§ § § - May 23, 1981

Meantime Roarke had continued on his way back through a few dozen centuries, till the mist cleared and he came upon a small pavilion, open on two sides and guarded by muscular dark-skinned men in wraparound skirts, collars and chest chains, each armed with a sword. Two blonde young women stood nearby, one waving a fan at the figure reposing in a divan. She was beautiful, slender and regal, clad in a simple, low-cut white gown with gold braid along the bodice. When she noticed Roarke, she waved away the two servants and looked him up and down a few times. "Well. Shall I jump to my feet and embrace you to my bosom?" she inquired, lifting a hand for him to kiss.

"My dear Helen of Troy, just seeing you again satisfies my appetite for normal pleasures," he replied, accepting her hand.

"Then you can't be very hungry," she remarked, arising. "How long has it been? A few hundred years, more or less?"

"Only that?" bantered Roarke. "It seemed like a thousand."

"Do you remember where?" Helen queried, stopping him and sliding her hands up his lapels in a practiced move.

"Yes," he said, "the Empress lent us her house…" His smile lulled her into believing his purpose was entirely other than it was, and she leaned in closer to him—then he grasped her hands and gently removed them from his lapels where they'd been sliding steadily up. "We both have our duties, which is why I am here."

Her expression shifted into outrage. "What? Work?" Roarke nodded, and she stalked away, nose in the air. "You just snap your fingers whenever you want me and expect me to come to your aid?"

"There is a young lady, a Miss Nancy Harvester…there are great difficulties with her fantasy," Roarke explained quickly, cajolingly, following her. "My dear Helen, the child has never lived—and if we do not help her, she may never know what it is to be a woman."

He had her and he knew it; her face had taken on a deeply sympathetic look. "No experiences at all?" she asked.

"None!"

Helen marveled at this. "Are there really some left like that?"

"At least one," said Roarke.

She regarded him for a moment; then a crafty gleam filled her eyes and she queried coyly, "Grant me a wish if I help you?"

"If it is within my power," Roarke hedged.

"Oh, it is. Now take me to your young lady, and I shall transform her into a brilliantly charming, in-control winner, overnight."

Roarke lifted a hand. "Uh, Lady Helen…please. Your power can sow havoc. We don't want to destroy this child."

"Flatterer," Helen purred happily. "Okay. Just a touch of class for the young lady."

Roarke smiled, then warned, "If you will only remember that your goal is simply to get her caught up on living. No more."

"Don't you trust me?" she asked, as if wounded.

Roarke started to answer, but she cut him off by pushing a grape into his mouth. He accepted, shaking his head, chuckling in resignation, knowing as well as she did that there just wasn't any other choice.

Tattoo and Leslie were still in the study when he returned with Helen in tow; their entrance cut off what appeared to have been an argument. "Something wrong?" he asked.

They looked at each other. "Well, I just wanted to know who you were bringing back here," Leslie said. "For some reason Tattoo wouldn't tell me. He said I was probably better off not knowing any more than I really have to. But I don't think that's fair. I may be only a go-fer and about as wet behind the ears as they get, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't know anything at all about this business and the people you work with."

"And I keep saying she's too dangerous to let you be around her," Tattoo barked.

"How much sense is that supposed to make when you won't even tell me who she is?" Leslie retorted in exasperation. "Mr. Roarke, please!"

Roarke raised both hands, palms out, to stop them. "Calm yourselves, both of you," he admonished. When he was sure they had both subsided, he smiled and stepped aside to allow the regal-looking redhead to enter the study. "Lady Helen, you know Tattoo, of course. May I introduce my ward, Leslie Hamilton. Leslie, I present to you Helen of Troy."

"Oh…" murmured Leslie, drawing out the word with understanding. "Wow. So you know Mr. Roarke? Seems like he knows everybody."

"He does, dear," Helen replied with a knowing smile at Roarke, who merely shrugged in an attempt at modesty. She came into the room and studied the girl, while Leslie gazed back with interest. "Hmm, Roarke…maybe your Nancy Harvester isn't the only one who could make use of some of my advice."

Before Roarke could do more than open his mouth, Tattoo shot out, "Oh no you don't. She's not the one you're supposed to be helping. She's too young."

"Tattoo, I'm sixteen!" Leslie protested indignantly.

"Only just," he riposted without missing a beat. "And you've got no experience at all. You won't even go out with boys who ask you out."

"That's because no boys ever ask me out," Leslie parried, while Roarke settled his stance and prepared to wait out the altercation, and Helen looked on with ever-increasing fascination. "I've gone all the way through school so far with only one boy who ever asked me out, and here I'm sixteen and about to finish tenth grade. Myeko and Camille and Lauren are always going on dates, and Maureen goes out sometimes too. Even Michiko's been asked out more than I have, and she's known around school as being really serious about her studies and her future music career. But the boys won't come near me! How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Hmm," Helen mused, regarding Leslie as she might have appraised a succulent dish after five days of fasting. "Sweet sixteen and never been kissed, huh?"

"That's right," Leslie fired off, primarily at Tattoo, before catching herself and focusing her full attention on Helen. "Well, if you really want to know the truth, I don't mind watching boys, but the ones at school…well, they're so…"

Helen smiled knowingly. "Immature," she provided, and Leslie nodded. "Yes, yes, I know exactly what you mean. Well, I just might be able to give you a few little tips…"

Roarke cleared his throat, startling them all into giving him their attention; he smiled wryly, wondering if they'd actually managed to forget he was there. "If I may interrupt," he said, heavy on the irony, "I would like to remind you, Lady Helen, that you are here for Miss Harvester, not for Leslie. And Miss Harvester is easily ten or twelve years older."

"I know, Roarke, I know—Miss Harvester will require an entirely different type of advice from what I'd give your young ward here. But surely it wouldn't hurt Leslie if she hung around with us girls, hm? After all, you yourself warned me not to…'destroy the child', I believe your words were. If it's necessary for me to practice such restraint, then there's no reason Leslie here couldn't tag along and gain a little knowledge herself. You never know when she might be able to put it to good use."

"That's true, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said hopefully.

Roarke eyed her. "I had no idea you were that interested in attracting the attention of boys. You seldom mention it, if ever. I drew the conclusion that dating and having a boyfriend were low on your list of priorities."

Leslie felt herself blushing and hoped Helen wouldn't mention it. "Well, I guess I haven't really thought much about it for the most part. But…well, it sort of gets to me, when my friends have dates and I'm the only one who's never been asked out."

"You have too," Tattoo broke in, still wearing an outraged look. "Michiko's brother asked you out the first week you started school here."

Leslie rolled her eyes. "Toki? Tattoo, you've gotta be kidding. Toki hates me, and I have no clue why he even bothered asking me in the first place. I wouldn't go out with him if he were the only eligible boy on the island…but he's not." She swung around to face Roarke. "Matter of fact, I know Tommy Ichino's interested—at least, according to Camille. Please, is it all right if I hang around with Lady Helen and Nancy?"

Roarke sighed gently and smiled a little. "Well, perhaps it will do no harm…" He saw Tattoo gear up to protest and raised a hand to silence him. "However, Lady Helen, the basics only. As Tattoo said, Leslie has only recently celebrated her sixteenth birthday, and when you get into advice that is more suitable to a woman of Miss Harvester's age, you will let Leslie know that her lessons are over."

Helen grinned, and Leslie actually bounced on her feet. "Great! Thanks, Mr. Roarke!"

"You make a pretty good guardian," Helen remarked to Roarke, sounding impressed. "To tell you the truth, when you first introduced her as your ward, I had to wonder how a lifelong bachelor such as you could possibly have any success trying to bring up a teenager—and a girl at that. But the two of you seem to get along quite well, and your assistant here is a little tiger. Very protective of her, aren't you?" She addressed Tattoo with this last.

"You better believe it," Tattoo said, spearing her with a look that seemed merely to amuse her. "The boss and I promised her mother before she died that we'd raise Leslie right. Okay, I'm not really her guardian, but she's like a niece to me, so you better treat her right, you got it? Or you'll be answering to me."

"Ferocious," Helen commented, chuckling.

"And to me," Roarke put in, sobering Helen somewhat. "Remember, the basics only, and when you've completed those, you are to send Leslie back to me."

"Solemn promise," Helen said with a nod.

"When do we start?" Leslie asked.

Roarke consulted his pocket watch. "After lunch should be sufficient. Leslie, why don't you see how close Mana'olana is to serving the noon meal."

Shortly after lunch, Roarke drove Helen and Leslie to Nancy Harvester's bungalow, parking behind a second rover that sat in front of the cottage. On their way up to the door, Roarke said, "Lady Helen, I caution you again—please, we don't want to destroy this child. Nor Leslie either." He opened the door and ushered her in ahead of him, then Leslie, before stepping in himself.

"My dear Roarke," Helen exclaimed softly, "relax! Be calm! It's in my hands." She winked at Leslie, who grinned, and they crossed the bungalow to the back corner patio outside the dining alcove. Nancy Harvester lay dozing on a chaise, a white Persian cat cradled in one arm; Leslie was relieved to see that she had indeed changed, though the pink plaid short-sleeved dress she now wore seemed unduly modest. Helen herself had exchanged the white dress in which she had arrived for a stylish teal-green pantsuit.

They paused on either side of the chaise, with Leslie standing next to Roarke, who discreetly cleared his throat. Nancy promptly sat up. "Oh, Mr. Roarke," she murmured, releasing the cat, which meowed and padded back into the bungalow.

"Miss Nancy Harvester," Roarke said, "Lady Helen—Trask, your technical advisor."

Nancy stared up at him doubtfully. "It won't work," she said.

"My dear," Helen scoffed, going to her and loosening her hair, "if I could get Josephine ready for Napoleon's court, I can certainly help you." Leslie, mouth open, marveled to herself, Wow, Josephine? while Roarke, alarmed, tried vainly to shush her without actually saying the words. "Mon Dieu, the competition that woman had!"

Nancy stared at Roarke in perplexity, nervously fiddling with her hair; Roarke managed a rather sickly smile and then shot Helen a look that finally communicated his message to her. They all looked at Nancy, who begged, "Please don't tease me. I'd like to forget the whole project."

"Oh, please don't be afraid, Miss Harvester," Roarke urged, all smiles. "Miss Trask is the very best in her, uh…business."

"Don't you still want to get Gene Jefferson's attention?" Leslie put in, making Nancy blink in consternation. She didn't give in, but she did stop protesting.

"Now, I've brought some clothing for you; Mr. Roarke has told me your sizes," Helen said reassuringly. "And I have enough makeup for the Corps de Ballet." Roarke saw Leslie brighten at that and gave her one of those classic parental looks, mostly for show, which he and Leslie both knew she'd pay little heed to. "Why don't you go in and take a look? Leslie, you can go with her."

Doubtfully Nancy glanced back and forth between them, but got to her feet and went into the glass wall of the bedroom, Leslie at her side. Helen watched her, then with a bright smile remarked to Roarke, "She is sweet."

"Yes," Roarke agreed, then thought of something and pulled Helen aside, lowering his voice. "Uh…I caution you once more: push her too hard, and she may retreat back into that shell for the rest of her life."

"Haven't you read your history books about Helen of Troy?" she chided.

Roarke smiled. "Oh yes, forgive me…the historians describe you as an innocent symbol of purity."

Outraged, Helen yelled, "I know! You're gonna throw that damn Trojan War in my face again!"

Roarke hurriedly shushed her, pointing at the bedroom wall. "Helen, please, please, calm yourself."

"Paris kidnapped me," Helen hissed. "Ask Aphrodite! Ask Zeus! There was nothing I could do about it. I didn't want to be there. And then that…that damn Trojan horse…I mean, what the hell could I do about it? I was totally helpless…"

"You were, you were," Roarke placated her; her voice was rising and he didn't want Nancy becoming suspicious.

Helen settled herself down with visible effort and even managed a smile when she faced Roarke again. "I won't let your young lady down."

"Oh, I have no fear of that," said Roarke, his eyes stern. "I will be watching you—closely. Very closely." And for more than one reason, he didn't bother to add. Helen laughed, just a trace sardonically, and headed for the bedroom, walking through the curtains with a sweeping movement while Roarke watched her go.

Both Leslie and Nancy turned away from the seven overloaded shopping bags and the three huge makeup cases lying on the bed when Helen made her grand entrance. Leslie was excited, Nancy dubious. "Are you sure you can really work with me?" Nancy asked.

"Of course I can," Helen insisted brightly. She took in her pupils' respective attitudes and snapped her fingers. "I know. Leslie, I'll teach you makeup first, and Nancy, you can watch, all right?"

Nancy looked relieved. "Okay, that sounds good."

Helen steered Leslie to the small vanity tucked into the corner of the room beside the louvered closet doors and sat her down in front of the lighted mirror there. "Let's see…blue eyes, dark-blonde hair with reddish highlights, fair skin, no freckles…okay."

"I have a few freckles," Leslie corrected her, tracing the sprinkling of faint tan spots across her nose and beneath her eyes. "See them?"

"Oh, you can hardly tell," Helen said in dismissal. "They'll be easily hidden under the makeup. Do you wear any to school?"

"Mr. Roarke must have talked with some of my friends' mothers," Leslie said. In fact, a couple of months before, she had actually caught him at it one evening when she'd gone down for something to drink while doing homework. She'd managed to keep him from detecting her, at least till after he'd made the third phone call—by which time she had deduced that he was consulting Junko Sensei, Katie Ichino and Romana Tomai as to their policies on allowing their daughters to wear makeup to school. She had learned later from Myeko, Camille and Maureen that their mothers had agreed to allow them to begin wearing makeup when they turned sixteen or when they began eleventh grade, whichever came second—which in the case of all the girls was the latter. "He said I can start wearing makeup to school next year."

"Hmm," Helen mused, that impressed expression on her face again. She seemed so overwhelmed with Roarke's evident parenting tactics that Leslie decided to cut her guardian a break and not tell Helen about overhearing the phone calls. "He's getting downright progressive. All right, then, Nancy, would you bring over that second makeup case there?" She indicated the one in question, and Nancy promptly handed it to her, gaining some courage from the fact that it was Leslie who was the canvas and not Nancy herself.

About an hour or so later, Helen had shown Leslie the colors that worked best with her features and how much of each item to use, keeping in mind Leslie's age and the fact that Roarke had reminded her about how closely he intended to watch her. Leslie was amazed, staring at herself in the mirror and marveling at her new look. "I swear, I really look sixteen, don't you think so, Nancy?"

Nancy grinned gamely. "Heck, you look eighteen," she offered.

Helen groaned. "Oh no. We'd better try for something else then. Roarke'll never let her get away with this look if he thinks she looks eighteen…"

Nancy's startled eyes darted back and forth between Helen's self-annoyance and Leslie's profound disappointment, and she backtracked. "Well, no…I meant, actually, it looks exactly right on her. Really, Helen, it's perfect for her. She looks like she's sixteen, the way she really is…you know."

Helen eyed her while Leslie watched; at last Helen nodded and Leslie sagged in relief. "I thought so myself—I am an expert, after all. Besides, you have no experience. Somehow I keep forgetting that, it's so hard to believe." She turned to Leslie while Nancy stood there blushing enough to shame a stoplight. "Okay, then, what about the hairstyle? Waves and curls are all the rage now. This straight hair…how boring."

Leslie, whose hair had never been any trouble for her and who had never thought about straightness vs. curliness in her life, was almost as surprised as Nancy and Helen when she balked. "No, no, no," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "I like my hair the way it is. My friend Lauren has really wavy hair and she always complains about how frizzy it gets in the humidity. I don't want to deal with that. Don't give me a perm or anything."

Nancy had leaned over and was studying her own golden hair in the mirror; it looked to be naturally straight, though the clumsy chignon she'd had it pinned into all day had caused the ends to curl. "What's wrong with straight hair?" she asked blankly.

"Nothing," said Helen with strained patience. "It's just not the in thing right now. I think you'd look darling with big soft curls framing your whole face, Leslie. I could cut your hair to about down to the shoulder blades, and then—"

"I don't want to cut my hair!" Leslie protested, so loudly that both Helen and Nancy flinched away. She cleared her throat and toned herself down. "Sorry. I just don't want to fool around with my hair. I like to be able to wash it and let it dry on its own, and I never get frizz or split ends because I almost never use a hair dryer, unless I'm in a hurry. I really don't want to have to bother with curling irons and blow dryers and stuff like that."

Helen gathered up a handful of Leslie's hair and let it sift through her fingers. "Well, I suppose you have a good point," she admitted. "I just thought you'd be adorable with curls. Okay, what about your wardrobe? I'm sure you'd love to change that."

"Mr. Roarke lets me pick out my own clothes every August before school starts," said Leslie. "I wear a lot of jeans, so I like to pick out fun shirts and blouses."

"And you never wear a skirt or dress?" exclaimed Helen, as if horrified. "Zeus preserve us all. I suppose you're not a typical teenager."

Leslie grinned. "Well, maybe not about that. If you want to make some suggestions, though, that's fine by me. Sometimes it's fun to get dressed up."

"I'd like to see what you do with her," added Nancy.

Helen looked at her, then sharpened her gaze, as if suddenly realizing that her real reason for being here was to advise Nancy, not experiment on Leslie. "Well, I don't know if Roarke would approve of his little girl going out and buying a lot of expensive clothing she might not even be wearing for another three or four months. Anyway, the clock's ticking, and you're the one I'm really here for. Leslie, you can stay if you want, but I won't be doing anything else with you. Roarke did say just the basics."

"Clothes are part of the basics," Leslie protested.

"And I think I'd feel a little more comfortable starting with clothes," Nancy put in shyly, her face flaming again.

Helen shrugged. "All right, if that's what makes you feel best. Let me see what I have in here." She began pawing through bags and laying dresses and gowns across the bedspread till she dug up a reasonably modest dress in wide diagonal stripes of pink and deep turquoise, accented by a white leather belt with a silver buckle. This she held up against a delighted Leslie. "Aha, just as I thought. I do have good taste, don't I? You'd be a real hit with the boys in this, Leslie. And it looks as if it'd fit you."

"I really like this," Leslie agreed with enthusiasm, surveying the dress against herself. "That turquoise is my favorite color. Can I try it on?"

Helen agreed, and Leslie changed in the bungalow's bathroom, returning to model the outfit for Helen and Nancy. Nancy was impressed. "Wow," she said. "You look so cute in that, Leslie." She regarded Helen with awe. "I'm beginning to feel better about all this."

"Good, good!" Helen exclaimed. "That's wonderful. Leslie, I'm afraid that's the only dress I have that would be suitable for someone your age, so I guess I'd better send you back to Roarke. You can keep that dress if you want to."

"Cool," Leslie gasped, thrilled. "Thanks so much, Helen!" She startled herself as much as Helen by giving her a quick, impulsive hug, then withdrew, a little embarrassed, and turned to Nancy. "Hey, if Helen could work this kind of miracle on me, then she'll turn you into a supermodel. Guaranteed. Thanks again, Helen." Helen waved gaily after her as she hurried out of the bungalow with her usual white weekend dress draped over one arm.

Roarke and Tattoo looked at her in amazement when she entered the study. "I thought you were somebody else at first," Tattoo said, gaping.

"I'm surprised Lady Helen didn't change your hair," Roarke remarked.

"I wouldn't let her," Leslie said. "I think if you hadn't laid down the law about the basics, she'd have pushed it. She was even talking about cutting it." She shuddered.

"Good thing you didn't," Tattoo said. "That's the only reason I recognized you."

"Well, what do you think otherwise?" she asked, pirouetting for their benefit.

"She has good taste," Roarke said with a smile. "That dress suits you very well indeed, and I must admit I'm quite impressed with the makeup job she did on you. I never expected her to know what would be right for a teenager."

Leslie dug around in a pocket of the white dress and tugged out a slip of paper. "She gave me a list of the makeup brands and colors I should buy so I can reproduce this look. Is it okay if I go into town and get it now?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid not. The agreement," Roarke said, raising his hands and his voice when she started to object, "is that you and your friends will be allowed to wear makeup to school, beginning the first day of your eleventh-grade year—not sooner than that. You have no reason to buy the items you need until just before that school year starts."

"Crud," mumbled Leslie, disappointed. "Well, I just thought I'd ask. I'm going to put this list someplace safe so I remember what I need when the time comes."

"You do that," said Tattoo. "Did she let you keep that dress?"

"Yup. It's okay, isn't it? I'd like to wear it to school Monday."

Roarke grinned. "I see no reason you can't, except for one thing—you'll be going to school directly from the plane dock, just like every other Monday morning. Unless you can change clothing in the car on the way to school, you'll have to wait until Tuesday."

Leslie rolled her eyes but conceded good-naturedly. "Curses," she kidded as she headed up the stairs, "foiled again." She grinned at hearing Roarke's and Tattoo's laughter.

When she came back down, dressed once again in her white dress and having scrubbed the makeup off her face, she remarked, "I wonder how Helen's getting along with Nancy. She sent me back home before I could even get to see the clothes she brought for Nancy, and I'm really wondering how it worked out."

Roarke grinned. "I warned Helen that I would be watching her very closely, and your having mentioned the subject reminds me that it would be wise to make a check on her. If you'll come with me, some of your curiosity may be satisfied."