her breath back.

Eventually she calmed down enough to notice that Greg had left his champagne bottle sitting on the coffee table. "Well, would you look at that," Annie said to herself and began to giggle. She sat on the floor and laughed till she cried, then finally picked herself up and ventured cautiously onto the little front porch. Her gaze drifted upward and she soaked in the night, admiring the stars and listening to the strange mournful bird call that she had never heard before—a triple rising two-part note, then two falling laments and a final shuddering moan. It was melancholy, but pretty to hear, and she stood for some time taking it in. A shooting star flashed across the black sky and she gasped softly, enchanted.

"Pretty night, huh?" asked someone then, and she jumped a foot, grabbing the railing. Once she'd registered the identity of the newcomer, she sagged with relief. It was just Randall, the guy she'd crashed into that afternoon.

"Yeah," she said, grinning foolishly.

"Sorry to scare you like that," said Randall, sounding more puzzled than anything else, edging closer to the porch steps. "You okay?"

Annie nodded quickly. "I'm just fine," she said, wishing she had enough presence of mind to make halfway intelligent conversation. Snappy repartee would flow instantly to mind and there'd be a delightful discourse on all sorts of things… The opal glowed gently in the darkness.

…"So tell me, Randall, where do you come from?" Annette asked curiously. "I'm from Silver Spring, Maryland, myself. It's a nice place, but I kind of needed a change of pace."

Randall chuckled. "I can imagine that. I needed the same thing. I'm from Mundelein, Illinois…came here with my Aunt Beryl, actually."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you to bring your aunt with you!" Annette exclaimed. "What a sweet thing to do. She must be thrilled at being able to come here with you."

Randall shrugged and said, "I don't know. She's been chasing me practically all over the island ever since we got here. I keep having to run away from her."

"My gosh, what for?" Annette asked.

"Aw, she thinks I need a romance," Randall said uncomfortably, rolling his eyes. "If I really wanted a romance, I could easily find one on my own. And it wouldn't be very hard on this island. Matter of fact, I've already found a very interesting candidate." He gave Annette a particular smile that warmed her from head to foot. "But Aunt Beryl has something else in mind, and I can't make her understand."

Annette peered at him wonderingly. "Really? Well, I'm sure she means well. I have a sweet old great-aunt who sends me the cutest dolls for my birthday every year. It'd be nice, but they're not collectibles—they're baby dolls. She's about 92 and as far as I can tell, she thinks I'm still seven years old." Randall's chuckle died too quickly in the face of her bright, hearty laugh. "But that's a minor thing, compared to having someone meddling in your love life, I'm sure. There are times when I almost wish someone would meddle in mine, just in case they find a nice guy I might have overlooked somehow…but then, well, I met you, and you're the nicest guy I've met here so far. Say, Randall, I've got some champagne inside. Do you think you'd like a glass? We could sit out here and watch the stars and listen to that poor bird, and just chat."

Randall, looking intimidated, backpedaled several steps when she mentioned the champagne. "Oh, wow, uh…I think I'll pass…but thanks anyway."

"It was nice talking with you. I hope we'll see each other tomorrow," Annette called after him. "Well…good night…I guess I'll…"

"…shut my big fat mouth now," Annie muttered, disgusted, watching Randall break into a jog and be swallowed by the night. "Geez, what was all that? All I wanted to do was make some coherent conversation, and I turn into freaking Chatty Cathy…or in my case, Annunciating Annette!" Exasperated, she threw her hands into the air. "With my luck, once I fall asleep I'll dream I'm some kind of stripper or something and wake up in some seedy bar, taking off my clothes for a bunch of boozed-up losers." Grumpily she retreated into the bungalow, put the champagne bottle into the little refrigerator that sat beside the sofa, turned out the lights and went to bed, trying to battle the uneasy feeling that her fantasy was beginning to get in the way of the nearest thing she'd ever had to a love life.