Chapter 5

Napoleon and April were enjoying a quiet evening in their favorite French restaurant.  April seemed relaxed and spoke animatedly about how happy she was for Illya who was visiting Carolyn in Chicago.   Carolyn was a woman the Russian had met a few months ago.  The relationship had started on rocky ground but now the dour Russian had actually seemed to be falling in love with the woman, spending every moment he had with her in her hometown of Chicago. 

Now the soothing sounds of Mozart filled the air as Napoleon regarded his friend.  She had dyed her hair jet black in stark contrast to her pale skin.  Napoleon still had problems accepting the change—it was an indication that he would be losing his friend soon.  April locked eyes with Napoleon and he saw the sadness reflected in her brown eyes. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Solo said quietly.

 “That’s about how I feel.  Napoleon, I can’t even walk like her, let along be like her.  I’m never going to fool anyone, least of all Abrams.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re afraid.”

April looked at Napoleon, stunned for a few seconds.  “Maybe you’re right,” she said somberly.

“Listen.  It’s not too late to back out.  You can tell Waverly to find someone else.”

“I can’t.  It’s hard to explain, but I’ve got to do this one.”

April locked eyes with Napoleon.  “I need for you to take me someplace.”

“Where?” he asked.

“To Vixen’s apartment.  It’s time I confronted my demons.”

Chapter 6

April strode around the large expanse of Vixen’s sunken living room.  It was a penthouse apartment decorated with expensive furnishings and original art work.  April lovingly touched the items in the living room as she spoke.

“Did you know that Vixen’s parents deserted her at an early age.”

“Yes, I believe her father left before she was born and Vixens mother left her when she was a teenager.” Napoleon said.

“She survived the only way she knew how...  By the time she was fifteen, she’d discovered that she could get anything with her looks, so she did.”

April headed to the bedroom, Napoleon following.

The bedroom was decorated in vintage 1940s style from the large king-sized bed decorated in satin and lace to the flowery bedside tables.  Near the window sat a vanity.  Vixen had neatly laid out numerous lipsticks in shades of red along with foundation and blush. The smell of Vixen’s perfume still permeated the air. April examined each item as she spoke.

“Last year, I started working with a man who is an expert in meditation.”

Napoleon took a seat on the bed.  “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.  I did it because… well you remember when Illya was locked behind that wall in the Victorian house.  And then that horrible Thrush plot that almost cost you your life later that year?”

Napoleon visibly shuddered.  “I don’t think I can ever forget it.”

“Well.  I blamed myself for it.  If I had listened to my instincts, things may have gone a little differently.”

Napoleon rose from the bed and took April in his arms.  “You know that’s not true.  If it hadn’t been for you, Illya would have died and I know I couldn’t have survived without you.”

April broke from the embrace, touching Solo’s face.  “You’re sweet for saying that, but I could have done so much more.”  April turned and continued her exploration of the bedroom, finally sitting in a large chair decorated in the same color pattern as the bedspread.

“I went to this Yogi.  He’s an expert in meditation and yoga.  He taught me how to maximize my gift.  Really use it.”  April took a deep breath and continued.  “He taught me how to meditate.  How to see the world as it actually is with all its dimensions.  I can cast my mind back and see the past.  I can see things that are happening now.  My particular gift is called clairvoyance.  I’m still limited and I need to feel a strong emotional bond to the subject.”  April locked eyes with Napoleon who took a seat on the bed.   “I feel that way about Vixen.  She was really alone you know.   People only saw her for what they could get from her.  No one really cared about her for herself.  I can understand that feeling.”

“You know that I love you, don’t you?”  Napoleon asked quickly.

April smiled, “Of course I do.  But I’m talking about the past, Napoleon.  I know I’ve never spoken to you about my parents.  It’s difficult for me to talk about them.   My father is a successful attorney.  I wanted for nothing when I was growing up.  Old money.  

My father was stern with me.  He expected me to be a society lady, get married, have a family.  He didn’t believe that women should be assertive or even have opinions for that matter.  For the most part, I tried to live up to his expectations.  I went to a prestigious women’s college.  When I was twenty, I became engaged to a man from society.  I didn’t love him, but my father deemed him acceptable.  Eventually I realized that I was living my father’s life, not mine, so I broke off the engagement and came to New York.   My father broke all ties with me.  He even refused to let my mother contact me.  I haven’t heard from them in years.”

April closed her eyes as she continued. “I came to realize that my father never loved me.  Not truly.  Love should be unconditional.  His never was.  I was no more that a trophy to him.  Something to be taken out and bragged about.  That is until I wanted to live my own life.”

“I’m sorry, April, I never knew.”

“I wasn’t exactly proud to tell anyone.  It was far easier to pretend they didn’t exist.  But I miss them sometimes.  Around the holidays, especially.”   April paused and the two agents sat in companionable silence for a moment. 

 “He never cared how I supported myself.  Never checked to see how I was doing.  It hurt at first.  And then I felt nothing.”

April paused, her hands moved nervously in her lap.  “The first year was the hardest.  I hadn’t majored in anything that could possibly get me a decent job.  The few jobs I found always ended in the men offering me a better life in return for my favors so I quit.  A few times I was tempted.  I didn’t want to go back home.  I couldn’t go back to that life.  At least becoming a mistress would have allowed me some degree of freedom.  After all, married men still had obligations to their family.”

April locked eyes with Napoleon as she spoke. “And then UNCLE came along and I met you.  But sometimes I wonder…If I hadn’t…If my life had gone differently.  If a few more months had passed…if I hadn’t met my best friend.” 

April looked away.   “I need to become Vixen.  I need to enter her life and feel what she felt.”

“I don’t like it,” Napoleon said.

“It’s the only way.  I’ve read her dossier.  There is so much in her life that reminds me of my life.  No, not the events exactly.  But the feelings.  The constant need for love.  The hopelessness of not finding it.  Crying yourself to sleep at night because you’re such a dismal failure.  Don’t you see? Vixen thought she had found it with Abrams.  He was the only man who didn’t want her for her body.  But it was a lie.  He wanted her to be his entertainment.  He took pleasure in watching her with other men.  Even providing them.  He was the one who made the introductions.  In the end, he used her more than any other man.”

“Coxton must have loved her.” Napoleon said slowly.

 “I’ve listened to Coxton talk about her.  She confided in him in the way women do with their hairdressers sometimes.  I guess he knew her better than anyone.  But love, no. She was his muse, nothing more.  He designed clothes for her.  She put his name on the map.”

Napoleon regarded April silently.  April closed her eyes as if she were picturing Vixen sitting in the room with them.

“My God, Napoleon.  I’ve got to do something for her.” April said quietly.

“But she’s dead.  There’s nothing you can do for her now.”

“I can make sure her life meant something.” April shouted, her eyes blazing.   “I need to see her life now.  I didn’t think  I could before.  I guess Waverly was right.  I was fighting this.  But I’m ready now.  Ready to be her.”

“I don’t like it.  Tell Waverly to find someone else.”

“We could have been twins.  I’m the only one who can do this and you know it.”

“Plastic surgery.  Hell, it worked for Thrush.”

“No.  I’m the only one who can do this.  And I need you.”

Napoleon walked across the room and took a seat on the edge of April’s chair.  He put a protective hand on her shoulder. 

“I don’t know what I will do if something happened to you.  I’m asking you to walk away from this.  Vixen is dead and there is nothing you can do to make her life better.”

April touched Solo’s hand.  “Please.  I need to do this, but I can’t do this alone.”

Napoleon stood, pacing the room.  April looked expectantly at him. 

“What do you need for me to do?”  Napoleon asked.

“I need to feel Vixen’s presence.  I may need to go deep in order to do that.  I may need for you to bring me back.”

 “I don’t like it.  I never understood your gift, but it scares me.”

“It scares me too.  That’s why I spent so many years in denial.  But maybe, all these years has been for this day.  For Vixen.”

Napleon closed his eyes for a moment, then stared intently at her.  “It’s against my better judgment.” He said quietly.

“Thanks,” April said simply then sat back in the chair, closing her eyes.  Napoleon returned and sat on the bed.

Both agents sat in companionable silence as April sank into the trance.

Chapter 7

Napoleon was becoming concerned.  It had been nearly an hour and April still sat in the chair with her eyes closed.  He would have believed her to be asleep had it not been for her steady, deliberate breathing.  And then she opened her eyes and looked at him.  No, through him.  It was like the time in the Victorian house when she had awakened from a dream and walked through the house totally oblivious to her surroundings.  She was in another world.

April stood and walked around the room, her hands gliding over the items that were part of Vixen’s life only a few weeks ago.  She ignored Solo, walking around him as if he were a piece of furniture.  Finally, she stood before the mirrored vanity.  April looked intently at her reflection.  Napoleon noted the confusing in her eyes as she seated herself and picked up the ornate brush.  Napoleon recalled Vixen’s fondness for old 1940s movies as April changed the style of her hair into a style reminiscent of Veronica Lake.

April then proceeded to apply the makeup.  She paid special attention to the eyes which she lined in heavy black.  Next she applied the blush with steady strokes, bringing out her exquisite cheekbones.  Finally she added red lipstick.  Now she sat back and smiled, her eyes wandering to Napoleon.

It was the eyes that made Solo take a shuddering breath.  If the eyes were the mirror to the soul, then April’s eyes reflected her compassion and love.  He had seen those eyes when she was afraid.  He had seen those eyes when the pressure of the job became overwhelming.  Now he saw the cold eyes of a woman hardened by life.    They were the eyes of a woman who found life lacking in every way.  They were the eyes of a woman who took sexual pleasure as a replacement for love.  The woman Napoleon loved more than life itself was gone.  In her place sat a woman who had died weeks ago on a cold October day.  Napoleon watched as this woman stood and acknowledged his presence.  She slithered toward him, her smile predatory.  “Ready?  I want to get out of here, we’ve an assignment to tend to.”  The voice belonged to Vixen.  A cold shudder went up Solo’s spine as he took her hand and left the apartment.

Chapter 8

The strong winds of October buffeted Napoleon as he strode into UNCLE headquarters.  Illya was standing at the door, an angry look on his face.  He had been called back to New York, a full week ahead of schedule.  Waverly had deemed it necessary to have a third agent on this case because he felt that April and Napoleon would be under too much scrutiny from the voyeuristic Abrams. 

Now, the blond agent barely acknowledged Solo’s presence as they marched toward Waverly’s office.

“So, how was your time with Carolyn?” Napoleon asked conversationally. 

“Too, short,” the Russian added tersely.  “Why couldn’t Mark or someone else have handled this assignment?”

“It was your extraordinary skills that did you in, dear fellow,” Napoleon teasingly said.  “You see, few agents have your excellent safe cracking abilities.”

Illya sighed as they approached Waverly’s door.  “Mark could have handled this.  How often do I get a chance to spend time with Carolyn as it is?” 

Napoleon patted the Russian on the back.  “I know.  But it will soon be over and you can get back to whatever you were doing.”

Illya sighed as they entered Waverly’s office.

The old man was sitting at the large circular table with Coxton.   Coxton was dressed in a purple silk shirt with white pants.  He looked miserable as he spoke.

“I tell you Mr. Waverly, no way is this April person ever going to be Vixen.  I’ve tried for two weeks, almost three.  It is an impossible task you gave me.  You’ve given me cement to mold into a work of art.  It can’t be done. It simply can’t be done”

Illya and Napoleon both took seats at the table as Coxton continued.   “Find another girl.  I’m telling you….”

“We both know April is the only one who bears a resemblance to Miss McCall.  There’s no time to use plastic surgery and then train another woman to do the job.  No, Miss Dancer will just have to do.” Waverly said.

Coxton sat back heavily in his chair.  “So where is our dear Miss Dancer?  I thought she was supposed to be here an hour early so you could see for yourself the fruitlessness of this endeavor.”

Waverly looked at his watch.  “Most uncharacteristic.  Miss Dancer is never late.”

Coxton laughed.  “Almost three weeks of working with her and the only thing she’s got right is coming late.”

Napoleon spoke.  “I saw Ap…Miss Dancer last night.  I think you will be pleased at the work you’ve done Mr. Coxton.”

“That will be the day,” Coxton tersely replied.

At that moment, the door opened to reveal the breathtaking site of April Dancer.  She was dressed in a short, black skin-tight, leather mini skirt with a black plunging top.  The outfit left nothing to the imagination.  Napoleon had to remind himself that it was indeed April.  Illya nearly chocked.

April slinked into the room.  Slink was the only word that could describe the way she walked.  It was sexy, seductive, a gait that could make any man’s heart stop.  Solo could just imagine the looks on the men’s faces as April walked down the conservative halls of UNCLE.   April sat down at the table and lifted a jewel cigarette holder into her hands.  .  April lit her cigarette as she regarded each man if she were selecting from breeding stock. 

The room was tense as Mr. Waverly looked at the young female agent.  “Miss Dancer, you’re late.”

April laughed before turning her attention to Waverly.  Napoleon was shocked as he witness April actually flirting with the old man.  “Of course.  I take it you don’t like it.” She said teasingly, her voice husky. 

Napoleon had never seen Waverly blush.  The old man sought his pipe, lighting it with shaky hands.  Napoleon looked at Coxton, who sat proudly in his chair, obviously enjoying the presence of his masterpiece.

“It seems that Mr. Coxton was being modest when he spoke of you, Miss Dancer.”  Waverly said, looking at April.

“Dear Coxie was always that way,” April said, still sounding like Vixen. 

Napoleon noticed how comfortable April seemed in her role as Vixen.  The previous night, April had explained that she would be using the Method form of acting.  This method involved total immersion into a character.  Some actors stayed in character even when they were not filming. Actors such as Marlon Brando and James Dean had practiced this method with critical success.  Now Napoleon watched the Vixen character as she smoked her cigarette.  Even the mannerisms were different.  Solo schooled his emotions to focus on April, not Vixen.

“You’ve got it.  You sound like her, you walk like her. Heck, even the expression of the eyes are the same.  No one would know the difference, not even her closest acquaintances.  Fantastic, simply fantastic.” Coxton said excitedly.

“So how are we going to convince Abrams that April is indeed Vixen?  The last time he heard anything, Vixen was dead.” Illya asked, looking at Waverly.

“Simple.  We have let it be known that the rumors of Miss McCall’s death were simply that, rumors.  It seems Miss McCall recovered in the hospital.”  Waverly said.

“But, someone must have visited her.  Someone who would know just how bad her injuries were.” Illya said.

“It seems Miss McCall had no visitors and our Miss Dancer’s appearance will certainly dispel any rumors that may still persist amongst her acquaintances.” Waverly answered.

Napoleon didn’t like the sound of that.  They had been assured that April would meet only Abrams on the island.  Now it sounded like the old man was talking about other people being there.

“Sir,” Napoleon said, clearing his throat.  “It sounds like there will be other people on the Island.”

“Yes,” Waverly said, taking a draw from his pipe.  “Most unfortunate.  It is one of the reasons I recalled Mr. Kuryakin.  It seems Mr. Abrams has decided to have a party to celebrate Miss McCall’s return to the living.  A lot of people will be expected.  Assuredly, some of these people will be intimate acquaintances of Miss McCall’s.”

“Well, I don’t like it.  Surely you don’t think April can fool a room full of people?” Solo said angrily.

“Look at her Mr. Solo.  What do you think?” Waverly asked.

Solo regarded the dark-haired woman seated across from him.  Her mannerisms were not April.  The throaty voice was not April.  The walk was not April.  But most of all, April would never look at him the way she was looking now.  Solo felt an uncomfortable as he realized that April was actually flirting with him.  In fact, she was flirting with the entire room.

Solo cleared his throat, “You’re right, sir.  There is nothing about her that reminds me of April.”

Two hours later, Napoleon was sitting in his shared office with Illya.  Illya was concerned about the uncharacteristically quiet Napoleon.  The American was sitting at his desk pretending to read a report.

“Are you okay, my friend?” Illya asked.

“How am I going to make it through this one, Tovarish?” Napoleon said quietly, his hand massaging his temples.

“You will do it because it has to be done.”

“I sat there looking at her and didn’t know who the hell I was looking at.” 

“I know,” Illya said.   “Mr. Waverly told me about the affair before I arrived so I knew what to expect.  Yet nothing prepared me for seeing April.  It was like looking at a different woman.”

“She actually flirted with me.  Did you see her?” Napoleon said incredulously.

“Yes.  But you have to realize she was acting.  In the Method school of acting…..”

Solo slammed his hand down on the desk, his eyes glaring.  “I know about the method school.  But… but… I don’t like it.  I want her to drop this case.  Drop it now, before it’s too late and I can’t help her.”

Illya walked to Solo’s desk and sat on the edge.  “There is something you’re not telling me.  What is it?”

Napoleon regarded his friend.  Illya was Napoleon’s best friend.  He was blessed in that regard—he had two best friends.  Still, this was April’s business.  Napoleon considered the possibilities of the situation.  He realized that if something happened to him the Russian may be the only person who could help her.  He slowly told Illya what had transpired at the apartment the night before.

“So you see, she may not be acting.  She went into a trance and I saw her change before my eyes.  What if….what if….this Vixen  has somehow….”

“Possessed her?”  Illya added.  “No, my friend.  April merely used this meditative technique to gain an understanding of her life.” 

“You sound like you know something about this meditative technique,” Napoleon asked, looking expectantly at Illya.

“I’m familiar with it.  It’s a harmless technique that allows the person to focus their attention.  It has been used for over five-thousand years.”

Napoleon took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “If something were to happen to me….”

“I’ll be there to make sure nothing happens to anyone,” Illya said, putting a reassuring hand on Solo’s shoulder.

Napoleon locked eyes with his friend. They had saved each others lives on many occasions.  Now, Solo realized that both of them might be the only thing that could get April through this one.  Napoleon relaxed, the tension flowing from his body.

“I believe we have an Island to get to.”  And with that he picked up the telephone and made travel arrangements.