§ § § -- March 4, 2006

About five minutes till three, Christian joined a couple of other people who were standing on the edge of the clearing, uncertainly watching the natives whose regular job this was as they swiftly set up buffets and low tables for guests to eat at. Off to one side, the plane-dock band had started rehearsing, and discordant ukulele notes twinkled through the air, occasionally punctuated by a pass on a slide guitar and bursts of laughter, and accented with a lot of chatter.

He was quite surprised to see that neither of his companions was a native; one was a young blonde woman, a little overweight and clad in sweats with the sleeves and pant legs rolled up, apparently college age, while the other was the African-American man he had seen at the bus stop that morning. They both smiled a greeting at Christian, and he smiled back with some relief and joined them, glad to know he wasn't the only one unsure of his role in this well-oiled operation. "Hello," he greeted them.

"Hi," they responded, and the man added, "Are you one of the new workers?"

Christian nodded. "Just for this evening," he said.

"Us too," said the man and offered a hand. "Darius Langford."

"Christian Enstad," Christian replied, shaking hands and smiling. Darius Langford seemed a very friendly sort, and he warmed to the man immediately. "You're not from this island, are you?"

Darius laughed. "No, wish I could say I was, but I'm originally from western New York, USA. How about you?"

"Lilla Jordsö," Christian said, making Darius and the woman look at each other in surprise. He smiled a little; everyone seemed to be impressed by his origins somehow, whereas in his own life no one seemed to notice anymore. That's my influence, he realized, and missed his real life all of a sudden with a strength that startled him.

"Boy, you must've really been wandering," remarked the young woman and in turn held out her hand to him. "I'm Nicole Dalton, from Channel-Port aux Basques in Newfoundland, Canada."

Christian laughed as he shook hands with her. "You've done some wandering yourself!" he remarked.

"Yup," Nicole agreed cheerfully. "What brings you guys out here? I'm taking sort of a break before my last year of college—trying to quiet down my traveling foot before I have to stay in one place again for a while. I just pick up odd jobs wherever I go to get me to my next destination."

"Gutsy," commented Darius. "Me, I just got discharged from the Air Force. My hitch was up and I decided to get out. My last station was Coral Island, and they offered to fly me back to New York, but I thought I'd take my chances on Fantasy Island, just in case something was actually open here. I've been job-hunting all day." He shook his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of the jeans he currently wore. "I don't think I could go back to those Lake Erie snows anymore. I grew up around Buffalo, New York, and you talk about snow…one of the worst places in the country for the stuff."

"I'm sure I can imagine what you mean," Christian agreed. "We have plenty of snow in Lilla Jordsö as well."

"We get our share in Newfoundland," Nicole added. "So I guess we're all snow bunnies looking for a break. What'd you do in Lilla Jordsö, Christian?"

Unaccustomed to being addressed so casually by someone he'd just met, Christian had to choke back a pointed reminder to be referred to as "Your Highness" or at least "Mr. Enstad" before he said anything. "I worked with computers."

Darius and Nicole nodded. "Laid off, huh?" Nicole guessed, and Christian let her hold the assumption. It was easier than trying to make up something. "Sorry to hear it. But if you had enough capital and you could talk Mr. Roarke into it, maybe you could go into business right here. They're not as behind the times as those brochures pretend they are."

"Travel brochures lie to a certain extent," Darius said. "You get all the pictures of rustic natives living like they did in the olden days, but you come here and you've got all the amenities—Jacuzzis and free Internet access and high-def TV. This place isn't the least bit primitive. Darn good thing too—used to come over here a lot to send postcards to the family and make them think I was taking regular vacations here. Never did get more than a three-day pass, and that was enough to make me want to stay here permanently."

Christian chuckled. "It's certainly a beautiful place, but I understand it's quite difficult to take up residence here. Apparently you either need to marry an islander, or you have to be a member of some endangered species."

"Geez, you mean I have to be a passenger pigeon to come here?" Nicole complained.

"He said 'endangered', not 'extinct',' Darius teased her, grinning. "Pay attention there, college girl. Well, what the heck, I'll try my luck anyway."

Just then they were approached by Kazuo Miyamoto, who carried lengths of colorful cloth draped over one arm. "Are you the temp workers for the evening?" The threesome nodded and gave him their names; Christian restrained a gentle sigh when Kazuo evinced no recognition whatsoever upon hearing his. "Okay, good. You'll all be serving tonight—taking trays of fruit or hors d'oeuvres around to the guests here. You'll have to load up the trays yourselves and make the rounds, and no sampling, no matter how hungry you get. We serve supper at the hotel so you can resist temptation." He grinned, and suddenly he was the Kazuo Christian called friend; he, Darius and Nicole chuckled. "Oh, and by the way, you'll have to wear these. You can change after supper at the hotel." He plucked lengths of cloth off his arm and handed each of them one.

Nicole's eyes widened as she shook hers out. "Wow, I sure hope I can fit in this."

Christian and Darius unfolded theirs and stared at the skirtlike loincloths they found themselves holding. They looked at each other, but neither said anything till Kazuo had let them go with a reminder to report to the hotel by four-thirty. Then Darius scowled. "He can't be serious, man. We really gotta wear these things?"

Christian examined his doubtfully. "I have to agree with you there."

Nicole giggled. "Oh, come on, you two can't really be self-conscious about this. I can tell you've both got the physique to pull it off." She ruefully gazed at the sarong-like wrap that dangled from her fingers. "Wish I could say the same for me."

"What're you worried about? You'll be more covered than we will!" Darius griped, shaking his head. "Man, they could've told us about this before we applied for the job."

Christian peered at him and inquired curiously, "How desperate are you for a little ready cash, anyway?"

"Not this desperate," Darius said forcefully. "I don't care how hot it is, this just isn't my style. Maybe I'd better try someplace else."

Nicole eyed him with a taunting look that Christian could see was primarily good-natured, the teasing sort of expression that came with friendship. "Welching out on your first civilian job already, are you, Langford? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were chicken. Come to think of it, I don't know you all that well, so maybe you are."

Darius froze where he stood and then gave her a look that should have melted her into a puddle of slag right there on the spot. "I'll show you chicken, college girl." Then he looked at Christian and winked. "Who knows, man, maybe our sleek physiques might snag us a couple of beauteous native girls who can give us our green cards to this place."

Reluctantly Christian joined in Darius' chuckles, his merriment a little strained. The only woman here he was interested in was Leslie, and until this fantasy ended, she was off-limits. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Do you have any idea how to put one of these things on?"

That stopped Darius again, and he looked slowly up at Christian, his dark eyes wide with realization. "Hell no, man. Never thought of that."

Nicole burst out laughing. "You'll have to get somebody to show you!"

"I hope we can wear briefs under these things," Christian grumbled, and Darius nodded emphatic agreement while Nicole laughed even harder. Christian turned his back on Nicole and contemplated the evening ahead, wishing uselessly that he'd had the good sense to be grateful for the hand he'd been dealt at birth.

‡ ‡ ‡

Christian was positive his entire body was redder than the famous Fantasy Island sunsets. Never in his life had he worn so little clothing in public. His entire torso from the waist up was bare, and the "skirt" of his loincloth reached only halfway to his knees. He was barefoot atop that—keeping up the appearance of the shoeless, loosely clad Polynesian native. No one in Lilla Jordsö who wasn't closely related to him had ever seen him even shirtless. He felt only a little better when he came upon Darius, standing in the path just beyond sight of those in the clearing, clad in his loincloth and staring apprehensively at the milling crowd. He apparently heard Christian come up behind him, for he turned around and asked plaintively, "Do I really have to go in there, man?"

Christian shrugged resignedly. "We agreed to do this. We might as well go ahead and get it over with. Although to tell you the truth, I'm sure I'll be the laughingstock of this entire luau. I don't look the slightest bit Polynesian."

Darius scowled at him. "Neither do I, you know. This wasn't my idea of a great job in paradise. Thought it was, till the chef said we had to wear these damn things."

Christian studied him, smiled ever so slightly and then said, "Shall we toss a coin to see who goes in there first?"

Darius muttered a swear word. "Haven't got one. There aren't any pockets in this stupid thing." Christian burst out laughing, and Darius finally cracked a grin. "Oh, all right, okay. Might as well do it together. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Christian murmured, and the two men exchanged one last look and stepped into the clearing side by side. No one seemed to take much notice of them, to their surprise and cautious relief, so they sidled over to the buffet, collected their trays and a pair of tongs apiece, and swiftly filled the trays with fruit and other little delicacies.

Nicole appeared then, easily hefting a tray of small glasses full of decoctions in every color of the rainbow. She let out a wolf whistle. "I knew you guys'd look yummy in those! You won't be able to keep the women off you."

Darius paused to point his tongs at her. "Look, college girl, I'm doin' this because I need a few bucks for bus and ferry tickets, and I'm not putting up with you and your sassy remarks. You got me? And something tells me Christian here'll deck you one, female or not, if you let one more wisecrack pass those smart lips of yours."

Nicole rolled her eyes. "Is that how your mother raised you to accept compliments?"

"That's your idea of a compliment? Buzz off, woman," Darius warned, threatening to throw a coconut hull at her. Nicole snickered, winked and vanished into the crowd.

As Darius and Christian began to circulate, they both got more than a few admiring looks from women both single and married. They compared notes the first time they met in their travels, and discovered to their surprise that it wasn't really so bad after all. After their first bout of self-consciousness, they started to enjoy themselves. Darius, Christian noticed, began to respond to some of the looks he was getting; but he couldn't bring himself to follow suit. It wasn't long before he began to repeatedly catch himself trying to locate Leslie in the throngs of people. Was it his imagination, or was the luau crowd thicker than usual this evening? He kept his professional royal smile plastered to his face and managed to pay at least half his attention to the people he was serving food to, but over and over again his eyes kept straying away, scanning heads, searching for Leslie.

"You didn't," said a familiar voice behind him suddenly, tinged with astonished amusement. He groaned silently, closed his eyes and counted to five in jordiska, and turned to face Roarke, who was staring at him. "No, it seems you did. Congratulations, Christian."

"For what? Baring most of my body in public?" Christian retorted. "Mr. Roarke, I'll have you know, I've never shown this much of myself to anyone outside my immediate family. And no, it has nothing to do with overblown modesty or royal protocol. Most of the year it's just too damned cold in Lilla Jordsö to dress this lightly."

Roarke laughed. "It took courage for you to take this step," he said encouragingly, "and you're doing a fine job. In fact, Chef Miyamoto himself stopped me long enough to tell me he was glad Leslie had sent you his way, that you're doing a commendable job."

"Ach," Christian grunted scornfully, "it doesn't take much effort. Just walk around balancing a tray and let people pick whatever they want off it. As long as no one steps on my feet, I should survive the evening essentially unscathed. Speaking of Leslie, is she here this evening?"

"She is likely to come later on, when there aren't as many people," Roarke said. "But it seems to me an exercise in futility. Why would you be so eager to see her when you're well aware she has no idea who you really are?"

Christian hesitated before replying, wondering what his father-in-law would think if he knew Christian's true hopes. After a moment the prince said slowly, "I've been thinking about it, and I feel much as I did the first time I met you and Leslie, when she and I were getting to know each other and becoming friends, and falling in love. Perhaps…perhaps I was hoping that history would repeat itself."

"That you would find the magic again?" Roarke prompted gently.

Christian nodded. "Perhaps it's too much to hope for, especially in light of that scolding you gave me earlier today. But I can't help myself."

Roarke smiled a little with understanding. "Don't be discouraged if she decides not to come," he advised. "Surely you can get along for one weekend without her."

Christian regarded him, then shook his head a little, as if in pity. "How long has it been since you were in love?" he asked.

"Not as long as you think, my dear Christian," Roarke told him, with just the slightest hint of an old ache in his voice. But he smiled again, just that little bit, enough to warm his dark eyes. "If I can manage, surely you can as well." He patted Christian's bare shoulder. "Good luck." With that, he left.

"Didn't know you knew Mr. Roarke," remarked Darius, pulling up alongside him then. "Guess you got connections."

"Ah, he was only checking to see how I was doing," said Christian, trying to sound dismissive. "So what of you, then? Has any one woman caught your interest yet, or are you still sampling all of them?"

Darius grinned. "There's a whole island full of pretty ladies to choose from," he said with relish, "and one way or another I'm gonna check 'em all out before I even think about making any choices. I got a few finalists, though." He winked, and Christian laughed again before resuming his circuits through knots of people. It seemed he and Darius could have been friends, if they had known each other in his real life. He thought about asking Roarke a question to that end, then sighed quietly and tucked the idea away. He had enough to worry about just getting himself through the weekend.

§ § § -- March 5, 2006

Christian woke by slow degrees, trying to cling to a dream in which he and Leslie were about to make love on the beach. When sleep finally, inevitably, deserted him for good, he realized he was too aroused to get up without discomfort, and lay there for a few minutes thinking with some dread of the day ahead of him. He supposed he could take the coward's way out and hole up in the bungalow all day long, but sooner or later Roarke would come looking for him and read him another riot act. All he needed was to be lectured again, like a recalcitrant child.

He hadn't seen Leslie at the luau at all the previous evening, which had mildly depressed him and most likely led to the dream from which he'd just awakened. He had no idea whether it had been her independent choice not to come, or if Roarke had for some reason told her he was there and she'd decided to avoid the luau due to that, or if he simply had managed to miss catching sight of her even though she'd been there. When he grew aware that these three theories were merely chasing each other around his brain, he grunted a disgusted curse at himself and got out of bed to take a shower.

He'd been up late the previous night till past one in the morning, helping to put away the remaining food and washing all the trays, plates and cutlery; fortunately he and Darius had been allowed to put their street clothes back on before they pitched in with this, making both of them feel much better. Darius had been in a much better mood than he'd started out with, cracking jokes throughout the cleanup detail and making everyone laugh so that the whole operation was much more fun. Kazuo had praised both of them, paid them in cash and sent them on their way with the hope that they'd come back for future luaus. Christian had merely smiled; Darius had actually agreed to consider it.

Now that he had enough money to get a decent breakfast, Christian headed for the hotel and indulged in the nearest thing they had available to the sort of breakfast he had grown up with, which was surprisingly close—open-faced sandwiches, a bowl of hot cereal, and toast accompanied with lingonberry jam imported from Scandinavia. Thus fortified, he settled back and drank a second cup of coffee at leisure, watching the waiters come and go and trying for the first time ever to picture himself doing such a job. Waiting tables, he knew, was the sort of job most folks took for granted, unless they were doing it for a living. It was a cliché, a job considered decidedly menial, something aspiring actors did while they were waiting for their big break, or harried single mothers did in a desperate attempt to keep their kids in clothing and food and under a roof. At one point he recognized Nicole Dalton and smiled when she caught his eye and veered over to his table. "Hi, Christian," she greeted him cheerfully, shoving her order pad into a pocket.

"Good morning," he responded, still ill at ease with such informality. "I see you've taken up a new profession."

"Yeah." Nicole grinned and rested a hand on the back of a chair, then leaned her weight on it. "Paradise or not, I gotta work so I can earn enough money to get to the next place on my list."

"Which is where?" asked Christian with interest.

"Ultimately New Zealand, but I'm probably gonna have to either do the old hop-skip-and-jump across Oceania, or try my luck aboard a freighter going that way. Either way it'll be slow going, but what the heck, I still have my trusty camera and backpack. As long as I can earn money for passage and film, I figure the rest'll take care of itself. And I'll have a terrific scrapbook to show my kids and grandkids someday." She grinned again. "I can't wait. If I get lucky, I might get there before summer ends and I can have some decent weather to get a look around before their winter sets in. It'll be my first trip below the equator. Probably my last, too, so I plan to make it good."

"You're very fortunate," Christian noted.

"I'm making my own luck," Nicole said firmly. "I wanted to travel, so I dreamed up the best way to do that that would fit my budget and my plans and my dreams. I've hardly even gotten started. I still have to get to Australia, and Japan, and India, and on through to Europe. If I'm really lucky I'm going to shoot for South Africa too and try to see a couple other places on that continent. Yeah, I definitely want to see the world."

Christian chuckled, remembering himself at that age. He too had wanted to see the world, and hadn't gotten outside Europe till a trip he'd taken to the United States with Carl Johan, Amalia and his parents. Of course, only a few years later, he was sick beyond death of traveling, but maybe that had had something to do with the capacity in which he'd done that traveling. He had never been just a tourist, not till he'd come here, met Leslie and gone sightseeing with her around the island. That old envy of the common, ordinary man reared its head all over again, and he regarded Nicole thoughtfully. "I wish you luck. It must be nice to simply choose your destination, and the means of getting there, and the places you want to see while you're there. No business, just pleasure."

"Heck no, there's plenty of business. You kidding me? Sure, I can get where I want to go, but I have to work my way there. My parents are paying for my college tuition, but that's it. They told me anything else I wanted was my responsibility. I've been working since I finished high school. Never would've gotten anything but the absolute bare-bones necessities otherwise, you know? My parents aren't misers, but we're not rich. We're solid middle-class working-man types. Some one of these days I'm gonna pay them back. I mean, they've raised me and my brothers and sisters on practically a shoestring, and I'm going to make sure they get to take it easy when they finally retire." Nicole straightened and glanced around the dining room, then smiled. "Sorry to cut and run, but I'd better get back to work so I can earn my pay."

"That's all right," Christian said, still processing her words. "Thanks for stopping by to talk with me."

"Thanks for hearing me out," Nicole said. "And hey, Christian, whatever you do, good luck, huh?" She tossed a quick wave at him and flitted off.

Christian tipped back the last of his coffee, then arose, left a tip on the table and settled the bill at the door. It was pretty clear that Nicole had a long-term goal and was making steady headway toward achieving that goal. She wasn't someone he needed to worry about. His thoughts turned to Darius; what was he doing this morning? It surprised Christian to realize he was truly concerned for the former military man. He hadn't known him even a full day, and already he was hoping to extend—perhaps to keep—his newfound friendship with him. If and when he saw Roarke again, he planned to mention it.

Strolling slowly along the Ring Road in the general direction of town, he heard the sound of a jeep coming up behind him and automatically moved to the side of the road to let it pass. Instead it slowed and stopped beside him. "Mr. Enstad, was it?" asked Leslie.

He stared at her, the yearning leaping to life within him. "Yes," he said, feeling oddly prickly for no good reason at all. "Miss Hamilton, I think it was?"

She tipped her head curiously at him. "You can call me Leslie if you want," she offered.

How magnanimous, Christian thought before squelching himself. She didn't know; after all, assistant or not, Roarke had seen to it that she was just as affected by this damned fantasy of his as the entire rest of the island. "Thank you," he said without using her name. "What made you stop to speak to me?"

"Just wanted to be sure you're doing all right," said Leslie. "Father told me last night that he saw you at the luau and you were doing a really great job."

"Weren't you there?" he asked, his heart sinking.

She smiled. "Unfortunately I had a lot of stuff to do. I'd have gone otherwise. I got word back that you looked pretty good in that loincloth."

Her remark, on the heels of yesterday's meeting in which she had been carefully and pointedly impersonal, made him blink at her in disbelief. "Oh?"

She chuckled. "I have to admit I'm sorry I missed it. Anyway, wherever you're going, I can give you a lift if you want. I have to get down to the other end of the island and make sure one of our guests survived the highlights of his fantasy last night."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about said fantasy, but he knew Leslie wouldn't tell him; according to Roarke's rules, she didn't discuss guests' fantasies with anyone outside her family or their circle of close friends. For this weekend at least, he was no longer in that category. So he said only, "I hope it went well for him, then. I really didn't have a destination in mind, unless you can tell me where I could find Darius Langford."

Leslie peered at him blankly. "Darius Langford?"

Christian nodded. "He was another of the temporary workers at the luau last night. I thought I'd see how he's doing."

Leslie considered it a moment. "Well, I don't know about that, but if you're willing to tell me about him, I could help you find him. Hop in."

When it came right down to it, Christian could no more resist this chance to spend time with her than he could have turned his back on a computer in need of repair. He finally smiled back at her and agreed, climbing into the passenger seat beside her. She sent the jeep ahead, glancing at him. "So…Darius Langford?"

Christian recounted what Darius had said yesterday about his discharge from the Air Force and his decision to seek out employment on Fantasy Island instead of returning home to New York. "He told us he's from Buffalo, where of course they receive an inordinate amount of snow in the winter, and he'd prefer to avoid that if he can."

Leslie laughed. "I guess I can understand that to some extent. Well, if he's staying here on the island, chances are he's got a room at the hotel. If he was discharged just a few days ago, though, it's possible he still goes back and forth between here and Coral Island, to figure out what to do with his things while he moves out of base housing."

Christian stared at her in surprise. "He'd have to do that?"

"Of course," said Leslie, glancing oddly at him. "You didn't know?"

"No," he admitted reluctantly, realizing he was learning more about the common, ordinary man than he'd ever dreamed he would.

"My gosh, either you were really sheltered back in Lilla Jordsö, or else they don't have any military there," she commented lightly. "Yeah, I've heard that the transition from military to civilian life can be a dicey process. Some have no problem at all, others have a really hard time. Listen, if you really want to track down this guy, your best bet at the moment would probably be to start with the ferry between here and Coral Island. I don't know if he's going to make a success out of replanting his life here, though. Unless he has a truly unique situation, it's a pretty good bet he'll ultimately have to go back to Buffalo. My father has very strict and difficult immigration rules in place. If your friend can find a job here, he'll have a foot in the door at least, but that doesn't guarantee anything."

Christian only made a noise, well aware of Roarke's immigration rules, since he himself had been subject to them. "Of course, if he married an islander, that would raise his chances of getting in," he said, mostly as a reminder to himself.

"Yeah…" Leslie paused and eyed him sidewise. "You think he's planning to do that?"

Christian laughed. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. He was certainly ogling the girls last evening, but no more than they ogled him." Leslie laughed too, and he relaxed; it felt almost like their usual, everyday married-couple banter. "I just thought I'd catch up with him and find out what his plans are, that's really all." He had the germ of an idea in his mind, but it was contingent on whether Darius Langford was only part of this fantasy, and he didn't want to give it voice till he knew.

She sped up once they were out of town, but a few miles down the road they passed the island shuttle bus, and Christian scanned it as best he could. "See him?" Leslie asked.

"No, I couldn't tell," Christian admitted. He shrugged and settled back in his seat. "I suppose I'll see him in town later."

Leslie slowed and, with a few swift gear-shifts, turned the jeep around right there in the road. "Look, why don't I go ahead and drop you off in town, then. I'm sure you don't want to hang around with me while I'm working."

Christian looked at her askance. That statement could mean almost anything. Was it perhaps a veiled invitation to hang out with her when she wasn't working? Was it just a casual dismissal, spoken without thinking? He decided he was better off not questioning it; he didn't think he could handle a repeat of Leslie's I'm-not-interested act. All he said in the end was, "Thank you, and I'm sorry to put you out of your way."

"Hey, we're here for our guests," said Leslie. "That's the whole reason for this resort's existence. When you see your friend, tell him I wish him good luck."

"I will," he agreed, and slipped out of the jeep when she stopped at the edge of town. "Thanks again, Miss Hamilton."

She peered at him, frozen in the act of preparing to turn the jeep back around. "You don't have to be so formal," she said.

He sighed quietly and finally gave up, laying it on the line. "Forgive me, but I don't want another misunderstanding like yesterday's." She blinked and bit her lip, and he tried to smile, softening his voice but still hearing the note of hurt in it. "You made it fairly clear that you wanted space between us, despite my interest. Perhaps it's better we leave things as they stand. I expect Mr. Roarke would agree wholeheartedly. Anyway, thank you again for the ride, and I hope you have a good day."

"You too," she murmured, and he smiled and started toward the square. But it took all he had not to look back even once, and he couldn't keep from listening for the roar of the engine—which didn't come for several moments, till he'd gotten halfway across the western side of the square. Only when the sound began to fade away did he finally look over his shoulder and wish Roarke hadn't felt the need to split him and Leslie up for the weekend.