§ § § -- April 24, 2004

Mandy Enderling often found it easiest to think when she was doing something, as opposed to sitting and staring into space. So she began unpacking her suitcases and putting clothes away in the closet in the beautiful, airy bedroom, letting her mind run at whatever speed it felt like doing. Now and then, when she had a thought that seemed useful, she interrupted herself long enough to write it down on the little complimentary notepad she had found atop the chest of drawers. The pencil was a small kelly-green golf pencil with the words Fantasy Island Resort stamped on it in gold; she thought she'd keep it for a souvenir when she went home—with Scott, she hoped.

By the time she was finished hanging up clothes, she had several thoughts she wanted to expand on, and took the notepad and pencil out to the main room to consider it. She hardly noticed the passage of time, and when Leslie arrived a little past eleven, she was actually surprised to realize how late it was. "Hi, Leslie."

"Hi, Mandy. How're you doing?" Leslie asked curiously.

Mandy said, "Well, I thought at first about writing a script of some sort, but then I pictured it…I mean, it'd look really stupid if I whipped out a bunch of sheets of paper in front of Scott so I could remember exactly what I wanted to tell him. So I guess I'll have to make my little speeches on the fly…but I thought I could at least memorize the main points."

"That makes sense," Leslie agreed. "So what're you planning to tell him?"

"I think I'll start by asking him if he managed to find his dad," Mandy said thoughtfully, slowly pacing the floor while Leslie stood nearby and watched, "and then when he tells me, I'll congratulate him…I'll be really warm and happy about it, for him."

"Good idea," said Leslie encouragingly. "Draw him into a conversation."

"Right!" Mandy agreed, brightening again. "Then I'll tell him how glad I am, and that I'm sorry I didn't support him more when he was still searching…and that my life's been very lonely without him, and I've missed him…and I'd love it, and really appreciate it, if he could find it in him to give me another chance."

Leslie grinned. "That sounds good to me. See, you really didn't need my help at all."

"I guess not," Mandy said and laughed nervously. "I just hope he's willing to listen." She drew herself up to her full height and put a determined look on her face. "Where's Scott now? That is, I hope I won't have to try to talk to him while he's picking out his wedding tux or something like that. It might be even harder for me to…well…"

"I know what you mean," Leslie said. "Actually, right now Father tells me he's at the pool relaxing. I guess he's done all he can do as far as wedding preparations are going, and he's taking it easy. You might think about changing into a bathing suit and looking a little more casual, by the way. You're not going in for a business takeover, after all."

Mandy's face went hot. "That's a good point. I'll be right out." She scuttled into the bedroom, pushed the door shut and hurriedly changed her clothes, wondering why she hadn't thought to do it earlier. "Easy, stupid," she told herself. "You were so busy thinking up something convincing to tell Scott, it never crossed your mind." She shook her head at herself, smiling wryly, and found a mesh cover-up to wear over her suit before unearthing a bottle of sunscreen and tucking it, her bungalow key and a few other items into a small tote bag and then emerging from the bedroom. "All set."

Leslie grinned. "Looking good," she said. "Let's go."

The two women walked this time, taking a jungle path that was liberally lined with all sorts of colorful, exotic tropical flowers, till they emerged into a small clearing on the other side of which they could see the pool. It was fairly crowded, and Mandy felt a few tendrils of panic; but Leslie led her without hesitation to the edge of the paved area around the pool, paused a moment to scan the throngs, then smiled. "There he is," she said, gesturing at an umbrella-shaded table. "And he's alone, so that means he's taking it easy and giving himself a break. Here's your chance, Mandy…and good luck."

"I think I'm going to need it," Mandy said, biting her lip and giving Leslie an almost pleading look. "My knees are actually shaking."

Leslie grinned again and said, "Just take it as a sign of how much you still love him. Like I said, good luck. See you later on." She turned and made her way back across the clearing; Mandy stood and watched her for a moment, then put her attention resolutely to her mission. She was scared to death, but she knew if she chickened out of this, she'd never be able to forgive herself later on. So she waded into the crowd and threaded her way through the throng till she was a few feet from Scott's table, with a knot of laughing teenagers in front of her.

For a moment Mandy studied Scott. He hadn't changed very much from the way she remembered him: he was still sandy blond, still had the mustache that had always tickled her upper lip whenever they kissed, the same blue eyes that had made her wish hers were that color. Most people would have described him as average-looking; but Mandy found him charming, ticklish mustache, cleft chin and all. As she stood there watching him, he reached out for a glass of some bright-red decoction with his right hand, flexing the fingers and seemingly dislocating his thumb. She saw him mutter something to himself, give his hand a shake to get the thumb back into place, and pick up his glass, turning a page in the magazine he was reading while he savored a long sip of his drink. Mandy had to smile. That double-jointed thumb of his used to repulse her, and she knew it was a measure of her maturation that now she found it endearing, realizing she'd missed the way it used to pop aside in a direction all its own from time to time.

Still smiling, she stepped forward and hesitantly rested her hands on the back of the chair opposite the one Scott occupied. The movement caught his attention and he looked up, then gawked, his mouth falling open. The glass began to slide from his hand and he hastily set it back on the table before it fell. "Good God!" he uttered. "Mandy?"

"Hi, Scott," she said, feeling a little shy and a lot sheepish, but hoping that once he got over the shock of seeing her there, he wouldn't mind her company. "Okay if I sit down?"

He stared at her, blinking once or twice in slow motion, then shut his mouth and shifted in the chair so that he sat up straighter. "What're you doing here?"

Mandy pulled out the chair and sat. "I was looking for you," she said.

"Why?" Scott asked bluntly.

Mandy cleared her throat; it wasn't going quite the way she had rehearsed it back in her bungalow. "I…well…" She bit her lip, swallowed and took a breath. "I just wondered…did you find your birth father? I know you really hoped to."

Scott peered oddly at her for a moment, then said warily, "Yeah, I did…had to come here to do it, but that's okay. Mr. Roarke and Leslie Enstad helped."

"Tell me about it," Mandy said hopefully, wide-eyed, leaning forward over the table with her hands clasped in front of her on its surface.

Obviously this was baffling Scott; she could see by his expression that he was very leery of her, after all the grief she had given him in the past about his search. "Well…at first I thought my biological father was the same as Leslie's. My mother had been involved with him the year before I was born, and the dates matched up…so it just made sense to me. But DNA testing proved I wasn't Michael Hamilton's son. One of the letters he'd left my mother gave us a clue as to someone else she had known, and we tracked him down in California and found out he was my real dad."

Mandy brightened. "That's wonderful!" she exclaimed, visibly astounding Scott, who reared back slightly in his seat and blinked at her again. "Tell me about him, please?"

He gave her a long, cautious look this time before asking, "You're actually interested?"

"Absolutely," Mandy insisted, sincerely eager to hear the story. "Really, Scott, I think it's a wonderful thing. Do you have a relationship with him?"

Scott nodded a little, still eyeballing her. "Yeah, I do. I changed my flight reservations after I left this island so we could meet in L.A., and we clicked right off the bat. There was no mistaking him—I always thought I looked like my mother, but I could see I got my hair and my eye color from him, not to mention this ridiculous double-jointed thumb of mine." He wiggled it in what Mandy knew to be an automatic motion, then seemed to realize what he had done and snatched the hand away out of sight, under the table. "Uh…"

But Mandy giggled. "That must have been a revelation," she said, "meeting someone else with a thumb that could move like that. Please, tell me more."

"Are you sure you're Mandy?" Scott wanted to know, squinting suspiciously at her. "The real Mandy thought that thumb was the most revolting thing she'd ever seen, and she said my quest for my father was a hopeless cause and I was shutting her out because of my devotion to it. Who are you, her identical twin?"

"No, I'm her. I mean, I'm me. I'm Mandy," Mandy stammered, stopping and clearing her throat again, softening her voice. "Really, Scott, it's truly me. I think it's wonderful you found your father. What happened after you met?"

"We had coffee, and we talked about my mother," Scott said guardedly, still watching her, as if he expected an alien to explode out of her stomach. "He told me about her as he knew her when they were in school together, and I told him about her the way I remember her in my childhood and my teen years. Then we got to know each other, and we must have spent two hours just talking. Then he asked me if I could schedule a visit to his home, spend some time with him, so we could get to really know each other. I was all for it. His name's Augustus Haraldsen and he's originally from Denmark; I have some relatives over there. He never married anyone else or had any other kids, so I think he was happy to know I was here. Heck," he said with a diffident shrug, "I even started calling him Dad not long ago. It thrilled his socks off." He grinned foolishly, then seemed to remember whom he was talking to and sobered instantly, making Mandy bite her lip again.

"I think that's really beautiful, Scott," she said softly. "Honestly, I'm so happy for you. It would be wonderful if I could meet him sometime."

Scott frosted over, his expression sealing, and Mandy winced. She'd pushed it too far. "What makes you think you could do that?" he asked coolly. "Don't forget, you're my ex-wife. There wouldn't be any reason for you to meet him, especially since you were so annoyed by my search for him to begin with."

Mandy began twisting her fingers and pulling at them again. "Well…that's the biggest reason I'm here. I'm sorry, Scott, I'm so sorry I was so cold and callous about your search for your father. I should have been more supportive, and I wish I could go back and change the way I reacted." She leaned even farther forward, ready to beg if she had to. "My life's been so lonely without you in it, Scott. I've missed you. I was just plain stupid, asking for a divorce, and I can't begin to tell you how much I regret it."

Scott sat there staring at her till she began to wonder if he had heard her; then he heaved a sigh and shook his head. "What a hell of a development," he remarked acerbically. "On the eve of my wedding to a sweetheart of a girl, my ex-wife shows up and apologizes. Not three years ago when I'd have killed to hear what you just said, not even fifteen months ago when I first met Rochelle and kept comparing her to you. No, you had to wait till I finally got over you and fell in love with Rochelle, and then you dropped in and said the words I wanted to hear back then."

Mandy's face felt so hot, she wondered how red it must be. "Scott, I know it seems like nothing…but…I mean…I'm not kidding you, and I'm really not trying to put one over on you. Please…"

But Scott was already shaking his head. "I'm sorry too, Mandy. Sorry that you didn't see the light before this, and sorry to have to tell you that you're too late. I love Rochelle, she loves me, and I'm going through with my wedding tomorrow." He sat watching her, as if he expected some particular reaction from her.

Mandy stared at him, at a complete loss for words. The beginnings of six or seven protests flashed through her mind, were just as speedily rejected for inadequacy, and left her without another thing to say that might further her cause. Her eyes began to burn with impending tears, and she closed her open mouth and fought to keep her breathing even and her throat open. It took all her effort, so that even if she had had words, she wouldn't have been able to say them anyway. For God's sake, Mandy, don't you dare cry in front of him. He still thinks you're a selfish little brat, and crying would just send him the message that you're still as immature as you ever were. Be an adult and don't cry!

"Well," Scott said with a half-shrug, "if you don't mind, I've got someplace else I have to be." He picked up his drink and magazine and left the table. Mandy sat unmoving, her heart sinking, the tears pooling and overflowing despite her best efforts.

‡ ‡ ‡

Leslie returned to the pool to make a checkup with the bartender there at about two, and was astonished to see Mandy Enderling sitting alone at a table, staring sightlessly into space. She stopped and said questioningly, "Mandy, are you okay?"

Mandy blinked at Leslie, and just like that, the tears that she'd managed to quit shedding a few hours ago flooded her eyes. "No," she managed.

Leslie immediately sat down. "What happened?" Mandy told her story, and Leslie frowned thoughtfully, chin in hand. "Okay," she said after a moment, "so what are you planning to do next?"

Mandy stared at her. "What is there to do? He let me talk, Leslie, but he didn't believe a word I said! He said he's finally gotten over me. I don't stand a chance!"

"Hmm," murmured Leslie, turning that over, studying Mandy. "So in other words, since Scott's reaction was so discouraging, you're going to just give up."

Mandy opened her mouth, but nothing came out; and Leslie smiled. "You told Father and me that you really want Scott back—that your life just wasn't right without him. If that's really true, then you have to keep fighting. Did you actually use up all your arguments on him? Did you say everything you wanted to say to him?"

"N…no," Mandy admitted, blinking.

"Then gather up the rest of your ammunition, polish it up, and gear up for Round Two," Leslie said whimsically, grinning at her. "Don't give up just yet, not if you want him back that badly. Look, I know where he is now. He's still trying to relax in the face of all the frothy chaos of the wedding, so he's gone over to the casino. I'll take you there."

Mandy followed Leslie to the casino, which was located along still another footpath that at one point crossed an attractive pedestrian bridge over the Ring Road, and ventured in on her hostess' heels. She was so busy peering around that she nearly lost Leslie, who headed straight to the back where the blackjack tables were. Suddenly something crossed Mandy's mind and she caught up with Leslie enough to stop her and ask, "Is Scott actually gambling? I mean…"

"No, he's just watching," Leslie assured her. "This is actually a pretty high-stakes casino, so anyone who isn't rich but still wants to gamble will have to bring a fistful of money saved for the purpose. Believe me, there are as many spectators in here as there are gamblers. Come on, he's standing over here watching some of them." She led the way to a long table in the very back of the room, and sure enough, there was Scott, lounging against the wall with one shoulder and following every move. "Go ahead," she whispered.

"Would you come with me?" Mandy asked, suddenly cowed.

Leslie half-smiled with gentle mock reproach. "Mandy, this is your fight, not mine. You're the one who wants him back, so go for it. Good luck." Her smile went from half to full before she turned and departed.

Mandy sighed to herself. She probably had a point; but after Scott's reaction at the pool, now she was even more scared than she'd been then. But I paid good money for this, and I have to keep at it if I don't want to find that I wasted it all on a fantasy that couldn't be granted. Okay, Scott, here I come again. I'm going to be the bane of your existence till you finally see the light! She strode in his direction, breathing deeply for extra courage.

‡ ‡ ‡

Leslie returned to the main house, rubbing her stomach where a triplet had unexpectedly given her an energetic kick, and eased into one of the chairs in front of Roarke's desk, picking up a pile of the ever-present mail to check for new fantasy requests. This had always been one of her favorite aspects of her job; the requests came from all four corners of the earth, from adults and children, from males and females, and ranged from the ordinary to the decidedly unique. Leslie especially enjoyed getting requests from countries other than the U.S. and Canada, which were the biggest sources of their customers by far.

She had just discovered a letter with stamps from Lilla Jordsö when Roarke came in and saw her there. "I thought you would be with Ms. Enderling," he remarked in surprise, descending from the foyer and going behind the desk. "Hadn't you planned to monitor whatever progress she may or may not make with her ex-husband?"

"It wasn't my intention," Leslie said, watching him sit down. "Why?"

"Ms. Enderling appeared to find you something of a confidante, if I may," her father remarked with a touch of humor, making her freeze in her chair and gape at him, wondering how he had known that. "It seemed to me that she had hoped for your assistance in winning the man back."

"Father, he's her ex, not mine," Leslie protested. "Whatever she needs to say to get him back, only she knows. It's not as if I could put words in her mouth."

Roarke smiled. "Perhaps not, but she might look to you for help in the delivery of those words. Do you not recall her saying that she can be blunt and impatient?"

"Well, she did say something to that extent," Leslie said. "But so far she hasn't really needed my help. She wanted me to bring her up to Scott at the casino—"

"Why didn't you?" Roarke broke in, voice curious.

"Because this is Mandy's job, Father, not mine. She's the one who needs to make Scott believe it's in his best interests to take her back."

Roarke absorbed that for a few seconds, then inquired, "You said she asked you to 'bring her up to' him? You couldn't have just done that and then left?"

"No," said Leslie, her voice carrying a thread of indignation and another of self-defense, which Roarke didn't miss.

"Why not?" he asked.

Leslie looked at him warily for a moment, then sighed softly and said with reluctance, "If I keep saying, 'Hi, Scott, here's Mandy, she'd like to talk to you', pretty soon he's going to associate me with her. And every time he sees me he'll put up his guard at the very least, give me the evil eye at the worst. Mandy's the one who wants him back. Let her handle any negative feelings Scott might have."

Roarke chuckled. "In other words," he teased, "you're chicken."

"You bet your last slice of pineapple I am," Leslie said emphatically, then blinked and set the mail aside, forgotten. "Speaking of pineapple, I just got this intense craving. Maybe Mariki has some in the kitchen…with French-vanilla ice cream…" She pushed herself out of her chair and headed for the kitchen, leaving Roarke laughing quietly and shaking his head.