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The Moon’s Beloved, Purest Rose of Waikiki

By Isabeau Saberhagen © 8-27-2006

“The ivory beaches and the sliver moon envy you my rose.”

A woman silhouetted against a full moon stands on the beach of Waikiki.

“Your scent is that of a thousand Caribbean nights drenched in the orb’s light, when the waves kiss their beloved shores.”

She wears a black corduroy suit jacket and knee high black leather boots.

“The proud cliffs and majestic palms are jealous of you, my rose.”

Her hair is cropped short with long bangs, and black gloves cover her hands.

“Your skin is paler than a lady’s ghost, your hair softer than a butterfly’s wing beat.”

Her face is turned towards the moon, her pale grey eyes glazed over in love and lust.

“The mighty, regal volcano; Pele herself loves you my rose.”

In her left hand is a bird of paradise, with red petals so dark they are almost black.

“You and only you can be the rose of paradise. But there are others my poor, lovely rose.”

In her right hand is a katana (Japanese sword) and a crystal vile filled with clear liquid.

“There are others that want to be the blossom of the island. Compared to you, the demi-god of justice; the true incarnation of Venus, they are nothing. You are the only true virgin left. Whole and proud, needing no one to lift you, all will worship you soon. Your true light will shine stronger than Helios; you will become the unattainable perfection of humanity. All of us have run our course, for all we have done was but to create and empower you. Now the final strokes will fall, and you my beloved beautiful rose will attain all that you could ever desire.”

*****

“What the?”

A simple trip to the drugstore had suddenly become a huge boost of ego. Steve McGarrett was only picking up some aspirin while on lunch break when he spotted a very stirring drawing of himself on the cover of a new women’s magazine.

The cover proclaimed him ‘The Purest Rose of Waikiki’. He’d landed ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ in other magazines, but this…this. The magazine was called ‘The Woman’s World’. McGarrett didn’t usually pay attention to this kind of thing but he couldn’t resist peeking inside. He found the author of the article to be unusually verbose, but that turned out to be quite refreshing. He found himself savoring her eloquent and graceful writing style. She was obviously a very learned woman, versed in classical literature and quite talented in stringing her words and sentences together into a cohesive whole that made for a very enjoyable read. 

“She’s wonderful, isn’t she?” said the storeowner from the cash register.

McGarrett nearly jumped out of his socks but managed to hide most of it.

“Yes, she certainly is.”

“Most people don’t like her. They think her writing is too hard to read.”

“Well most people don’t read nearly enough Shakespeare these days. I’d be surprised to find an average person whose actually read Romeo and Juliet.”

The owner nodded sagely as she typed in the aspirin. 

“Getting that?” she pointed to the magazines.

McGarrett looked at it for a moment.

“What the hell.”

He handed to her.

“She’s an artist too you know.”

“You mean the author?”

The owner nodded.

“Yep, she drew that portrait on the front. She’s pretty famous in the art community for her drawing and sculpture. I’ve heard her called a new Michelangelo. She’s even got Broadway producers groveling at her feet for her plays. You heard of the dance production ‘Sakura Tree’?”

“Seen it.”

“She’s the genius behind it. She’s really picky though. She’s yet to actually let one of her plays be turned into a Broadway musical.”

“Really? She’d make a killing of it.”

“Yeah, but she’s never liked musicals. She’s of the opinion musicals are just a cheap way for modern folks to see a classic play without making themselves think to hard.”

“Really?”

McGarrett shook his head. This one had been sounding so promising.

The owner rang up the two items; McGarrett paid her and went on his way. He got into his car and sat for a moment taking another look at the article. This time he felt like he could almost taste the words on the page. The way this lady wrote was so elegant and formal, and yet so…so sensual.

As he read on something stirred in him, something he’d locked away for quite awhile. For a moment he forgot about everything and visions of white sheets in moonlight, the scent of orchids and perfume, and the luscious words of a woman whispered in his ear bombarded his mind’s eye.

He emerged a few minutes later a little dazed and fully aroused.

“Holy moly.”

He tossed the magazine onto the seat, slammed the door shut and gripped the steering wheel. 

“Okay Steve, calm down. You haven’t done anything in awhile and it is starting to take a toll. Ohhhhhhh boy that lady can write!”

He rubbed the wheel and rocked back and forth thinking about ice water and anything else that might turn him off. It wasn’t working too well.

He took deep breathes and blew them out slowly. As the heat that had invaded his body started to subside, he vowed to find that woman and work out some of this pent up steam, among other, more wholesome things.

One last deep breathe and he was pretty much normal. He glanced at the magazine only once more to get that lady’s name.

“Lucia Cornwallis, what have you done to me?”

At long last McGarrett put the key in the ignition and revved the engine. He pulled out of the parking lot and assimilated with the traffic heading back to downtown.

*****

In between work, sleep and all other acts vital to life, McGarrett dug up all the information he could on Lucia. She had an English father and a Parisian mother but was American born. From her writing he gathered she was force fed British and French literature from and early age, along with classic Greek and Roman works, world mythology, all areas of science and philosophy, and every great work of art that Europe and Asia ever produced.

Her parents must have felt that American culture was going down the drain, and probably vowed to raise children that would refine it again.

However, as far as he could tell Lucia was their only child.

He scoured every source he could find for her art, finally taking a trip to the museum of modern art on one of his rare free days.

Lucia’s work did not belong among the rough wooden carvings and abstract paintings.

Her marble busts appeared as though they would take breathe and speak. Her oil paintings were photographs, almost like the portraits of old. Only instead of capturing a noble lady in her finest gown and jewels, Lucia used the age old techniques to show everyday people in everyday scenes.

There were only two portraits, one on the right showing a man in his prime wearing all the trappings of a high-ranking military officer of 18th century Britain. The one on the left was of a young but not very young woman, dressed in a glorious silver silk gown. The pearls, lace and feathers that occupied more canvas than the lady did screamed French and flamboyant. These were Lucia’s mother and father.

“Quite a gown isn’t it?”

McGarrett whirled around to see a woman with grey eyes and a grey suit standing behind him. She stared at him for moment without saying anything. The longer she looked at him the more he wanted to sink into the floor joists. She was eyeing him like cat trying to decide if he was worth pouncing at. Finally, she took a few steps forward and McGarrett quickly got out from in front of her and concealed a shudder.

The woman turned her gaze to the portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Cornwallis. It was then McGarrett saw that the eyes of this lady and Mr. Cornwallis were exactly the same. His eyes were so grey they almost looked empty and dead, hers were of the same lifeless hue, yet both of them were able to manipulate those eyes to carry as much or as little emotion as they wanted.

The lady carried herself as a noble gentleman; and her profile spoke of centuries of breeding the perfect generation. She was without a doubt Lucia Cornwallis.

“Miss Cornwallis?”

Lucia turned back to him and smiled politely.

“I see there is no hiding myself under my father’s gaze,” She said as she bowed her head.

McGarrett offered his hand.

“Steve McGarrett, pleasure to make you acquaintance.”

Lucia shook it firmly, then her smile widened a bit.

“The infamous head of police, have I broken a law I’m not yet familiar with?”

McGarrett shook his head.

“No dear lady, I’m not on duty; I simply came to see your work.”

“Surely not my work, why come to see my canvas’s and stone when so many other far more prominent modern artists are displayed here too?”

McGarrett closed a bit of the distance between himself and her.

“Because Miss Cornwallis, yours is the only work here whose meaning is clear and powerful. Most modern art hides its meaning behind abstract form and shape. It makes you guess what it means and everyone thinks it means something different. You art does not seek to confuse. It says loud and clear ‘This is what I am, and I am glorious’.”

Lucia looked at him for a moment, then smiled ear to ear and bowed low.

“That is without a doubt the best praise I have ever received, Mr. McGarrett.”

McGarrett took one more step towards her and left only a few inches in between them. Lucia was dwarfed by him, standing only five foot six while he was six foot two. It didn’t quite feel like such a difference with Lucia’s grey eyes locked on his.

“Call me Steve.”

“Very well Steve, you may call me Lucia.”

“Lucia,” he offered his arm, “Will you walk with me?”

“I’d be honored.”

He and Lucia spent the next few hours wandering the halls of the museum, talking of everything and nothing. The more time McGarrett spent with her, the more he began to see something he’d thought he’d lost sight of a long time ago. A lady in a white dress and veil, and a family all his own; he had been sure he’d lost his chance, that the law would be his bride. Not anymore, not while Lucia was around.

McGarrett’s assumptions about her upbringing had been well founded; her parents had drilled honor, art, literature, poise, grace, knowledge, chivalry, and courtesy into her from infant hood. Still they managed to be loving, caring parents that went to extreme lengths to understand their daughter. Even more so since Lucia had no siblings.

Finally they stopped walking and McGarrett asked her something that had been screaming to get out for hours.

“Lucia, would you be so kind as to share a dinner with me tomorrow night?”

She paused and eyed him with an unreadable expression.

“How shall I dress?” she said at last.

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s a new Mexican place that sounds good.”

“Ah, I think you mean Congo Square, and it’s South American, not Mexican.”

As soon as the sentence was out Lucia smacked herself in the head.

“My apologies Steve, it’s a horrible habit I’ve been trying to rid myself of.”

McGarrett smiled and placed two fingers on her lips.

“Its fine, baby.”

He noticed how full Lucia’s lips were, smooth and soft as satin. He felt heat starting to rise in his body again; every cell was being pulled towards her like she was living magnet. He just barely managed to keep himself under control. He bid Lucia farewell with the promise to pick her up at seven and with her address in his pocket.

*****

The next morning McGarrett’s plans were in serious danger of being completely ruined. Tony Alika, the notorious mob boss that Five-0 had been trying to throw behind bars for years had disappeared into thin air. His guards claimed that the previous night he had retired at 10:30 expecting to be woken at six for a business meeting. The call at six came, and Alika was nowhere to be found. There was no blood anywhere, no sign of a struggle, and the sheets indicated that he had sat up in bed and climbed out, but after that, all traces of him vanished.

McGarrett looked at the room, probing every detail. The abduction was almost perfect. There were some footprints on the beach leading to the house and plaster casts were being made but they yielded very little. Che had already mentioned that the shoes were probably grossly big for the person wearing them and it would be impossible to tell the real foot size. Any other marks of the abductor were nowhere to be found, no one saw or heard anything, one man did report feeling a presence pass behind him at about midnight. With next to nothing to go on, McGarrett proceeded to do the only thing he could. He sucked all he did have dry.

Danny sighed heavily as he recounted the timeline the tidbits of evidence reveled.

“Ten thirty Alika goes to bed. Eleven fifty the perp walks up the beach in too big shoes to his size. He also walks in the wave line so most of the prints get washed away. Midnight, one of the men feels someone pass by really quickly, he turns to see what it was, sees nothing and dismisses it as a breeze. A few minutes later the perp arrives in Alika’s bedroom. He hears a sound and gets up, the perp comes up behind and knocks him out. Most likely chloroform, no one heard any sounds from the room. Perp carries him out of the house, avoids the guards and down the beach. Twelve fifteen perp is long gone probably has Alika in a getaway vehicle.”

McGarrett is not at all happy with what he hears.

“So one person just carried this guy off with only footprints left behind? No, no they had to leave something.”

“Steve we are looking as hard as we can; and we just can’t find anything.”

Danny was exasperated and frustrated. He’d wanted to see Alika in jail as bad as his boss, and with no word from the abductor it was likely that Alika was going to be a corpse the next time they saw him. Danny couldn’t help feeling just a little sorry for the guy if he was still alive, even more so he pitied Steve. A lot of his relationships fell through because of his line of work.

Steve had pretty much given up dating recently, and everyone was worried he’d end up alone.

But yesterday he’d called Danny up sounding for all the world like a thirteen year old going on his first date with the prettiest girl in school. Lucia seemed to have awakened his hope again. And Danny did not want for his best friend to miss this chance.

“Say Steve, about your date tonight, why don’t you let us handle this and…”

“Danno no, I am not going to leave you guys with the work load to go chase some skirt.”

“Steve, the way you talking about her yesterday made her sound like a hell of a lot more than some skirt.”

McGarrett nodded, of all things true about Lucia Cornwallis that was most evident. Her burning grey eyes floated back into his head, along with her noble demeanor, marble white skin, thick dark hair, and soft; soft lips. He reeeeeaaaalllyyy wanted to go out with her tonight.

“I can’t.”

Danno threw his head back and groaned.

“When we get back to office I’ll call her tell her what happened and try to reschedule.”

“Steve, you don’t have her number.”

McGarrett froze for a second in pure panic. Lucia had no phone; she didn’t like getting interrupted while working.

“Oh shit.”

He did an about face and flew down the hall towards the front door. Danno tried to chase after him.

“Steve, what the hell are you doing?! Just go on the date!”

McGarrett was already halfway in the car by the time Danno reached the door.

“Save yourself the trouble!”

He screamed after the mercury as it huffed it out of the gate.

*****

Lucia didn’t really hate cities, but she found that the more isolated she was from smog, roaring engines, and bustling crowds the better her work turned out. Not since yesterday however, not since she met Steve. Men like him were rare, and every time she saw one, she always found herself entranced by him.

All of her male models were men very much like McGarrett; intelligent honor bound men whom did not need to exert an ounce of effort to impress women. And all of them were handsome, Princes among commoners, the Adonis’s of the world.

Lucia had been seriously considering the marriage proposal of one, saying she’d give him a strait answer after she returned from Hawaii. She had no intentions of accepting his proposal now.

Today she had been trying to sketch McGarrett’s face from memory. To average eye it would seem the prefect resemblance. Lucia however was dissatisfied. Even meeting him face to face wasn’t enough to capture him. She’d have to work from a live model. Lucia was very much looking forward to that.

A pound on the door sends her back to reality with a vengeance. Lucia growled and made her way to the front entrance, probably that annoying art dealer back to beg for another statue for that creepy Texan again.

She swung the oak door open fully prepared to scare the little man right out of his oily skin.

She scowled at the spot where the dealer’s head usually was, but instead saw a navy blue suit and light blue shirt stretched across a deep chest. Lucia’s scowl dropped like a dead fly as her eyes slowly traveled up, seeing a pair of broad; powerful shoulders perfectly defined by the navy suit, leading to the line of a long neck and another line, the line of a jaw framing the most beautiful face Lucia had the good fortune to lay eyes upon.

McGarrett smiled warmly and locked his sea blue eyes on Lucia’s grey ones.

“Lucia.”

“Yes?”

Suddenly Lucia was having trouble staying on her feet, her legs had turned into Jell-O, and the rest of her was following fast.

McGarrett wasn’t much better. The speech he had thought up on the frantic drive over had just flown out of the back of his head. He tried to keep smiling as he grappled for what to say and/or do. With nothing appropriate that would keep him in her good graces coming to mind panic slowly seeped into him. He was fighting to keep his calm facade while tearing his mind to shreds looking for what to say.

They stared at each other for what seemed to them to be the most awkward eternity in the history of the universe, but was really only about three seconds.

Lucia broke the silence.

“Why don’t you come inside, you’ll bake on the step.”

Lucia was really looking for an excuse to take her eyes off him and sit down, and McGarrett was glad to have the extra time to tell her why he couldn’t go on that date tonight.

With Lucia no longer facing him McGarrett found his voice again.

“Listen Lucia, I’m going to have to cancel that dinner.”

Lucia’s equilibrium shattered. She whirled around with the sweetest look of disappointment on her face McGarrett had ever seen. She resembled a fifth grader being told she couldn’t go to her best friend’s birthday party. Her grey eyes watered and her shoulders drooped. She even slouched a little. Lucia said nothing just stared at him, then turned her eyes to the floor and clasped her hands.

McGarrett was having a hard time keeping the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth down. She looked so cute all he wanted to do sweep her into his arms and give her a big squeeze. The realization that that might just crush her was what kept the impulse at bay.

“Maybe another night?” he offered.

Lucia took a deep breathe and straitened her back, but her hands remained clasped.

“I’m afraid my agenda allows no free time for at least a week. And after that I have to fly to London, one of my paintings is going into the British Royal Museum.”

“So basically it’s tonight or nothing.”

“Not for almost two weeks.”

Lucia’s eyes were on the floor again. She was just cute enough not to be pathetic and just sad enough not to be immature. No way could he say no to her now. He knew he’d probably get scalped for this, but he decided to throw the rules out the window tonight.

“Then today it is.”

Lucia looked up. McGarrett put on his most dashing smile and leaned in a little.

“Still seven?”

Lucia smiled just a bit and nodded. McGarrett turned headed back to the door. The second he was out Lucia blew out her breathe like a deflating balloon. This man had the strangest effect on her, when with other men she would have been the dashing, seductive one she now took on a submissive role around him.

The only thing Lucia hated in her self was any kind of submission. She was sending the wrong signals to this man. She couldn’t act like a Princess and expect him to fall in love with a Prince. Lucia composed herself and walked around to the canvas she had been working on. It showed what seemed like a normal brave Prince Charming shielding his Bride from an evil concealed within a black cloud. But a closer look revealed the Prince to be feminine, and the Bride masculine, a woman Prince rescuing a male Bride and the evil cloud had femme fatale features. It was fight between two women for the hand of one beautiful man, a man who held a startling resemblance to McGarrett.

*****

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