This piece appeared in Soap Opera Digest in 1980, I believe.

dreams...desires
Luke Spencer's Story
by Debra Nencel

The driving primitive beat bounced off the walls, floor and ceiling. The DJ knew exactly how to play the crowd...tease them...take them to the highest high and bring them down again. The dance floor was filled to capacity with writhing, gyrating, brightly clothed bodies. Luke Spencer, the club's hip young manager, exited his office and headed for the action. Scanning the crowd, his eyes sought and found one of his waitresses, Laura Bald win. An overloaded tray balanced precariously in her hand, she was delicately weaving her way through the mass of swirling, twirling hues. He watched her every movement. Could she feel his eyes?...feel the passion he possessed for her? Probably not. She just viewed him as a good friend, college classmate, and now employer. Her heart belonged to only one man--her husband of just a few months, Scotty Baldwin. But was she being honest with herself? He sensed a certain connection, attraction, between him and Laura. No! He was imagining things. Laura wasn't attracted to him on any level. They were from different worlds. There would never be space in her life for a guy from Elm Street. He would just keep loving her silently. That was all he could do.

His hands trembling slightly, Luke Spencer guided his car up the driveway to Frank Smith's palatial home. What was the reason for this face-to-face meeting? Had he somehow displeased the man? No! That couldn't be. If Mr. Smith had regretted putting him in charge of the Campus Disco, he would have said so way before this. It might possibly concern Syndicate business, but that wasn't very likely. Though he knew of Mr. Smith's ties, Luke was not involved in that part of his empire. He was worrying for nothing. He had to shake this sense of doom. It would not be wise to show fear to these people.

Waiting for Mr. Smith in his den, Luke bided the time reading the various plaques and trophies this businessman had been awarded for civic excellence. Wouldn't the populace of Pt. Charles be surprised to know exactly how this fine, upstanding businessman really made his money, he mused, smiling to himself. Well, that's one secret that would never be uncloaked. The Organization never let things like that happen. Feeling a sudden (imagined??) chill, Luke turned around. Smith had entered the room. The smile, the handshake were warm, but the eyes were cold. Luke didn't like what he read in them. The churning in his gut returned. He sensed death in this room...his death.

Luke sped back to the disco. What he needed now was not sleep, but booze. Mr. Smith's words rattled, crashed about, in his head. He had to exorcise them. At least for tonight, he had to forget. A few hours ago, he was a free man--now he no longer had free choices. His life--what little might be left of it--had suddenly become quite planned. The tentacles of The Organization had reached out and coldly curled around him. He was no longer on the fringes...he was in. He never thought he would be asked to do a hit...but shortly, at their request, he would take a gun, point it at State Senator Williams, and fire. The Organization had begun to question Luke's loyalty...and this was their test. His eyes focused on the package lying next to him. In one swift motion, he violently hurled it to the back seat. It popped open, the gun falling to the floor with a thud. He shuddered and fought the wave of nausea that swept through his body. His hunger for--desperate need for--whiskey increased. The disco loomed into view. Salvation would soon be his.

First securely depositing the gun in his office safe, Luke then headed for the bar. Peering into the semidarkness, he saw that he wasn't alone. Laura. What was she still doing here? She spoke first, breaking the strained, tense silence. He couldn't quite concentrate. There seemed to be too much static in the air. The words came through intermittently, as if being transmitted from a malfunctioning CB. Something was said about Scotty...late...supposed to have picked her up. The silence returned. She was now staring at him. He tried to read what was in her eyes. There was pain, compassion, and questions...innumerable questions. She wanted to know what he meant when he said he was a "dead man." Gently placing her hand on his, she pleaded with him to trust her, to open up, to let her ease his suffering. Though he ached to bare his soul completely, he knew he couldn't. He said nothing further. Laura tenderly squeezed his hand in understanding, her fingers softly curling around his. The heat pierced through his flesh. The room began to fade. A feeling of unreality set in. Their eyes locked. He extended his hand, and pulled Laura toward him. They began to sway to the rather sexual heat of the record he had just put on the turntable. Somewhere, from a distance, he felt her begin to resist, but still he couldn't let her go. His need was too great. He turned her head and forced her hesitant lips to his. Her mouth was moist, filled with her very essence. Hungrily, he began to devour her. He was deaf to her cries of fright, numb to her punches and scratches. He forced her to the floor. His demanding fingers tore at her clothing, finally freeing her supple flesh from their garments. The flames soared higher. A piercing cry of anguish...and it was over. The room was eerily silent. Laura cringed in a corner, clutching her tattered garments to her body. Shocked, sickened by what he had just done, Luke felt his chest constricting, growing tighter and tighter, until finally he exploded in a guttural, shattering wail. The walls reverberated with his mournful cry. His eyes sought Laura's, but she was gone. He had caused such destruction. How could he have done that to his precious, golden love? What was going to happen now?

There seemed to be no air in his small office. The clock read 8 P.M. An announcer on the radio was giving an election report. There was mention that this station had already tagged Mitch Williams the winner. Luke nervously pulled a shot glass and a bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk. He had to steady his nerves. In less than two hours, he would head for Mitch's hotel and make the hit on the senator-elect. He had the plan worked out to the most minute detail...nothing would go wrong--with the hit, anyway. But afterwards, he, Luke, would be dead. That was guaranteed. He glanced at the clock again...it felt like a lifetime, but only minutes had passed. Mentally he went over the events of the last month. Laura appeared in practically every scene. He winced as he recalled the pain he had put in her eyes. She was blaming herself for his animalistic actions of that night...and this guilt was destroying her marriage. He had to set things right. She wouldn't be free until she named him as the rapist--and he had to make sure she did this tonight. It would be his last gift to her. The bond between them would finally be broken. The dirt of Elm Street would no longer infringe on her clean "fairy tale" marriage.

Invisible sparks pricked the inhabitants of the automobile. Luke noticed Laura was fidgeting with her purse. She kept opening and closing it. The clicking was driving him crazy. He had to speak soon. Time was running out. He turned to Laura and told her he probably wouldn't be seeing her after tonight. In a few hours he would be dead, and he wanted to go to his grave knowing he wouldn't be leaving her life in turmoil. He wanted her word that she would name him as her rapist. As for tonight, he was prepared to die. It was just payment for his sins. Luke was quite unprepared for Laura's reaction. Shouting she was not going to let him do this job, nothing was worth losing his life over, she pulled the car keys out of the ignition and hurled them over the cliff. The next few minutes were a blur. Luke recalled running to a pay phone, calling his sister Bobbie and being advised by her that her fiancé, his best friend, Roy DeLucca [sic], was headed to the hotel to do Luke's job. They dashed to the hotel...but were too late. Roy was dead by the time they arrived. After the unsuccessful attempt Roy made on Mitch's life, he was gunned down by two security guards. Cradling his friend's body, Luke realized that Laura had saved his life. Their bond had strengthened instead of weakened. Would they--could they--ever be free of each other?

A salty breeze lightly brushed Luke as he made his way up the gangplank of Frank Smith's yacht. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he peered upward and observed that the prenuptial festivities were going full force. All the guests had arrived, every inch of deck space was filled. Forcing a smile to his lips, he joined the throng, accepting their jibes and congratulations. They should only know how he actually felt about this wedding. He had no desire to marry Frank Smith's adored daughter, Jennifer--it was a deal he had made with the man to save Laura's life (she had accidentally uncovered his ties to the Syndicate). Well, Laura was worth this soon-to-be-made sacrifice.

The ceremony never took place. Scotty bounded aboard the yacht. He had discovered Luke had raped Laura. Fists started flying. Luke went sailing over the boat's railing into the cold Atlantic. Was he dead?

A rooster crowed in the distance. Luke rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and peered out the window. Beeches Corners [sic]. Laura loved it here. She felt safe in this small farming community...but they weren't really safe anywhere. Frank had discovered Luke was alive and on the run with Laura. There was a contract on both their lives. There wouldn't be any peace until they got to Fair Oaks, cracked the code in Frank's little black book, and found the "left-handed boy." Luke hated putting Laura's life in such jeopardy...but she had repeatedly said this was where she wanted to be. She had finally admitted she loved him--and each passing day tightened their bond. They weren't lovers yet, but they were s-o-o-o close. So close. It will happen soon--that is if they remain alive that long. Their future is indeed uncertain. Will they be able to stay one step ahead of the hit man's bullet?

They survived--outwitting the mob, cracking the code, and returning to Pt. Charles as heroes--and lovers. The future was full of promise.

...But then the shattering--regretted--outburst. Beseiged [sic] by the press, Laura was made to feel that her love affair with Luke was dirty. She frighteningly clung to what had once defined her--what had once made her feel clean, secure. She shouted out that she was still Mrs. Scott Baldwin. Never feeling totally secure about Laura's love, Luke was quick to believe that a part of her actually meant what she said. He had trusted, believed in her. He will never be able to do that again. Luke would find a way to live without her.