A/N: A little bit of foreshadowing to Michiko's future career (pre-royalty). This story immediately precedes "Homecoming / Stowaway" under the MagicSwede1965 pen name, and refers briefly to the episode "Delphine / The Unkillable" (first aired April 11, 1981), first story arc, with Ann Jillian as Delphine MacNabb.

§ § § -- April 6, 1981

The first notice Leslie ever saw of the show came on a Monday just a month before her sixteenth birthday; she was on her way to lunch with Michiko and Maureen when she happened to see a large, colorful poster mounted on a corridor wall. Curiosity piqued, she stopped to read what was on it.

"What're you looking at?" Maureen asked before spying the poster herself. "Oh, that! You have to wonder how many parents are going to go for it."

"That's why they put up the posters so soon," Michiko remarked with a laugh, "so that kids have enough time to talk their parents into performing."

Leslie barely heard them; her eyes seemed glued to the top of the poster. In large red letters it shouted, MOTHER-DAUGHTER TALENT SHOW! The poster went on to say that the show was to be presented on May 24, the last Sunday before school let out for the summer, and that all types of acts were encouraged to audition. The only stipulation was that each act be a team of mother and daughter. There were two names to contact, both in the drama department, should there be any questions; and the sign-up period was open till April 17. Yet she couldn't seem to get past that top line, and she felt a little dazed.

"Leslie, come on, let's get to the cafeteria before lunch is over," Maureen urged.

"Are you okay?" Michiko asked her.

Leslie snapped herself back to the present with some force and nodded firmly. "I'm fine," she said. "I guess the sight of that just kind of surprised me. Is this some kind of annual or semi-annual thing, or what?"

"Beats me," Maureen said. "I wouldn't know."

"I think it's something new," Michiko said. "If it weren't, Camille or I might have heard something about it from our older siblings. But it sounds like fun anyway. Look, I'm hungry, so let's get to the lunchroom quick."

There were more posters tacked up on the cafeteria walls, and the show turned out to be the main topic of discussion at their lunch table as a result. Leslie sat back and let the conversation flow around her for the most part, eating lunch and wishing for some kind of selective deafness. But her friends were excited about it, and she had no wish to spoil their fun. In fact, she even asked a couple of questions about it, which seemed to prevent her friends from noticing her unaccustomed reticence.

When she got home, neither Roarke nor Tattoo was in evidence, though Roarke had left a note explaining that he and Tattoo were out attending to assorted errands, including an appointment Roarke had with a vulcanologist. Normally such a remark would have intrigued Leslie, but she was too preoccupied to think much about it. She folded Roarke's note once and took it upstairs with her, dumping it with her books on her bed and curling up in the rocking chair that sat in the corner. It had been a gift for her fourteenth birthday, and she often read in it. Now she found herself thinking, unable to get her mind off the subject of that talent show. Mom would've gone for something like that in a heartbeat, she thought wistfully, a melancholy creeping over her. Imagine what fun we could've had with it! But none of my old schools ever had anything like that, and now that I'm here and there is one, I can't because Mom's gone.

But I can't let anyone know how much I wish I could be part of it too. If I sit around feeling sorry for myself, Michiko and Myeko and Camille and Lauren and Maureen would all start feeling guilty because I couldn't be in the show…or worse, they'd start hating me for my self-pity. But gosh…how come it has to be for mothers and daughters? Why couldn't it have been fathers and daughters? I don't know if Mr. Roarke would've done anything like this, but at least I could've asked and I wouldn't feel so left out.

Well, at any rate, I know the other girls are going to try it…they were all talking about it like crazy at lunch. Some friend I'd be if I started turning into a wet blanket. But if only I could tell someone about it. I know Mr. Roarke and Tattoo would understand, but it just figures that neither of them is here. Well, maybe at supper. Leslie gave a great sigh and pushed herself out of her chair, hoping her homework assignment would help get her mind off the depressing subject. At this moment she missed her mother more than she had in quite some time, and the familiar hollow feeling in her heart brought on the kind of ache she had hoped would eventually go away. She was too tired of feeling like that to tolerate it for overly long.

To her complete surprise, she found herself eating alone, for the first time ever since her arrival on Fantasy Island more than two years before. Mana'olana, their cook, gave her an apologetic look as she put a covered dish on the table. "Mr. Roarke and Mr. Tattoo are both busy," she said. "They wanted to be done in time to come home and join you for dinner, Miss Leslie, but it just didn't work out. Mr. Roarke had an appointment with some volcano expert and he said it ran longer than expected, and something came up at the hotel that Mr. Tattoo had to handle."

"Oh," said Leslie and sighed softly. "Well, I guess they'll be back when they get back."

"I'm sure they'll not be much longer," Mana'olana said comfortingly. "I've been working with some recipes, Miss Leslie, and this is my first try at Boston baked beans. I thought maybe you missed a few dishes from your native region."

Leslie blinked up at her and smiled in spite of her pensive mood. "That's really sweet of you, Mana'olana," she said. "Thank you." The cook smiled.

"Let me know if I did it right," she said and wheeled her cart off the veranda back to the kitchen. Leslie lifted the lid on the pot and half stood up, leaning forward to take in the aroma from the contents. Curious to see if the taste matched the smell, she filled her plate and took a bite, only to find herself beset with memories that hadn't been called back to her conscious mind in years. She ate the entire meal in dead silence, staring unseeingly into the trees, beset with memories of her mother's cooking and her sisters' chatter at meals, of the one year her mormor had lived with them before that first awful fire. By the time Mana'olana returned, Leslie's plate was clean, but she seemed to be in a stupor.

"Miss Leslie?" the cook asked hesitantly, reaching for the empty plate.

Leslie came to with a start and stared at her for a moment. "Oh, hi," she said and cleared her throat. "You did a super job with the beans…they taste just like I remember them when I was little, really." She even managed to smile.

"I'm glad," Mana'olana replied, peering at her closely for a moment. "Dessert, then, Miss Leslie?"

Leslie shook her head. "No thanks," she said softly. "But I really appreciate your going to all that trouble. Have a good evening." She got up and almost ran across the porch toward the door, with Mana'olana watching in perplexity all the way.

‡ ‡ ‡

By late in the week both Roarke and Tattoo had noticed something wrong as well, but since Leslie offered no explanation and seemed determined to carry on as if all were normal, they didn't pry. However, that changed on Friday afternoon, April 10, when Leslie didn't come home from school at the usual time.

"Do you think she went home with one of her friends, boss?" Tattoo asked.

"She wouldn't have done that without informing me," Roarke said. "However, perhaps I'd better call and find out if she did. Of course, there's always the chance that the bus broke down." He frowned and picked up the phone to start dialing numbers at the homes of Leslie's friends.

Tattoo was trying to think of something he could do when Mana'olana appeared from the kitchen bearing a tray with a carafe and three delicate ceramic cups. "Oh, the hot chocolate," he said. "Thank you, Mana'olana."

She glanced around the room. "Isn't Miss Leslie back from school yet?"

"No," Tattoo said. "The boss is calling her friends to see if she went home with one of them. He said the school bus could've broken down too."

Mana'olana set down the tray and looked at him worriedly. "I wouldn't be quite so sure, Mr. Tattoo," she ventured. "Something's not right with Miss Leslie."

"You noticed too?" Tattoo asked in surprise.

Roarke hung up from the first call, having ascertained that Leslie wasn't at Michiko's house, and turned his attention to the conversation. "Do you know something about Leslie, Mana'olana?"

"Well, I noticed something must be wrong on Monday evening," the cook said anxiously. "It was when you and Mr. Tattoo were out late on errands, sir. I…I thought she might like it if I made something she remembered from the region where she was born, so I served Boston baked beans that evening. When I came back out to clear the table, I could see she had been crying, and she was staring into space. She said the beans were very good…but sir, I've worried all week long. I thought maybe having a dish from her childhood made her sad because it reminded her of…" Mana'olana broke off and hung her head.

"Oh, that wouldn't be your fault," Roarke said. "Don't trouble yourself about it, Mana'olana. Leslie has apparently had something on her mind the entire week, and I doubt it has anything to do with what she ate Monday evening."

The cook looked up at him hopefully. "Are you certain, sir?"

"Such a little thing wouldn't bother Leslie," Roarke said. "No, I think the cause is something else entirely. Rest assured you aren't to blame."

Mana'olana smiled finally and said, "Thank you, sir. I hope you find her."

Roarke and Tattoo nodded and gave their thanks, and she left the study with a lighter step. Roarke picked up the phone again and proceeded to call the rest of Leslie's friends, none of whom knew her whereabouts.

"She could have gone to the lagoon," Tattoo suggested. "Sometimes I go there to think about things. We could look there."

"It appears that is our only option," Roarke observed. "A good suggestion, my friend. Let's go." They departed the house, leaving the hot chocolate waiting there for their return, and drove to the lagoon, which turned out to be deserted.

They also learned in short order that Leslie wasn't at the swimming pool, the stables, or the hotel; and they didn't find her in the bookshop in Amberville either. They were passing the supper club, set behind a small unpaved parking lot off the Ring Road, when Roarke thought he heard a sound that shouldn't have been audible in this setting. He stopped the car, earning a blank look from Tattoo. "Boss, what's wrong?"

"Listen," Roarke said, and they both sat waiting. A moment later, a definite piano note, toward the low end of the keyboard from the sound of it, reached their ears, followed shortly thereafter by another one. The same note kept sounding out like a doleful bell, about once a second or so.

"How did you hear that?" Tattoo demanded. "It's not very loud, and I couldn't have heard it over the car engine."

"The building is right off the road," Roarke pointed out, backing the car up a few yards so he could pull into the lot. "There shouldn't be anyone here, so I think it wise to investigate the source of those notes."

The entrance door to the supper club was open, as it happened. The interior was only dimly lit by the occasional globe lamp hanging from the ceiling. Toward the far side of the room there was a piano—and at its keyboard sat Leslie, half hidden in the penumbra of one of the lamps, elbow resting on the edge of the piano supporting her head, and one finger pressing the same key over and over again. Her schoolbooks sat in a pile beside her on the piano bench.

Roarke and Tattoo wove their way through the assorted tables till they had nearly reached her, and then Roarke cleared his throat, which startled Leslie so badly that her elbow slipped off the edge of the piano and she had to catch herself against the wall. She stared at them with wide eyes, then relaxed and looked back at the keyboard. "Hi, Mr. Roarke and Tattoo," she murmured.

Her guardian and his assistant looked at each other; then Roarke moved Leslie's books to a nearby table and sat on the bench beside her. "What are you doing here, Leslie?" he asked gently.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing."

Roarke decided there was no point in beating around the bush. "Something's wrong, Leslie," he said. "Tattoo and I have seen evidence of it all week, and Mana'olana came to us this afternoon and told us she saw you crying Monday evening. If you have a problem you are unable to work out, then why don't you tell us?"

He and Tattoo watched her raise her eyes to the darkened stage, although at first she said nothing. Tattoo leaned over the edge of the piano. "Leslie, did you know Mana'olana thought it was her fault you were crying the other evening?"

Leslie turned to him in surprise, and he nodded. She looked at Roarke then and said, "When did she see me crying?"

"Monday, when you had dinner," Roarke told her. "She mentioned cooking a dish you might remember from your childhood, and when she saw tears on your face, she was certain it had brought back painful memories for you. She apparently has been feeling guilty over it the entire week."

"Oh," said Leslie and turned red, hanging her head again. "I didn't even know I was crying. Oh gosh, Mr. Roarke, it wasn't her fault." She looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. "It did bring back memories, but they weren't painful ones. It was just an accident of timing. I mean…" Again she looked at the stage. "I would've told you and Tattoo that night if you'd been able to come home for supper, but you couldn't, so I thought about it and I figured it was just me feeling sorry for myself and nobody'd want to know."

"Well, we do," Tattoo said firmly. "Come on, petite chérie, talk to us."

"Perhaps we can help," Roarke added.

One of her tears spilled over. "Not with this. It started Monday when I saw a poster at school. There's going to be a mother-daughter talent show the end of next month, right before school lets out for the summer. My friends have been talking about it all week, and that's almost all they can think of. They're all so excited. I didn't want to rain on their parade, so I asked questions and tried to make it sound like I was interested. But every time I think of it or hear about it, it depresses me." She finally began to really cry. "Mom would've said I should sign us up for an act and we'd have rehearsed every day after school and on weekends…she'd have loved it, and it would've been a load of fun. All my friends are planning to be in it, but I can't."

Roarke pulled her against his side and put a comforting arm around her, while she cried on his shoulder. Tattoo solemnly returned his glance, and he turned back to Leslie, patting her arm. "Completely understandable, child," Roarke said quietly. "Isn't there a way you could help behind the scenes?"

She shook her head and swiped her face without effect. "No…there aren't going to be any sets or costumes or makeup, and the drama class is doing the lighting and making up programs. Myeko's in that class and she told us so. I don't think they even realize I can't be in the show…and I don't know if I want to see it or not."

Roarke hugged her and rested his head atop hers; Tattoo watched with a somber, sympathetic expression. "I'm not sure what to tell you, Leslie, and I truly wish I had words that would comfort you. But I think perhaps you're too quick to discount your friends' reaction. I know you feel that you don't want to dampen their enthusiasm, but sometimes it helps to explain how you feel. I'm sure they would understand."

"I don't want them to think I'm just feeling sorry for myself," she protested.

"Who says they would?" Tattoo asked. "Maybe if you tell them, they'll think of something you could do to help them. They wouldn't leave you out, Leslie."

She peered at him doubtfully, then made a sort of shrugging motion with her eyebrows. "Oh, I don't know."

Roarke squeezed her. "Well, you need not dwell on it right now, my child. There's a very special guest arriving on tomorrow's plane, and I want you to meet her. Meantime, perhaps some solution to the problem will present itself. Whatever happens, I am sure it will work itself out. So why don't you come home? Mana'olana left hot chocolate waiting for us, and I think she would worry still more if you didn't return and have some."

Leslie looked up. "Well, I wouldn't want her to think I don't like her cooking."

The men both laughed, and Roarke and Leslie finally arose from the bench and started out, Leslie scraping up her books from the table where Roarke had left them. "How did you get into this building?" Tattoo asked as they left.

"The door was open," Leslie replied. "I'd have gone to the lagoon, but when I got there a whole bunch of kids from the fishing village were playing there and I didn't want to be around people. So I just wandered down a path, and I wound up here, and I saw the door standing open. I'm sorry I didn't come right home from school, Mr. Roarke…it's just that I couldn't stand it anymore, and I was tired of keeping up a façade."

"That's all right, as long as you're unharmed," Roarke said. "The question is, who left that door open?"

They had just reached the car when the answer came. They all stared as Chester the Chimp loped rapidly around the far corner of the building, clutching a key in one hand. Not five seconds later, the supper club's manager charged into view in Chester's wake, huffing and puffing like a steam engine, his face florid with rage. "Get back here with that key, you miserable, thieving little ape!" he yelled.

Roarke stifled a smile; Leslie stared, open-mouthed. Tattoo rolled his eyes and called, "Chester, you stupid monkey, come over here."

Miraculously, Chester stopped and sauntered over to Tattoo, baring his teeth in what looked very much like a mocking grin. Tattoo held out his hand expectantly, and Chester grunted a few times before turning over the key. "Thank you," Tattoo said sarcastically. "Now get lost, and don't let me catch you here again."

The manager had been watching them, trying to catch his breath; now, while Chester absented himself from the scene, he approached them sheepishly. "He took the key right out of my hand as I was trying to let myself in for the evening shift," the man explained. "I've been chasing him for the last half hour."

"Chester's good at that kind of stuff," Tattoo said with a deep sigh.

"Don't trouble yourself, George," Roarke put in. "Chester has a way of eluding everyone. As a matter of fact, he may have done us a favor…by leaving the door open, he indirectly allowed us to find Leslie, as she never would have gone inside had the door been closed."

George peered at her in surprise. "You were in there, Miss Leslie?"

She nodded sheepishly. "I had something to think about, and that was the best place I could find. I'm sorry if I was any trouble."

"To tell you the truth, Miss Leslie, I didn't even know you were there. So don't worry. Thank you, Mr. Tattoo, for stopping that chimp. Now I can get to work." George heaved a great sigh and trudged off toward the door, having caught his breath at last. Chuckling, Roarke and Tattoo got into the car, and Leslie slid into the middle seat, smiling faintly.

At the main house Tattoo poured chocolate for them all, and they were in the midst of enjoying it when Mana'olana appeared. "Oh, Miss Leslie, thank goodness you're all right," she exclaimed.

Leslie turned to her in surprise. "You shouldn't worry about me," she said. "I'm sorry if you did that all week. I guess I should tell you, it wasn't anything you did that made me cry the other night. I had no idea I was crying. The beans were great, and I hope you'll serve them again sometime. Honest."

Mana'olana smiled at her. "I'm very glad to hear that. I'm just happy to see that Mr. Roarke and Mr. Tattoo found you all right." She took the empty tray and bustled off to the kitchen.

"There, you see how many people care about you?" Tattoo said.

Leslie smiled. "If I ever forget, I can count on you to remind me," she teased, and both Tattoo and Roarke burst out laughing.