This was written a long time ago and kind of sucks. I promise the later chapters are better.
I don't own Gilligan's Island. Sherwood Schwartz does.
It was a lovely day on the island as Gilligan went down to the lagoon to empty his lobster trap. Although the island itself didn't look particularly lovely to anyone at the moment, thanks to the Professor's announcement that morning that they had been on the island for exactly four years. It was the first time Gilligan had seen anyone else get hit with Skipper's hat, after the announcement made the girls cry. Hopefully, he'd caught some good lobsters for dinner. That should cheer everyone up.
Gilligan had never really been in any rush to leave the island. He was happy there. They were getting enough food, they had shelter, and they were getting along okay. The Professor once suggested that his comfort on the island was the subconscious reason why he was always screwing up their chances of being rescued. But Gilligan still thought it was just him being a klutz.
Gilligan pulled the trap up and found five lobsters inside. He would need two more for dinner. Well, he thought, with Skipper at the table, better make it three.
"Hey, you!" Gilligan stood up suddenly. Had he really just heard that? He looked around, but didn't see anyone.
"You, on the shore!" On the shore? He looked back out to the lagoon and saw...
"A boat?!" Not only a boat, but a guy in a boat. "Oh, boy! A boat! I gotta tell the others! Don't go anywhere!"
"Where am I gonna go?" The man shouted back. "Where are you going?" But Gilligan didn't hear him. He was already halfway across the sand, headed for the clearing.
Mary Ann dabbed at her face with her handkerchief. She couldn't believe it had already been four years! Oh, she missed home. She missed civilization, and her family, and her farm. She didn't even want to think about how her crops must look. Hopefully, someone was taking care of her farm while she was away.
She couldn't say that it was really that bad on the island. It could've been a lot worse. And it wasn't like they were going to be there forever. Eventually someone had to come along that would help them get rescued. Though it wasn't like they hadn't had plenty of guests before. They'd had plenty of chances to be rescued, and they had all fallen through.
"Did you hear that?" Ginger asked. Mary Ann looked up at her and the Professor sitting across from her, but Ginger seemed to be the only one who had heard something. But before she could say anything, she heard Gilligan's voice coming from the forest.
"Was that Gilligan?"
"Yes," The Professor answered. "And he said something about a boat."
As if on cue, Gilligan came running into the clearing, yelling, "A boat! A boat! In the lagoon! It's a boat!" And, of course, he promptly fell on his face in the sand.
Mary Ann instinctively leapt to her feet to help Gilligan to his. "Oh, Gilligan. Be careful!"
"Did you say something about a boat, Gilligan?" The Professor asked.
"Yeah, Professor, down at the lagoon! There's a guy in a boat, and he was yelling at me."
"Well, don't just stand there," Ginger insisted. "Show us!"
"Yeah, follow me." Gilligan turned to take off and again fell over his own two feet. Mary Ann bent down and helped him up again, only to be pulled by her arm off to the lagoon.
Running through the trees trying to stay caught up with Gilligan and Mary Ann, Ginger decided that whatever man invented high heels (because no woman would do something like that to her fellow females) had definitely never had to run in them. They were beautiful shoes, but not sensible in the least, especially on an island. Although, she thought, they weren't exactly made for running across sand or through jungles. Or running at all, actually.
Gilligan was right. (For once.) Just like he said, there was a boat right on the bank of the lagoon, and elderly gentleman (about the Howells' age) casually leaning against it. As Ginger walked across the sand towards him, she noticed he was wearing a fancy suit that probably cost a fortune.
"What's the deal?" he yelled to Gilligan. "You tell me not to go anywhere, than run off on me. Where'd you go?" He suddenly noticed Mary Ann. "And who is this lovely mademoiselle?" He asked in a softer tone, bringing her hand up to kiss it.
"She's not a mademoiselle," Gilligan said. "She's Mary Ann."
Ginger laughed to herself, while their visitor looked at Gilligan as though he were nuts, and Mary Ann blushed. "Gilligan, 'mademoiselle' is a French word for an unmarried lady," The Professor patiently explained. "Such as Mary Ann."
"Oh." Gilligan pointed to the Professor, and told the man, "That's the Professor. He's the smart one."
"I hope so. And you're Gilligan?"
"Yeah," Gilligan answered. He pointed to Ginger. "And that's-"
"Ginger Grant!" The man cut him off, and kissed Ginger's hand like he had Mary Ann's. "Another lovely mademoiselle. Hollywood has missed you."
"Well, I've missed Hollywood." Ginger suddenly felt a little pang of longing for her Hollywood home.
The Professor cleared his throat, and their visitor took his eyes away from Ginger to look at him. "Not to be an ungracious host, but who are you?"
"I, my dear Professor, am Fredrick J. Friedman! And that-" he pointed to his boat "-is the Mary Jane."
"Mr. Friedman," the Professor addressed him. "would you be willing to allow us to use your boat to get off the island?"
"Of course I would," Mr. Friedman answered, and Ginger let out a squeal of excitement before hearing what he said next. "If it was still seaworthy. I was tossed around for hours in an awful storm. Everything important probably got drenched."
"What if we could repair it?"
"I believe it's hopeless, my boy." Mr. Friedman took off his hat and held it over his heart, and out of the corner of her eye, Ginger saw Gilligan do the same. "I'm afraid my dear Mary Jane has gone on to the great marina in the sky."
"Well, Mr. Friedman, we salvaged some parts from our boat when we arrived, and perhaps we could use them to fix the Mary Jane."
"Professor, if you can fix my boat, you can sail it anywhere you like!"
The Professor smiled. Ginger just loved that smile. "We sure appreciate it."
Mary Ann let out a squeal of excitement. "Oh, we're going home!"
"Could you girls go find the Skipper, please?"
Ginger smiled. "Sure, Professor."
"Maybe you should tell Mr. and Mrs. Howell, too." Gilligan suggested.
"Did you say Howell?" Mr. Friedman said. "As in Thurston Howell the Third?"
"Yeah."
"Thurston Howell the Third, the billionaire?"
"Is there another Thurston Howell the Third?"
"Dear God, I hope not."
"Do you know the Howells?" the Professor asked.
"Yes, yes. They're dear friends of mine! Gilligan, you must show me to them. Tell them that Fredrick Friedman is here!"
"Thurston?"
"Yes, Lovey?" Thurston Howell stood up from his desk as his wife (of twenty-something years) came into their hut, obviously very excited about something. It was a big difference to what her mood had been like earlier that day, when she'd been crying with Mary Ann and Ginger.
"You'll never guess who I just saw down at the lagoon speaking with the Professor, and Gilligan, and the girls. Fredrick Friedman!"
Fredrick Friedman? It was certain now: his poor Lovey had been on this island way too long. "Lovey, have you been drinking that, um, water I keep in the cabinet?"
"No," she answered, sounding suspicious. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing. I was just wondering." Good, his secret stash was still safe.
"Mr. Howell! Mrs. Howell!" Gilligan's voice came in from outside.
"Oh. why do people insist on dropping by without announcing?"
"Don't worry, darling. It's just Gilligan."
"Hey, Mr. Howell. Mrs. Howell," Gilligan greeted them from the doorway, silently waiting permission to come in.
"Come on in, Gilligan," Thurston said. "What can I do for you. Or, rather, what can you do for me?" He chuckled a bit at his own joke.
"Mr. Howell, you'll never guess who's down at the lagoon!"
"Fredrick Friedman?"
Gilligan's face suddenly wore a look of surprise. "How'd you guess?"
Rather than allow her husband to answer, Lovey turned to face him. "Now, see, I told you I saw him down there."
"Lovey," Thurston tried to reason. "There is no possible way Fredrick could be on this island. He doesn't even know we're here."
"It's absolutely impossible!" Mr. Friedman called from the doorway.
"Thank you, Fredrick. That's exactly what I was trying to say--" Thurston let his words trail off as he realized who he was talking to, before fainting face-down onto the sandy floor of his hut.
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