§ § § - May 31, 2008
The Saturday-night luau was in full swing and well attended, though to Christian's relief, not too crowded. He and several of the Enstads' friends were sitting on the ground around a long L-shaped table, taking up one end and holding a space open for Leslie, who was technically on duty that evening. Also with them was Darius Langford, whose tenuous contact with the actress Paloma Esperanza had frayed and then ceased altogether. He was making the acquaintance of the others and had fallen into a long, involved sports discussion with Brian Knight and Nick Okada.
"He's a nice guy," Myeko remarked, glancing at Darius. "And you're saying he's never been married or anything? You'd think women would be falling at his feet. He's friendly, he's cool, he's good-looking and he's got a good job."
Christian shrugged. "I don't pry into my employees' personal lives, no matter how much Julianne and Jonathan volunteer theirs and those of their relatives." Myeko and several of the others laughed. "But I do know that since Darius has been here long enough to get settled and be eligible for citizenship if he wants it, he's begun to think about finding someone and settling down. Unfortunately, so far it appears the women aren't cooperating."
"Their loss," Maureen observed. "Myeko's right, he does seem really nice. Maybe he should talk to Leslie and Mr. Roarke and try to have a fantasy granted where he can meet the woman of his dreams."
"I doubt he would," Christian said, grinning. "He's too modest for that; I think he'd rather meet someone the old-fashioned way." He noticed Leslie talking to a young African-American woman wearing large glasses and clad in a pretty pale-green sundress, and found himself thinking out of nowhere that Darius might like to meet her. Unless he missed his guess, that young lady was one of his father-in-law's guests this weekend.
"Well, he'll never meet anybody if he's gonna just sit around with Nick and Brian talking football all night," said Lauren, rolling her eyes. "I don't get you men; how can you talk about nothing but sports for hours on end?"
"About the same way you women can talk about nothing but shoes for hours on end," Christian teased, making Myeko, Maureen and Camille all laugh and playfully poke Lauren. "Or shopping, or each other."
"I don't talk about shoes," Maureen snorted, grinning. "Frankly, I hate shoe shopping. My feet are almost impossible to fit properly and I have to get my shoes custom-made, so I avoid it as long as I can. It's been at least six years since I bought new shoes and I can't stand talking about the silly things. On the other hand, I can talk your ear off about recipes from anywhere in the world."
"Which suits me just fine," said Grady, sitting beside her with one ear on the sports discussion and the other half on Christian's discourse with the women. He had been looking tired lately, though he and Maureen both said it was merely from too much work, as he was the island's only lawyer. Maureen caught his words now and turned her grin on him.
"Can Darius talk your ear off about anything but sports?" Lauren persisted, though she too was grinning.
"Well, he's good for some entertaining military stories from his stint in the Air Force," Christian said through a chuckle. "We've had some interesting lunch breaks."
"I bet you have," Grady said through a laugh. "I served in the Navy for a stretch, and the military's always good for some odd anecdotes."
Leslie returned just then and dropped into her reserved spot beside Christian. "Anecdotes about what? Sorry, I had to defray a little problem."
"We were just talking about Darius and his attempts to find a good woman," Christian said, bestowing a quick kiss on her lips. "So who was the young lady you were just talking to, one of your guests?"
"Yeah, Kalora Calhoun. Father told me this afternoon that she's getting disgruntled with the way her fantasy's going, and he seems to be a little down, at least to me."
"He looked it at supper," Christian agreed, then noticed that Leslie's friends were listening in, as usual. "Truly, you ladies remind me of groupies."
"Yeah, we're pretty pathetic, aren't we?" Camille said good-naturedly. "But the thing is, we've known Leslie for almost thirty years, and even after all that time, it's impossible to be bored by any of her work stories. But we promise to wait till Monday to ask about the actual fantasy." She winked at Leslie, who grinned.
"You thought Mr. Roarke looked tired?" Maureen asked curiously. "Maybe what he needs is a vacation. Grady and I've been talking about closing down his office for a good month or so and getting away somewhere, without the girls."
"If it would take away that tired look you have," Christian said thoughtfully to his friend, "Leslie and I would be glad to keep April for you—after all, she's good friends with our Susanna and Karina."
"That's way too generous," Grady said instantly, shaking his head. "No, Maureen's parents would be willing to keep the girls—they're their only grandchildren, or at least the only ones they know." He and Maureen traded a quick look, and Leslie knew what he meant; Maureen had still never met the two older brothers who had remained behind when her parents had fled Romania the year she was born.
Christian smiled. "Just thought I'd offer." He might have said more, but then their attention was diverted by the same pretty African-American woman whom Leslie had been talking to earlier. Leslie arose.
"Hi," she said, "what can we do for you?"
"I wonder if I could join your party?" Kalora Calhoun asked hesitantly. "I mean…I know I'm probably horning in on something private, but you just…I mean, you all look like you're having a lot of fun."
"Well, come have a seat," Leslie suggested, gesturing at a narrow spot beside her. She, Christian and Grady inched down to make some room, forcing Darius and Nick to do the same and thus catching the men's attention. Kalora smiled self-consciously and started to crouch into the newly created empty space.
"Hold on a sec," Darius broke in suddenly. "Nick, there's a little space on the end there…Grady, if you wouldn't mind making some room here…"
Kalora froze in mid-kneel, and Leslie chuckled. "I'm sorry, Kalora. This is Christian's receptionist, Darius Langford. He's worked with Christian about a year now."
"Oh, I see," Kalora said, meeting Darius' gaze with new interest.
Nick, Christian and Grady caught one another's eyes, and Nick promptly shifted to the space at the end of the table, while Brian smirked, then ducked his head and made a show of making some extra room for Nick. Darius shifted farther over, and Kalora circled around to settle in between him and Grady. Immediately Darius inquired, "So, you here for a vacation, or what?"
Kalora's nervous gaze skittered once around the group, all of whom were now tuned in, before she ventured, "Well, actually I'm having a fantasy granted."
Ears pricked up all around, and Darius' face brightened. "Yeah? So is it going okay for you? Are you in the middle of it right now?"
"Not exactly…I mean, I'm kind of in between," Kalora murmured.
Leslie wanted to intercede, but since it was Kalora herself who had mentioned having a fantasy, she could see no special reason to suggest they change the subject. The expression on her face must have alerted Christian, for he cleared his throat. "Tell you what," he offered, "why don't we all get up and refill our plates, if Darius and my wife's guest don't mind holding all our seats for us for a little while."
"Sounds good to me," Grady agreed. Nick, Brian, Myeko, Lauren and Camille shot Christian looks that all shouted, You party pooper! but obediently arose. Maureen grinned and got up as well, giving Lauren a gently admonishing poke.
"What was that for?" Lauren demanded once the group had moved a sufficient distance from the table toward the buffets.
"Don't you think we should practice a little discretion?" Maureen inquired. "I could read it all over that poor girl's face—we were all hanging on every word she said, just waiting for the dirt on her private fantasy. And besides, couldn't you tell Darius is interested in her? Give them a chance to talk in private."
Myeko snorted. "Oh, come on, she mentioned her own fantasy."
"That doesn't mean she was willing to discuss it with a bunch of people she'd never met before," Leslie pointed out, thankful that Maureen had given her an opening to work with. "She might not even necessarily want to tell Darius, but at least he's just one person and not half as intimidating as all you behind-the-scenes groupies."
The phrase made Christian hoot with laughter, setting off the rest of them despite themselves. "Okay, okay, I guess we kinda were listening a little too closely," Nick conceded good-naturedly. "That's okay. As I was saying about the Forty-niners…"
"They don't have a chance against the Patriots," Brian cut in immediately. "I mean, I've been a Seahawks fan from day one, but I know a good team when I see it, and the Patriots are good, man."
"That doesn't mean they're going to win the next Super Bowl," Grady said with a sly look, clearly just as a challenge to Brian.
"Why exactly are you talking about American football now, when it's not the right season?" asked Christian curiously, before Brian could respond. "It's baseball season, isn't it? I caught Leslie here watching a Red Sox game last week—she just won't give up on some of those remnants of her New England origins."
"Rogue," said Leslie good-naturedly.
"You a Sox fan?" Grady asked with interest. "I lived in Vermont for most of my teen years, did I ever tell you that? My dad was an avid Sox follower."
Leslie grinned. "How can you be a New Englander and not be a Red Sox fan? It's like treason if you're not—especially if you turn out to be a Yankees fan instead."
"Yankees, Schmankees," Grady scoffed. "Sox forever."
"You got it!" Leslie agreed delightedly.
"Herregud," Christian grumbled. "That was a mistake." The women burst into appreciative laughter; the men playfully shoved him, and he laughed, unoffended. Leslie grinned to herself, knowing full well that he was just happy to be an accepted part of their group, treated like just another one of the gang. It was the sort of thing he'd wanted all his life. I just hope we can fall back on that when they surprise him next month with that fiftieth-birthday bash they're cooking up, she mused.
A laugh distracted her attention and she flicked a glance over her shoulder, then stopped moving to stare outright. Darius and Kalora were deep in conversation, and Kalora appeared to be completely at ease. Maybe Kalora would come away with something better than the impossible fantasy she'd asked Roarke for…
§ § § - June 1, 2008
Kalora took a deep breath; in some ways, this memory was more painful than any of the others she had considered trying to change in this fantasy. "I was eighteen," she said slowly to Roarke and Leslie, "and the senior prom was coming up. I really hoped someone would ask me to go—I wanted to go so badly, I didn't care who asked." She looked up and they both nodded. "But when this guy did ask, it was only a stupid joke. He said he'd come and get me in his bulldozer, and everyone laughed. I couldn't think of a snappy comeback at the time, and I ended up spending the evening of the prom thinking of things I could have said that would've put egg on his face. I finally did come up with one, and to this day I can still imagine what would've happened."
Leslie was curious as to what Kalora's prepared comeback would have been, but she knew—like her father—that once this segment of the fantasy had reached its conclusion, they'd both find out anyway. So she nodded. "Well, good luck, then," she said simply.
Roarke extracted a third deep-blue glass sphere from the box and settled it into Kalora's waiting hands. "I also wish you the best of luck, Miss Calhoun," he said with a smile. "Now, as before, wait until Leslie and I have departed, and look into the ball."
Look into my crystal ball, Kalora thought whimsically, thanking her hosts and watching them close the door behind them. She stared into the cobalt depths of the smooth glass, till as before, she saw something reflected on the surface and looked up and around. She was in the hallway of the high school she had graduated from, and kids were running this way and that, yelling, laughing, sometimes playfully pushing each other around. Not far away was the doorway to the classroom where she'd taken American history in her senior year; that room was the scene of this recollection, and there was a somewhat nauseated fluttering in her stomach at the idea of witnessing this particular memory, of watching it actually taking place all over again. But you're gonna change it, girl, she promised herself, and with that thought in mind, she sidestepped and toe-danced her way through ever-shifting knots of teenagers till she'd slipped into the classroom.
The room was about half full of students, but she had no trouble picking her 18-year-old self out of the bunch. The younger Kalora was already in her desk, chin resting in one hand and gaze aimed somewhere out one of the windows, obviously daydreaming. Kalora bit her lip: she well remembered that. There I go, fantasizing about that stupid dance. I wish I could just tell myself that it wasn't worth it. But even she knew that she would never have listened to anyone who tried to tell her that, back then. Better she go with the plan she had at hand.
"Where are you now?" she boldly asked herself, pausing beside the teen's desk as if she were a teacher on the prowl. The girl reared back, badly startled, and gaped up at her before opening her mouth to ask a question; at that point the bell rang in the hallway and a stampede of teenagers thundered into the room, streaming to their desks.
"Who are you?" the teen demanded under cover of the noise.
"Don't look right at me. You're the only one who can see me. I'm here to help you," Kalora told her younger self. "The teacher's gonna be a few minutes…"
The teacher, who was in fact sitting at her desk, arose abruptly as if having just remembered something. "Class, I'm putting you on your honor," she warned. "I'll be back in five minutes." Without further explanation, she left the room.
Kalora knelt next to the desk while the classroom promptly filled with chatter. "I know you want to go to the prom," she said. "I'm going to help you with that. Just listen for my prompts and say what I tell you to. Got it?"
The teen squinted at her, then seemed to brighten. "I always dreamed of something like this, but I never thought it'd really happen," she murmured, glancing at the unnoticing students around her in case someone was watching. "Okay, I'll do what you say." She saw the now-clear glass sphere in Kalora's hands. "What's that?"
"It keeps me from being visible to anyone but you," Kalora explained. "Go ahead and get out your book and check your homework or something, but look busy. In a minute or two a boy is gonna start talking to you."
The teenager grinned hopefully and followed instructions, slapping a textbook and spiral-bound notebook onto the desk and thumbing aside pages. Kalora straightened up and scanned the nearby rows till she located the boy she still vividly remembered as having been the one who pulled his little prank on her that day. Go ahead, Feebster, she urged, glaring holes in his head. This time I'm ready for you.
Sure enough, the boy—Allen Feemstra, as she recalled all too well—laughed at something one of his buddies said and looked around, then spotted the younger Kalora with her head bent over her notebook. Kalora very clearly saw him aim a gigantic wink at his nearby friends before reaching over and tapping her younger self on the shoulder. "Hey there, Calhoun! Got any plans for prom night?"
The teenager's head shot up and she looked wide-eyed at Feemstra. "No, not yet."
Kalora nodded to herself. So far, this was going just as she remembered it.
Feemstra smirked. "Cool! In that case, how 'bout you go with me?"
"I'd like that," young Kalora said shyly, beaming.
"Cool," Feemstra said again. His smirk seemed to get wider. "I'll come pick you up in my bulldozer, so be ready."
The teen's mouth drifted open in wounded disbelief as the nearby boys and a few girls howled with laughter. "You jerk," Kalora couldn't help snarling before laying a hand on her younger self's shoulder. "Tell him this, exactly as I'm saying it." She whispered in the girl's ear, as quickly as possible so as not to lose the moment.
The teen flicked one startled but grateful glance back at her before leaning over and saying loudly, "Hey, Feeble-stra—I'm gonna be waiting for you, so I expect you to show up at my house at seven sharp on prom night. And if you don't bring your bulldozer, everyone's gonna know you're just a liar with a fat mouth."
The laughter stopped for a second; several gazes landed on the teen Kalora and stayed there, as if amazed, while Feemstra blinked and his friends roared. "Now you're committed, man," one of them said gleefully. "Got yourself a prom date!"
"Yeah, and don't forget your bulldozer," a girl added, chortling. This brought on fresh laughter, and the teen Kalora grinned, obviously basking in her little victory. The present-day Kalora felt great. How can this possibly lose? she asked herself. If Feeble-stra doesn't show up, he loses face, and I get my prom date. Now how do we get to prom night?
As if in response to her thought, the scene magically shifted around her. Now she found herself standing in her own bedroom, decorated with all those posters of popular bands and cute, hunky actors, to such a point that the wallpaper was almost completely hidden beneath them. Kalora laughed out loud; she had forgotten half those celebrities by now. "Look at that poster of Brandon Scott!" she giggled.
At the sound of her voice, her teenage self shot out of the closet. "It's you!" she cried. "I wondered what happened to you in school the other day." She edged forward, and Kalora found herself admiring the prom gown her younger self wore, in pastel pink with clean lines and just a little lace trim.
"What a pretty dress," she said.
The teen blushed and smiled. "Thanks. Do you really think Feeble-stra will show? By the way, that was a great nickname. I never would've thought of it."
"Sure you would," Kalora said with a wink. "I admit it would've been too little too late, but you'd've thought of it all right. Listen, if Feeble-stra doesn't want to lose face in front of everybody in school, he'll be here, bulldozer or not. Even if the jerk ditches you at the prom, which would be typical of him, I'm sure you can hang out with your friends at least, even if you don't find a cute guy you could dance with."
The teen nodded and confessed, "Not that I'm too thrilled about going with old Allen, but he did ask." They both laughed. "Are you coming with me?"
"Of course! What're friends for?" Kalora said playfully. "So is there a special guy you would've liked to go with?" She herself had had crushes on several different guys in her grade, but had never been particularly choosy about which one she'd go out with if asked.
They chatted quietly in the bedroom for a while, till Mrs. Calhoun appeared in the doorway and smiled at her teen daughter. "Honey, it's ten past seven. Want to come downstairs and wait for your date there?"
The two Kaloras trailed her down to the first floor, and the younger version took up a post at the window overlooking the street, some of her enthusiasm squelched. "I'm not surprised Feeble-stra's late," she muttered. "I don't care what he shows up in, just so long as he shows up at all."
However, by the time it was almost eight, it was plain that young Kalora had been stood up; the girl was furious. "So much for your brilliant plan to get me to the prom," she spat at her stunned older self. "Thanks for nothing. Wait till school tomorrow. Feeble-stra will be laughing his head off at me and get the last word after all."
"He'll probably say it was just a joke," Kalora offered desperately. "Just tell him you bet he wouldn't have thought it was half so funny if it were him, and tell the loser to go jump off a cliff."
"Oh, I'll tell him all right," the teenager blazed, "but it won't help me any. I spent all my babysitting money on this dress! Where'm I ever gonna wear it again?"
"I'm sorry," Kalora said helplessly.
"I just bet." The younger girl turned her back on Kalora and grumbled in a fury, "I'll never listen to that stupid inner voice again. What a fiasco. Why don't you get lost?"
Kalora had no idea what to say; fortunately, she was saved from the necessity, as the scene dissolved around her and she found herself standing in the time-travel room again, still holding the glass ball. She stared at it, and just like that, the riposte that had eluded her in her altered memory popped into her head. Frustrated beyond words, she stomped the floor hard and cursed a few times.
The door opened immediately and Roarke looked in at her. "I take it your third attempt was unsuccessful."
"As if you didn't know," Kalora snapped, thrusting the glass ball at him with enough force to catch him rather hard in the stomach. Roarke winced but managed to hold his ground. "I told you I wanted these things to succeed! But I just got humiliated yet again!"
"Suppose you come out and tell us about it, Miss Calhoun," Roarke suggested, his voice faintly strained. Kalora stormed out, with Roarke directly behind her, still carrying the sphere. He set it with great care atop the tea table before making for his desk, trying to resist the urge to rub his aching abdomen.
"What happened?" Leslie asked while this was going on.
Kalora slammed herself into the unoccupied chair and barked out the story of what had transpired. "Sure, my plan worked fine. And then that…that turd stood me up! I even got mad at myself…I mean, myself got mad at me…I mean, well, you know what I mean. My other self threw me out, and then when I was standing in there feeling like the dumbest thing on two feet, I finally thought of what I should've told her."
"Which was?" Leslie prompted with interest.
"I should've told myself to go stag," Kalora growled. "Lots of kids do these days anyway. No big deal. But no…I stood there with my lower teeth flapping in the wind, and let myself look like a loser all over again!"
Leslie glanced at her father, who was listening in silence with one hand lying on his stomach, and ventured, "Do you know if this Allen Feemstra guy actually did go to the prom, in real life?"
Kalora stopped short and stared at her. "Well, no…come to think of it, I don't remember hearing whether he did or not."
"Did you ever see him again after high school?" Leslie queried.
Kalora groaned aloud. "Oh, you had to remind me. Someone set me up on a blind date when I was 25, and it turned out to be him. We got one look at each other and he started laughing, and I ran like hell." She spun in her chair and drilled a glare into Roarke's face. "And that's the other memory I want you to change. Three strikes and you oughta be out, Mr. Roarke, but I've wanted for too long to give Feeble-stra what-for to let you get away with making me look stupid. I'm telling you, you better make this last chance go the way I want it to go, or so help me, I'll spread word all over Delaware that you don't grant people's fantasies like they should be!" She bolted to her feet and stalked out.
"Well," Leslie said through a gusty exhalation. "Father, I'd say you have one very unhappy customer there."
"You, like so many of our guests, forget that a fantasy leaves my control once it has begun," Roarke told her, more severely than Leslie thought her comment warranted. "I have no say whatsoever in what takes place after I have set the guest on his or her way. I suggest that you remind Miss Calhoun of this the next time you see her. As for me…" He arose, then winced sharply and bent a bit at the waist, now with both hands over his stomach.
"What happened, Father?" Leslie exclaimed, alarmed. "Are you all right?"
"Let's just say that I probably won't be partaking of the noon meal," Roarke said and crossed the room with gingerly steps, making his way up the stairs while Leslie stared after him. Maybe Maureen was right—he does need a vacation!
