§ § § - September 6, 2008 – Fantasy Island
"Holy paradise," said Lauren in awe. "Look at the size of that family coming off the plane. So who are they, Leslie?"
"What're you, channeling Tattoo?" Leslie teased her, and she, Lauren and Michiko laughed. "Actually, you might notice that one's missing — the father of the six younger folks there. You can see Mrs. Elaine Bailey in the middle there, surrounded by her children: Jill, Cheryl, Kathy, Roger, Marty and Joel. Mrs. Bailey raised them all in Binghamton, New York, and Jill and Marty came up with this fantasy idea."
"What is the fantasy?" Lauren prodded.
"They want to help their mother find a new life," said Leslie simply. Lauren and Michiko looked at each other and then expectantly at her, but Leslie borrowed one of her father's tactics and simply smiled at them before gesturing toward the plane and introducing the other guests, a couple who wanted to invent the "next big thing".
All the way back to the main house she had to fend off their questions, and once in the study she threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "Will you two cut it out? You'll find out all you need to know in due time. Jill and Marty Bailey are coming over in about an hour, and they'll give us all the dirty little details."
"Geez," Lauren complained, flopping into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "How in heck do you stand it every weekend, waiting for Mr. Roarke to feed you tidbits about the fantasies till the guests wander in and paint the rest of the picture for you?"
Michiko winked at Leslie before intoning to Lauren, "Patience, grasshopper, all will be revealed in due time. Is there anything mundane we have to do before they show up, Leslie? Like going through mail, for example?"
Leslie broke into laughter. "You're almost as bad as she is. Kali comes around with the mail usually in the early afternoon, so you'll just have to wait for that one. But just for you guys, I left a big stack of letters on the tea table over there. I was going to have the triplets open the envelopes, but they haven't quite mastered the art of doing it without ripping up the contents too, and they're too young to be wielding letter openers. So you can have at it to your hearts' content, and I'll take care of some other business over here."
"Oh, fun," Lauren blurted. "This was what I signed up for." Gleefully she sprinted for the tea table; Leslie fell into Roarke's chair, giggling helplessly, while a laughing Michiko followed Lauren over to help with the mail.
They were so busy actually reading the letters they opened that they hadn't gotten through more than about twenty or so apiece before Marty and Jill Bailey arrived; then they lost what little momentum they'd had, ears wide open as they turned toward the scene at the desk to listen. Leslie tried to ignore them, welcoming the Bailey siblings in and offering refreshments. They refused; Jill smiled while Marty reached over to shake hands.
"So what exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?" Leslie asked.
Marty sighed gently. "Well, I guess we need to explain a little. We're from a very old-fashioned family, the kind you never hear about anymore that seems like a silly throwback to the post-World-War-II years. Roger's the oldest and he and Jill were actually both born in the late fifties, and all the rest of us throughout the sixties. It was an era when women stayed home, cooked and cleaned and raised the kids, while the man went out and won the bread. That was Mom's milieu, and she never complained about it. She thrived doing that; it was what she was born to do." He and Jill went on to explain how their mother had never had a job and had spent all her life taking care of her children, even after they were adults, due to divorces and bad life decisions. "And Dad gives her barely enough to meet the bills."
"Can't she sue for higher alimony payments?" Leslie asked.
"She doesn't want to go through court again," Jill explained. "The divorce left her traumatized and swearing that she never wanted to see Dad, or the inside of a courtroom, again. We aren't really sure what to do now. She doesn't stay in the house more than a day or two at a stretch because she's so lonely; she keeps dropping in on one or another of us, and since we're scattered all over the state, that's a lot of driving around."
"So we want her to understand that she's not just a washed-up old woman with nothing left to live for," Marty said. "We've tried everything, even suggested volunteering, but she can't face trying to carve out a new life for herself at this late date. But she's only in her early 70s, and she's in good health. So she has to do something."
"Something other than hanging out with you guys all the time," Leslie put in.
"Right," said Jill and Marty in chorus.
Lauren spoke up then, as if unable to keep quiet any longer. "Didn't your mom have any hobbies?" she wanted to know.
Jill and Marty both spun on their rear ends in their chairs to stare at her, as if they had failed to notice her and Michiko when they first walked in. Then Jill snorted aloud. "Are you kidding? Who has time for hobbies when you're raising six kids?"
Marty grinned, but suggested, "Calm down, sis." To Lauren he added, "Problem is, she's right. Mom cooked and cleaned and sewed — well, to the extent that she was always repairing our clothes, especially us guys. I guess we were her hobby."
"She didn't do crafts like macramé or latch-hook rugs?" Lauren pressed, sounding surprised. "She didn't take up aerobics in the 80s or decide to go back to school and learn a new language? Or take up interior decorating?"
Jill shrugged sheepishly. "She never had time. Since we were forever coming back after doing stupid things, Mom was always there to shore us up and make us feel better and urge us to move back into our old rooms."
"In other words, what with all your, uh, adventures," Leslie supplied, "your mother found herself still taking care of kids, and probably grandkids at times, too."
"Yep, for years," Marty said with a nod. "Dad would read us the riot act, but Mom just welcomed us back and told us to stay as long as we needed to. Cheryl and I sort of abused that privilege, more than once. Joel just never bothered moving out till he finally figured out he wanted to be a lawyer. So we were always there, and she always had at least two of us to take care of and fuss over."
"Now she should see to herself," said Jill. "I don't mean that in a derogatory way. I just mean that now she can do whatever she wants, indulge in all the stuff she could only dream about while she was trying to get us dummies back on the straight and narrow. Instead, it's like her purpose in life finally dried up after all these years."
Leslie nodded. "Okay…well, tell you what, you guys work on your mother. Get her to cheer up and have some fun, no matter how you have to do it. And then, after lunch, have her come here so I can talk with her for a while. How's that sound?"
"I think we can manage that," Marty said. "Thanks, Mrs. Enstad." He and Jill both shook Leslie's hand, then departed looking more hopeful.
"You have an idea for Mrs. Bailey?" Lauren asked.
Leslie grinned. "That's for me to know and you to find out. Go ahead and work on the mail for a while. I've got to go to Mr. and Mrs. Magliozzi's bungalow and get their fantasy going, and it might take me a while."
"What, we don't get to come watch?" Michiko kidded.
"Get to work, assistant," Leslie said with a smirk, and they both stuck their tongues out at her before diving back into the mail. Leslie left the main house laughing to herself.
It took her a little less than an hour to get the Magliozzis launched into their fantasy, by showing them a small laboratory in town and introducing them to their four-person staff; once their little think tank was hard at work conjuring up the next trendy must-have item, she glanced across the square at Christian's shuttered-up office and wondered where he'd gotten off to and whether he'd found a hazmat suit after all. Seating herself behind the wheel of the rover, she pulled out her cell phone and punched a button to dial his number.
"Leslie?" his voice responded after a few double buzzes, just before his voice mail would have kicked in. "Is something wrong?"
"No, just wondering how it's going," she said.
"Not very well," he admitted, sounding discouraged. "I'm on the ferry on the way back from the Air Force base right now. Darius is with me — I thought perhaps, since he's former Air Force himself, he might still carry a little leverage there. But he wasn't able to help, and no one had any idea what I could do. I suppose it's back to bothering the exterminators."
"Sorry to hear that," Leslie said with genuine sympathy; then she had an idea. "But wait a minute before you do that. Let me get back to the main house and see if I can come up with that stuff Father gave you guys to clean off the bug stench. Maybe there's a way to use it as a kind of air freshener."
Christian's voice brightened somewhat. "If you think that would work, I'd welcome it, my Rose, thank you. Perhaps while you're there, you can put one of your assistants to work hunting down a…a moonsuit for me. As Darius put it, there's no such animal at the base, and to tell the truth I got a large collection of very strange looks."
Leslie laughed. "Oh well, at least you tried. If you don't see a rover in front of your office when you and Darius drive through town, then just come to the main house. Lauren and Michiko should be there; I've got them handling the mail."
"Oh, that'll keep them busy and out of trouble, no question," Christian chuckled. "Well enough, then, we'll see you shortly."
Leslie returned to the main house and headed directly for the cellar, glancing at her two friends in the study along the way; they were so absorbed in the mail, they never saw her pass by. She grinned all the way to the cellar, but once there her mind turned to another track. As it happened, Roarke had mixed up a large enough supply of deodorizing potion that he'd stored it in a decanter the size of a wine carafe, making it easy to find.
Christian and Darius were waiting in the study, watching Michiko and Lauren perusing letters, when Leslie came back in with the neon-bubblegum-colored liquid. The two men looked at each other and then at her, and Darius inquired poker-faced, "You think that'll be enough to handle the problem?"
"Smartass," said Leslie good-naturedly, and Darius grinned. "Let's get over to the shop and see if we can do something about that stink beetle's legacy."
"We still don't have a hazmat suit," Christian reminded her.
Leslie shrugged. "So I go in first waving this around to ward off the stink."
"Like a sacred talisman?" Darius suggested with a grin at Christian.
Christian snorted. "Call it what you will. I'm desperate enough to try anything. Let's go, my Rose." He and Darius headed for the door.
Once they reached Christian's office, they hesitated, with Leslie and Darius peering through the windows while Christian found the key and shoved it into the lock. He drew in an audible deep breath and held it before twisting the key counterclockwise and pushing the door open, while Leslie watched and Darius took a step or two back from the doorway.
Christian ventured inside, glancing cautiously around and then at Leslie, who made a face as a foul odor wafted out the open door. "You better come back out in case that smell drops you again," she advised, only half joking.
Christian came back out only too willingly, releasing his pent-up breath with a loud gust and slumped shoulders. "It's hopeless," he said. "I don't see how I'll ever be able to work in here again."
"You're being a pessimist," Leslie chided him. "Do me a favor — I need one of those little spray bottles. They probably have some at the grocery store."
"I've got one in my desk," said Darius. "Hang on, I'll be the hero and go after it." He pulled in a deep breath of his own, pinched his nose shut and plunged through the door, with Christian and Leslie watching through the window. A moment or two later, Darius returned with the bottle and handed it to Leslie; she proceeded to fill it while Darius braced his hands on his knees and half bent over, breathing hard a few times.
Leslie handed the decanter to Christian and held her own breath before going in, squirting atomized potion into the air in every direction as she ventured deeper inside. Of course, inevitably she had to breathe again, but was very surprised to find that the stench was being handily beaten back by her improvised deodorizer. "It's working," she called through the open door. "Sorry it'll smell like roses in here though."
Darius and Christian came in, both sniffing and exchanging surprised, pleased looks. "Much better," Christian said. "But what do you mean, roses? I smell sandalwood."
"That's not what it smells like," Darius countered. "It's Irish Spring soap."
They stared at one another; then Christian and Leslie came to the same realization at the same time and both laughed. "That's Father for you," she said. "I guess everybody smells the scent that appeals the most, so each of us smells something different. Can't go wrong with that." She surveyed the walls, then braced herself, marched up to the far wall against which Taro's and Beth's desks sat, and sniffed cautiously before recoiling. "Ugh. Let's see if this works as well on walls as on air and people and clothes." She began to spritz the painted surface directly, starting as high up as she could reach and spraying in long downward sweeps, moving along while Christian and Darius began to gingerly lift tarps off their desks and examine what was underneath.
Leslie had completed two walls and was about to begin the third and final one when Christian flipped the tarp entirely off his desk, with a violent motion that sent it sailing over to land against the wall Leslie was about to spray. He caught her watching and warned, "Don't spray the tarps, my Rose. Those belong to the exterminators — and after the runaround they gave me, I'm going to let them worry about how to deodorize their own property." Leslie burst out laughing and promised not to touch them.
While she was busy, Christian turned on his computer, leaned down to sniff at his desk phone, then shrugged and picked up the receiver to call in the rest of his employees. Darius had followed Christian's example and flung the tarp off his own desk and out the door altogether, where it attracted attention from the square and people began to gather.
Leslie finished spraying, noticed the crowd and stepped out to address them. "It's okay to come in," she said with a grin. "We just finished treating the place and the stench is gone now. Enstad Computer Services is open for business."
"Good," said someone emphatically. "I took my computer all the way to Hawaii for a virus removal, and they couldn't do anything about it. All that money wasted. Prince Christian's better than anybody else around." He noticed a few vacationers peering interestedly at him and explained, "He charges kind of a lot for his services, but he always delivers what he promises, so it's worth every penny."
Leslie grinned at the testimonial, hoping Christian had heard it. "He's calling in the rest of his staff, so if you need help, just go on in." She slipped back inside and waited till Christian was between calls, then smiled. "You've already got a very enthusiastic customer, and your odor problem's been cured, so I guess I may as well let you get to work and have your fun." She winked at him. "And you didn't need a hazmat suit after all." They both laughed then, and he tipped forward and kissed her in gratitude as his first customer lugged a computer tower inside.
