§ § § -- January 29, 1994
Due to assorted scheduling vagaries (including the high popularity of Fantasy Island as a warm-weather destination in the Northern Hemisphere winter) and some financial difficulty on the part of the travelers in question, the reunion Roarke had put in motion the previous October did not come about until the end of January. So it was something of a surprise for Leslie, and he knew he would enjoy her reaction.
Their first fantasy involved three young women who were chattering excitedly to one another as they piled out of the charter and found themselves collecting leis. "So they are actually going through with it!" Roarke said, raising one eyebrow.
"Going through with what?" Leslie asked.
Roarke smiled a trace ruefully. "Their fantasy, of course. The blonde is Kirsten MacGregor; the redhead, Laura Anderson; and the brunette, April Metaxas. They all work in the same department of a large insurance company based in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where they met and became close friends."
"That's very nice," Leslie said patiently, "but what fantasy do they have that makes you so surprised they're going ahead with it?"
"They wish to be the first all-female mission into space," Roarke told her.
Leslie stared at him without comprehension. "You look as if you're not sure that's such a great idea," she said. "Why not? Frankly, I think a thing like that is long overdue."
"I'm sure you do," Roarke said. "But space missions do not have the casual ease of journeys on the starship Enterprise; and as you are no doubt aware, space exploration has lost a great deal of its romance with the American public since the 1969 moon landing, due to a large assortment of problems with recent launches." He shook his head a couple of times. "But the young ladies are undaunted, it seems."
"So how's this going to work?" Leslie asked. "Are we actually sending them into space? Three completely untrained persons who don't even work in the scientific sector?"
Roarke simply gave her an enigmatic smile, then gestured at the plane dock. "Look who's here, Leslie," he said impishly.
Successfully distracted, she looked, and lit up instantly. "It's Frida!" she burst out. "She looks wonderful!" The lovely golden-haired young woman stepping out of the plane was clad in a smart red-and-white dress suitable for a business meeting; she was closely followed by a man with a longish, pin-straight mop of light-brown hair, wearing a white shirt with a tan jacket and slacks. He sported John Lennon glasses and seemed unusually fascinated with his surroundings, cranking his head around at everything within sight.
"Yes, she has begun to find some success at a small clothing manufacturer with a line of business wear for women," Roarke said. "The young man with her, as you have probably already guessed, is her fiancé, Klaus Rosseby. They both live in Stockholm, Sweden, and for Mr. Rosseby, it's his first time outside his home country."
"Gee, how could you tell?" bantered Leslie, while Frida's boyfriend discovered the flower-festooned bushes and peered at one blossom after another with growing excitement that was visible even to their hosts across the clearing. "The way he's been gaping at everything, he's going to sprain his neck."
Roarke laughed with her. "I believe the young man is a newly-graduated botanist," he told her. "In any case, he thinks they are here for a vacation from the long Swedish winter, while Frida, of course, has a fantasy."
Leslie nodded. "Exactly—to find out who her real family is," she said.
Roarke nodded slowly, studying Frida with concern. "I am not certain it will be a happy experience for her."
Leslie turned to him in startled surprise. "But the Dannegårds really wanted to meet her. Or at least, I know Lukas and his father did."
"But I remind you that Lukas has two sisters and a brother," Roarke pointed out, "and they may not be so amenable. And, unfortunately, there is the danger that all parties concerned will find that neither side matches up to the hopes and expectations of the other." With that, he lifted a glass from the tray a native girl presented to him and raised it in toast. "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"
Kirsten MacGregor, April Metaxas and Laura Anderson hoisted their drinks high over their heads in enthusiastic salute. Frida raised her glass and, spotting Leslie, grinned widely at her; Leslie grinned back and gave a little wave of welcome. Klaus Rosseby turned around with a confused look on his face, then grinned sheepishly and hefted his own drink into the air. Taking a sip, Roarke regarded Frida with a glint of worry in his dark eyes.
‡ ‡ ‡
The would-be astronauts arrived at the main house first, all of them looking excited and hopeful. Roarke invited them to sit down, and they gathered in the chairs arranged around the low tea table that had sat in the study since the year Lawrence had been his assistant. Leslie poured tea for everyone while Roarke settled himself into the fourth chair, and he smiled at her when she had passed out the cups. Everyone murmured thanks.
She nodded. "You're all welcome. Father, I'll just be at the desk there."
"Very well." Roarke watched her cross the room, then settled back in his chair and balanced his teacup and saucer effortlessly in one hand, regarding their new guests with the handle of the cup resting against his fingers as if he had been about to lift it. "So, ladies, what exactly led you to request this particular fantasy?"
"Well, I can't speak for the others," Kirsten MacGregor said with an apologetic grin at her friends, "but me…well, I'd just turned five when Neil Armstrong left his footprints on the moon, and I still remember being glued to my seat. Even back then, though, I wondered why it was all guys and how come the moon was off-limits to girls."
Roarke's chuckle provided a soft baritone counterpoint to the girls' light laughter; Leslie, listening from across the room while she searched through the credenza for a certain file folder, grinned to herself. April Metaxas took the chance to speak up. "I was always a tomboy," she said. "I grew up with five brothers, two older and three younger, and somehow they always seemed to get to do things my parents wouldn't let me do. They talked big all the time, and I used to get so mad at them. Finally I told them all when I was around eight or nine that I was going to the moon someday, and that'd be better than anything they could possibly accomplish. Ever since then, it's been a family joke, and I've had it. I want to really do it and shut them up once and for all."
"I see," said Roarke, amused. "And you, Ms. Anderson?"
"I've always been a bookworm," admitted Laura Anderson. "I belonged to a mail-order book club as a child, and every month I'd get a new hardcover in the mail. I liked the books well enough, but I noticed that the protagonist in every one of them was a boy. I got tired of reading about boys' exploits, and I wanted to read about girls. Not that there weren't girls in those books, but they were always supporting characters, and they always either needed rescuing, got the boys into trouble, or were too stupid to be believable. When I was about seven or so, I remember reading a book about a boy who won a contest and went to the moon with the astronauts. For some reason that one made me incredibly mad. Why should boys get to have all the fun and do all the exciting things? Why couldn't it have been a girl who won and went to the moon? I developed a fixation on it, and as I got older I thought it would be great to be the first woman in space, till Sally Ride beat me to it." She grinned sheepishly. "So the logical next step was to be the first woman on the moon."
"Or one of the first," interjected Kirsten with a grin.
"Right," Laura agreed and giggled. "What fun would it be without my best friends?"
"Hmm," murmured Roarke, absorbing their stories, taking a slow sip from his teacup. After a moment he returned the cup and saucer to the table and surveyed them. "As I'm sure you can imagine, this was not at all an easy fantasy. That was most of the reason it took us so long to prepare, ever since we received your letters last summer. It's so difficult, in fact, that I feel obligated to warn you that there is a great margin for error in this fantasy."
"How so?" asked April.
"First of all, you must understand that when a fantasy comes to life, it's real for its duration. Further, I have no control over which direction the fantasy may take; so if some emergency were to come up during your fantasy, or events take place that seem beyond your capabilities, it will be up to you to solve the problem."
"So you're saying that once we start our fantasy, we really will be in outer space and on our way to the moon?" Kirsten asked, wide-eyed.
"Oh, indeed you will," Roarke assured her. "Of course, time is too short to provide you with the kind of intensive training astronauts are required to go through, but you will be given several key tests designed to determine your ability to function in a weightless environment before you are sent aloft. And, as with real astronauts, you must pass every one of those tests—or you won't be allowed to go up."
"But…I thought we'd just…well, go," said Laura, looking disappointed.
"And if we 'just go' and you find out you can't handle it," April said, not unkindly, "then what'll you do? It's not all cozy starship cabins and holographic decks and artificial gravity. This isn't the 23rd century, just the end of the twentieth." She grinned at Roarke and added, "Unfortunately for us."
"Are all of you big Star Trek fans, by chance?" asked Leslie from across the room, and all three women burst into sheepish laughter and nodded.
"Yup," Kirsten said cheerfully. "No, as nice as it would be to do that, that really is just fiction. Insofar as it'll be real for the weekend, Mr. Roarke, we'll settle for a trip to the moon, and have stories to tell our grandchildren in another thirty years or so."
Roarke nodded, as if the matter had been conclusively settled. "Very well, then. If you will be so kind as to come with me…" He gestured toward the door. "Leslie?"
Leslie laid a folder on Roarke's desk and followed Kirsten, Laura and April out, with Roarke bringing up the rear. They piled into one of the station wagons and took a scenic drive to the other end of the island, where Roarke turned off the pavement and navigated a one-lane dirt road that terminated in front of what appeared to be a gargantuan warehouse. "This is where you ladies will begin your fantasy," he said, stopping the car.
They all got out and surveyed their surroundings. "Here?" Laura said doubtfully.
"Go inside," Roarke said, extending an arm to indicate the building. "Once you step through that door and close it behind you, your fantasy will begin."
Laura, April and Kirsten looked at one another as if trying to see whether they all still wanted to go through with this, then at Roarke, who smiled encouragingly. "Okay then," said Kirsten, stepping forward. "Come on, guys, this is it…I think." She started for the warehouse, and April and Laura both shrugged and trailed after her.
"This doesn't seem too, uh…well, space-like," April said after a moment and turned around—only to find that Roarke and Leslie were gone, car and all. "Whoa!"
Her stunned exclamation made Kirsten and Laura both turn around as well, and they all gaped at the empty road. Then Kirsten grinned. "Y'know what? If Mr. Roarke and Leslie can vanish into thin air like that, then we have to believe that our fantasy's in that warehouse, just like Mr. Roarke said."
"You're right," Laura said, brightening. "What do you think, April?"
April grinned. "Makes sense to me. So what're we waiting for, then? Let's get this show on the road!" Her friends nodded, and they all broke into a run, eager to get their fantasy under way before they ran out of weekend to do it in.