A/N: This story, in my printed version, was preceded by two short tales called "The Invisible Man" and "Driving Miss Leslie", both of which have been heavily excerpted in posted stories. Due to that, I decided to skip them and go to this one, which has occasionally been referred to in recent new stories but never been excerpted. I hope you'll enjoy it!

§ § § -- May 3, 1980

It was the first weekend in May and a little quieter than usual, as the fantasies were fairly routine: a young woman wanted to meet her great-grandmother who had owned a house that was a stop on the Underground Railroad of the nineteenth century; and three adopted siblings were searching for their respective birth parents. It was mid-afternoon on Saturday, and things were quiet and running very smoothly; so Roarke took the opportunity to get caught up on the endless paperwork. Tattoo came in after a while, lugging a large wrapped rectangular package. Close behind him was Kali, a pretty native islander who delivered the mail for the eastern end of the island. She carried a package and two thick stacks of envelopes secured by rubber bands.

"Well," said Roarke, pausing in his work to see who the newcomers were. "Are you sure you've got that, Tattoo…whatever it is?"

Tattoo, huffing a little, nodded. "No problem, boss. It's just a present for Leslie. I need to wrap it in something more attractive."

"May I see it?" Roarke inquired, rising from his desk while Kali paused in the middle of the room to watch with interest.

"Oh, sure, boss," Tattoo agreed and propped the object against the newel post of the banister. He ripped away the plain brown paper, revealing a beautiful painting of the Champs-Elysées in springtime. It was exploding with color, between the blue of the sky and the green of the new leaves, the riotous reds, pinks, purples and yellows of the flowers, and the few human figures Tattoo had added to give it extra life. One of the people in the painting was walking a dog.

"That's beautiful, Mr. Tattoo!" Kali exclaimed, awstruck.

"Yes," Roarke agreed wholeheartedly, "Leslie will be thrilled to receive this! I think we can find the perfect paper in which to wrap it. We'll store it in my room if you prefer."

"That'd be perfect, boss," Tattoo said and glanced between them. "Thank you for your compliments. She still doesn't have very much, and I wanted to her to have something really nice. So I painted this from a memory I have from my childhood."

"Oh, it's lovely," Kali said. "Mr. Tattoo, I'm saving money so I can buy one of your paintings. Do you think you could do one like that for me?"

Tattoo grinned sheepishly and shifted his weight. "I don't see why not. But you won't have to pay a fortune for it, Kali, so don't act as if you have to clean out your savings account. Will fifty dollars be all right?"

"It's a bargain," Kali replied enthusiastically. "Thank you so much." She turned to Roarke and handed him the mail she held. "I think this is the package you were expecting, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke accepted the items, putting the envelopes on the desk and examining the package. "Yes, thank you, Kali—it's the one I have been waiting for since early last month. I was beginning to wonder whether it would arrive in time."

"I'm glad it did, then," said Kali, "whatever it is. Well, I'd better get back to work. Thank you again, Mr. Tattoo, and I'll see you both later." Roarke and Tattoo said goodbye, and she departed the house.

"What's so important about that package?" Tattoo asked curiously.

"Oh, it's something very special, my friend," Roarke said. "I'd better put it away for safekeeping. Perhaps if we go into the extra room upstairs, we'll find some festive wrapping paper for your painting. You should have a camera handy to capture the expression on Leslie's face when she opens it—I have no doubt she'll love it."

Roarke carried the painting and the package, the latter of which he put away in his room before going down the hall with Tattoo and looking in the over-packed storage closet for wrapping paper. "Sacre bleu," said Tattoo at sight of the contents. "If someone tries to put one more thing in there, the whole mess will fall right out. It'll be an avalanche."

"Mariki refuses to touch it," Roarke said, shaking his head. "I've meant to have Leslie help me reorganize it, but there simply hasn't been time. Perhaps I'll give her the task once she is on summer vacation from school. Ah, here we are." With a little finesse, he worked a tall thin box out from behind a tangle of other items, managing somehow not to dislodge anything more than some dust bunnies, and looked through its contents. There were about half a dozen rolls of wrapping paper there, five of which were clearly Christmas-themed.

"Is there any more?" Tattoo wondered, lifting the sixth roll out of the box. He pulled a bit of its length away from the cardboard tube and surprised both himself and Roarke when only a foot-long section came off, leaving the tube bare.

"That certainly won't be enough," Roarke said, "at least for your painting. But there should be enough for the package. I don't know if we have any more." He pushed the folding pocket door completely aside and surveyed the crowded interior of the closet. "Frankly, I'm not convinced it's a wise idea to search."

Tattoo laughed. "That's okay, boss. I might be able to find something in the stores, if I can have part of Monday to look."

Roarke smiled. "Go on Tuesday. Leslie will have to be in school for the better part of her birthday, and that will give us time to wrap gifts and make other arrangements for her birthday celebration. I have already set aside an arena for the party, so we need only see to it that it's decorated. There is a cake on order, and I've set up an afternoon appointment for Leslie as well, so the plans are already under way."

"Why make such a big deal out of it?" Tattoo asked curiously. "I always thought that when you turned 21, that was the big celebration."

Roarke considered it, then chuckled at himself. "Perhaps it was something subconscious," he observed thoughtfully. "There is a custom in many Spanish-speaking countries to mark the occasion when a girl reaches her fifteenth birthday—it's called quinceañero. I may have had that in mind when I set the party plans in motion. In any case, we were in the midst of a busy weekend last year, so I felt that this year we should pay proper attention to her special day. It brings back a few memories for me as well."

"Ah," said Tattoo. He wanted to ask, but suspected Roarke wouldn't tell; his boss was an intensely private man, and revealed only what he chose to. "Well, then, there's no doubt in my mind it'll be very special, and she'll never forget it."

Roarke smiled. "Thank you, Tattoo," he said. "Very well, then, I think we had better get back to work. I'll take the painting for you, and we can worry about wrapping things later on. I gave Leslie the weekend off because things are so routine; so she's likely to spend as much of it as possible with her friends. There will be time for us to further our plans without her knowledge."

§ § § -- May 6, 1980

Unexpectedly, Roarke and Tattoo both came to pick up Leslie after school on Tuesday, surprising her as much as her friends. "Special treatment?" Camille asked.

"It's her birthday," Lauren reminded her cousin, "or did you forget?" She grinned at Leslie. "Don't forget to tell us what happens later on."

"We'll see you girls this evening," Roarke said with a smile. "Leslie will be late for an appointment unless we hurry." Leaving her mystified friends trying to figure out what this meant, he pulled away and drove back towards the eastern side of the island.

"What appointment, Mr. Roarke?" Leslie asked, leaning between the two front seats. "Why on earth would I have to visit the doctor on my birthday?"

"It's not a doctor's appointment, Leslie," Tattoo said with a grin. "Just wait and see."

Within about fifteen minutes they had pulled up in front of the small building in Amberville that housed the police station and the two-cell jail. Sitting at a small desk was the petite, doll-faced Chinese receptionist, Mei-Lian Ching, filling out a few forms; she looked up when Roarke and Tattoo brought Leslie in and brightened. "Right on time for the appointment!" she said cheerfully. "Mr. Roarke, Mr. Tattoo, you can wait here if you like. We should be finished before too long." She turned to a completely baffled Leslie and said, "Come on out to the car. I need to take a permit over to the restaurant, and as long as you're here, you might as well take me. Mr. Roarke says you're becoming a good driver."

"He does?" Leslie asked, very surprised.

Mei-Lian Ching's black eyes danced. "Hm," she said teasingly, as much to Roarke as to Leslie, "I guess he's told everyone except you!" They all laughed.

"Perhaps I should have mentioned it," Roarke said lightly, "but I didn't want it going to your head." The twinkle in his dark eyes told Leslie she was being gently teased again. "I believe Miss Ching is waiting for a personal demonstration."

"Well, okay," Leslie said, not quite sure what this was all about, but willing to play along. "The only problem is, I need the key, Mr. Roarke."

Again everyone laughed, a little more heartily this time since the joke was on Roarke. He took it quite well and handed Leslie the key with a broad smile. "Enjoy your little trip," he said. "Tattoo, my friend, we may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible." He gestured Leslie and the receptionist out the door.

"So," Mei-Lian Ching said, watching Leslie start the car, take a good look around and ease onto the road. "How long ago did Mr. Roarke start teaching you to drive?"

"A couple of months or so," Leslie said. "It's not like much has changed because of it, though. I still have to take either Mr. Roarke or Tattoo with me if I want to go somewhere, so it still puts them out. For the first week Tattoo wouldn't even go with us when Mr. Roarke was giving me lessons, but then he kind of had to, and he decided I wasn't all that bad after all." She glanced quickly at the receptionist and grinned self-deprecatingly, quickly returning her eyes to the road. "You know, Miss Ching, I think you're the first person who wasn't nervous about riding with me."

"Call me Mei-Lian," she said, laughing. "That can't possibly be true. After all, Mr. Roarke had enough courage to ride with you the very first time you ever sat in a driver's seat, right? So maybe that makes me the second person."

"Oh, I bet Mr. Roarke was just as nervous as anyone else," Leslie said. "He just did it because he knew somebody had to teach me how to drive."

Mei-Lian gave her a sidelong glance. "Oh, I think you should give him a little more credit than that," she observed, "not to mention yourself. Not much frightens Mr. Roarke. Teaching a teenager to drive is probably nothing for him. When you've been here several years and have seen the incredible variety of fantasies he's granted…well, I think then you'll be able to put something like this into perspective."

Leslie nodded. "That makes sense," she agreed. "I guess he's seen a lot of weird stuff. I mean…I've been here only a little more than a year, and already there've been famous people and murderers and living marionettes, and people getting to be younger and traveling back in time, and Tattoo almost adopting a baby, and ghosts and goddesses and even a mermaid!" She blew out her breath. "Can you believe it?"

"Don't spread it around too much," Mei-Lian said with a giggle. "Half the islanders don't know he does a lot of the things he does. Those of us who do…well, it's a sort of unwritten rule that what happens on Fantasy Island stays on Fantasy Island. It's not the easiest thing on earth to keep that sort of secret, with the kind of fame Mr. Roarke has. But it helps that we're so isolated from most populated places."

"But there's a U.S. Air Force base on Coral Island," said Leslie. "I know of a lot of kids at school who live on the base there and go to school here, because Coral Island's too small for a high school."

"Oh, they know they're near Fantasy Island," Mei-Lian said as Leslie turned off the main road and eased her way down a dirt lane toward the restaurant. "But Mr. Roarke very carefully controls travel between here and any other islands. Haven't you ever seen the Coral Island kids? They have special laminated blue passes for students only, which allow them to come here so they can go to school. They take the school ferry back and forth every day and they have to show those passes each and every morning when they board the boat. If their parents are transferred to a different base, they have to turn the passes back in to the school office. And school is the only reason they come here—no free access to the whole island. That's the main reason the high school is on the other side of the island."

"Oh," said Leslie. "I wondered about that." She brought the car to a halt. "Well, we're here."

"So we are. Just wait here and I'll be right out." Mei-Lian hopped out of the car and walked briskly down the broad wooden walkway to the restaurant, an elegant tropical affair that was abutted on three sides by a small pond. The walkway from the road and another that bisected it, built like small piers crossing the pond, provided the only access.

Mei-Lian was back in a few minutes. "Just turn around right here," she instructed Leslie casually. "I'm surprised you didn't know about the passes. If you ever leave the island for any reason, even just for shopping on Coral Island, don't forget to get a green pass from Mr. Roarke, or you won't be able to come home again."

"Yikes," said Leslie, shooting Mei-Lian a startled glance. "I had no idea about that. I'm glad you told me."

Mei-Lian grinned, again watching Leslie make a three-point turn to drive back the way they had come. "Well, you had no time to go off-island; it seems to me Mr. Roarke keeps you busy helping him out with the fantasies—at least that's what I hear."

"How do you know that?" Leslie asked in surprise.

"Sheriff Tokita," said Mei-Lian impishly. "It seems he hears a lot from his daughter Michiko, who apparently knows a lot more about what Mr. Roarke does than she used to."

Leslie laughed. "Well, it's not as if I'm giving away trade secrets. It's just fun telling my friends a little about the fantasies every Monday at school. It's kind of our way of making Monday a little less…well, a little less Monday."

That earned her a laugh from Mei-Lian. "I know exactly what you mean," she said.

They chatted all the way back to Amberville; Mei-Lian had a manner about her that put Leslie at ease, which was unusual as Leslie didn't meet too many people she felt comfortable with almost from the beginning. Before she quite realized it, they were back at the police station, where Leslie parked the car and shut off the ignition.

Mei-Lian preceded her into the office and sat behind her desk, pulling out a drawer and extracting another form while they watched. "Well?" Tattoo finally prodded.

"Oh, it went fine," Mei-Lian told him. "Leslie, why don't you sit in that chair over there and fill this out for me." She anchored the form to a clipboard and handed it to Leslie along with a pen, indicating a chair in the corner of the room. Leslie gave her a strange look, but shrugged and did as bidden. Roarke watched her silently, the slightest smile on his face, while Tattoo watched Mei-Lian open still another drawer and remove a large camera which she set onto a tripod. The only sounds were those the receptionist made setting up the camera and loading film into it, as well as the nearly inaudible scratching of Leslie's pen on the form as she wrote.

"Smile," Mei-Lian said presently.

Leslie looked up blankly. "What?"

"Smile. You're on Candid Camera," Mei-Lian joked. Leslie rolled her eyes but grinned at the reference to the old television series, and the flash went off, making her blink.

"Ugh," she murmured, returning to the nearly completed form. "I've got a big purple spot in front of my eyes now. I can hardly see to write."

"Oh, this'll be worth it," Mei-Lian promised her. "Sign that at the bottom when you're done. A few more minutes and you'll be ready."

Leslie wrote her name at the bottom of the form and handed the clipboard and pen back to Mei-Lian. "So what's this all about—are you starting a secret file on me?"

Mei-Lian grinned at her. "No, nothing of the sort. It amazes me that you haven't figured it out by now. When you took me to the restaurant, Leslie, you were also taking your driver's test. You passed with flying colors, and now I'm putting your driver's license together. That's why I took the picture and made you fill this out."

"You mean I…" Leslie stared huge-eyed at her, then turned to Roarke and Tattoo, who were both grinning. "Mr. Roarke, this was your doing, wasn't it?"

"Indeed so," Roarke confirmed. Mei-Lian vanished into a back room with the form and the camera, and Leslie crossed the room to hug him.

"That was really sneaky," she said. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't even know I was taking my driving test. I'd've been terrified otherwise and probably flunked."

"That's precisely the reason I asked Miss Ching to proceed with the test the way she did," Roarke explained. "She was such a natural, you never suspected a thing."

Mei-Lian came out with something in her hand. "Those drama classes I took in high school came in handy," she wisecracked cheerfully. "Here you are, Leslie—you're now an officially licensed driver. Mr. Roarke came in last Friday and arranged everything. Happy birthday, Leslie."

Leslie bestowed another hug on Roarke, then gave Tattoo one, and even hugged a delighted Mei-Lian. Amid cheerful farewells, they departed, with Leslie in the driver's seat; back at the main house, Roarke made a couple of phone calls while Tattoo suggested to Leslie that she change her clothes and put away her schoolbooks for the evening. "We're going to a little party later on, so don't take too long."

"That sounds like fun," Leslie said and trotted up the stairs. Tattoo watched her go and then turned to his boss as Roarke hung up from the second call.

"It's amazing, boss, she has no idea," Tattoo observed in wonder.

Roarke looked toward the stairs for a moment and said reflectively, "I suspect it's easy to surprise her because she isn't accustomed to having a fuss made over her birthday. You'll recall last year, when it was nearly eclipsed by Cornelius Kelly's antics. She admitted later that she was quite amazed she had a celebration at all."

"But every kid gets birthday parties," Tattoo said, uncomprehending.

"Not Leslie," Roarke said cryptically and focused on his date book, making a notation for an August weekend. Tattoo frowned, thinking it over.

"Are you saying her father wouldn't let her have birthday parties?" he finally asked. "I can hardly believe that. I remember when her mother was here. That lady would've done anything for her daughter, and I'm sure she must have found a way to give Leslie a party on her birthday."

"Perhaps you'd better ask Leslie," Roarke suggested. "Not now, however. Let the day be a happy one for her; she may be inclined to tell you at another time if you ask."

When Leslie came back down, Roarke looked up at her and smiled at her attire; she was wearing white jeans and a matching short-sleeved blouse that was trimmed in eyelet lace of pale Hawaiian blue. "You may want to bring a sweater, Leslie," he said.

"A sweater?" she echoed, so incredulous that Tattoo grinned. "Are we expecting the temperature to drop or something?"

"Humor me," Roarke suggested. "You may think I am growing slightly senile in my old age, but I have my reasons."

"Old!? You??" Leslie blurted, genuinely astounded. "Mr. Roarke, there's no way in the world you'll ever be old. Well, okay, I'll get the sweater." She started back up the steps.

"You'll notice," Tattoo said slyly, "that she didn't say a word about you being senile."

Roarke gave him a wide-eyed stare, and Leslie gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Tattoo," she blurted, in the same reproving tone Roarke so often used.

Tattoo laughed. "I'm joking, silly. Go get the sweater."

She trotted up the steps, and something in Roarke's gaze changed. "I certainly hope you were joking, my friend," he remarked, with just enough of an ominous tinge in his voice that Tattoo's levity vanished and he peered at Roarke a little worriedly.

"Oh, come on, boss, you know I was just kidding," he insisted.

Roarke looked deliberately at him for a long, tense moment, then smiled, and Tattoo relaxed so visibly that Roarke's smile graduated into a laugh. Tattoo chuckled back, a little shakily, but clearly relieved. Roarke turned his attention to a lengthy fantasy-request letter, amusement still evident on his features, shaking his head to himself.

Leslie came down a moment later with a cardigan draped over one arm. "I guess I'm finally ready," she said.

"One moment, please," Roarke requested without looking up. "We'll be on our way in a few minutes." Leslie took a seat in front of the desk while Roarke finished reading the letter; Tattoo waited quietly, watching his boss.

"That must be some letter," Leslie finally commented.

"The man who wrote it uses a great many words to convey a very simple request," said Roarke. "After essentially telling me his life story, he finally asks to become a millionaire for the weekend." He sighed deeply. "We have had just a few too many such requests." He folded the letter and slipped it into its envelope; even from where she sat, Leslie could easily see the name Fred Catlett in the corner of the envelope, written in large square capital letters. She glanced at Tattoo, whose eyes gleamed with interest.

"Oh, come on, boss," he protested. "Loads of people dream of being rich. I mean, I dream of it too, you know."

"Of that, I am all too well aware," Roarke commented dryly, and Leslie grinned. "But it's far too difficult to make the necessary monetary arrangements for such a fantasy to grant every similar request we receive. Furthermore, there are other, more pressing problems to be solved through a fantasy, so turning a man into a millionaire is quite low on my list of priorities…even if the same isn't true of you." Tattoo shrugged, looking sheepish, and Roarke smiled. "Enough. Shall we be on our way?"