§ § § -- January 10, 1981
Leslie was really looking forward to enjoying Sunday evening's gymnastics show with her friends, and she was upbeat and excited at the plane dock—enough to ask what Tattoo had once referred to as "the idiot questions". It was she who inquired, "Who're those people?" when a family of four emerged from the plane and made their way down the dock.
"They constitute the Otis T. Boggs clan," Roarke explained, "owners of a small farm in the Ozark mountains."
"Whose fantasy is it?" she asked.
"The fantasy belongs to Mr. Hadley Boggs, that young man bringing up the rear."
"Him? He belongs to the clan?" Tattoo put in. Hadley Boggs was dressed in understated casual clothing, while his family reminded Leslie of old episodes of "The Beverly Hillbillies", dressed as they were in old-fashioned country clothing. Roarke nodded in reply to Tattoo's question, and Tattoo remarked, "He looks more like a city boy."
"Indeed he is, now. Young Mr. Boggs left the Ozarks eight years ago to gain an education. Late last year he was graduated from MIT." Leslie brightened at that.
"Very good choice," she said with a grin, and Roarke chuckled acknowledgement. Fantasy Islander Leslie might be now, he reflected, but she will always have a piece of New England deep in her soul. "What's his fantasy, then?"
"A very simple, very selfless one," Roarke said quietly. "Hadley Boggs is filled with a great deal of gratitude. His parents and his sister sacrificed enormously to send him to school. Now he wants to take them away from their poverty for just a little while."
"Well, I hope it works," remarked Tattoo. "They look like fish out of water."
Roarke nodded. "That's right, Tattoo…and that's what worries me. Fish out of water frequently end up in the frying pan." Tattoo and Leslie glanced at each other with some concern; then they followed Roarke's gaze, which was now trained on three women stepping out of the plane cabin. One was an older blonde woman who paused long enough for a pretty, voluptuous brunette to join her coming down the dock; behind them, apparently ignored, was a nondescript young blonde with a pensive look on her face.
Tattoo's eyes were fixed on the brunette. "Oh, boss, she's beautiful! Who is she?"
"That is Miss Janet Martin, Tattoo. She's here to compete in the Fantasy Island Gymnastics Tournament," Roarke explained.
"And that's her mother with her?" Leslie put in.
"Yes, Mrs. Mabel Martin. And the other young girl is Mrs. Martin's niece, Miss Trudy Brown." Roarke indicated the girl trailing her aunt and cousin; Trudy lowered her head to let someone drape a lei around her neck. "She's here for the tournament also, but I'm afraid she has very little chance of winning."
"Why? She's not any good, boss?" Tattoo surmised.
Roarke frowned, studying Trudy Brown with sympathy. "Do you remember the story of Cinderella, Tattoo?"
"Oh, is that Trudy's wicked aunt?" Tattoo suggested, and Leslie smiled.
"No, not wicked," Roarke clarified, "but not caring. And more than anything else in the world, Trudy wants someone to care about her. You see, Miss Brown has no confidence. She's convinced she's second-rate in everything."
"Then she's the one with the fantasy," Leslie said, very interested. Something about Trudy Brown's plight touched her.
"Correct," Roarke replied with a smile. "Just once, Trudy Brown would like to be in control—make things happen, instead of having them happen to her."
"What kind of things?" Tattoo asked. As he spoke, Trudy stepped onto firm ground and took up a spot slightly removed from her aunt and cousin, staring unsmiling at the grass beneath her shoes. She looked unaccountably drab; her dark-blonde hair was drawn loosely back into a ponytail, and she wore a plain brown jumper dress over a white blouse. Her only jewelry was a necklace with a gold heart-shaped pendant dangling from it. Unlike Janet, she wore no makeup; but she had a slim, pretty face and a slender build.
"That, my friend, is the question," Roarke said ominously. "And the danger." So saying, he accepted his drink and toasted their latest guests; Leslie watched Trudy Brown and wondered if her guardian would give her enough time to get to know her a little.
‡ ‡ ‡
Roarke decided to begin with the Boggs fantasy, and had arranged for a limousine to take them to a huge estate in the Enclave. This particular one had a gigantic, meticulously landscaped yard at least the size of a football field, and reminded Leslie somewhat of a sedate governmental building with its pristine white exterior. "Why don't you stop here, driver," Roarke suggested, "and let everyone enjoy the fine view."
The car halted partway up the drive leading to the mansion, and the driver got out and came around to the back door to let out the Boggses, Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie. Otis Boggs stared at the mansion with a wide grin. "My goodness, Mr. Roarke, that's what I call a first-rate hotel!"
Roarke, assisting Mrs. Boggs out of the other side of the car, straightened up and smiled. "Oh, that's not a hotel, Mr. Boggs. That is your home away from home."
Hadley Boggs' sister Emily, a wholesome-looking blonde with her hair pulled up into two little-girl ponytails with bright-red ribbons, popped out of the car and blurted, "Wowee! I bet even Roy Clark don't have a place this big."
"I tell you one thing for sure," Otis said. "When our son throws a fantasy for his family, he don't leave nothin' undone." Hadley grinned, coming around the car with everyone else. "Now c'mon, we don't wanna stand around here—our fantasy'll be over come Monday." He, his wife and Emily started up the yard, but then stopped at sight of the small crowd that had gathered on the front steps. "Who're them folk up there?"
"They are your household staff, waiting to meet you," Roarke told him. "Oh, one final detail: you will be hosting a cocktail party at four o'clock, Mr. Boggs."
"Cocktail party?" Hadley echoed. "How can we host a cocktail party when we don't know anybody to invite?"
Tattoo spoke up. "Don't worry, the boss took care of it."
Roarke nodded. "I took the liberty of inviting the ten wealthiest guests on Fantasy Island." Leslie remembered him being on the phone earlier in the week; now she understood why she'd overheard so many famous names for a couple of days.
"Millionaires," she said aloud with realization.
"Millio—didja hear that, Ma?" Otis exclaimed, turning to his wife. "I always wanted to meet a real live millionaire."
"And so you shall, Mr. Boggs," Roarke assured him.
The driver passed by them then, carrying their luggage, and Otis started forward offering his help, but Hadley restrained him. "Pa, Pa, let him be," he said. "He's only doing his job."
His father nodded. "Oh. Well, c'mon, girls." Mrs. Boggs and Emily started off after him, and Hadley turned to his hosts, who waited beside the car.
"Ten millionaires and their ladies are going to attend a cocktail party hosted by four of the brokest hillbillies ever to set foot on Fantasy Island," he said. "Why?"
"Very simple, Mr. Boggs," Roarke said. "Tattoo?" Tattoo obligingly handed a newspaper to Hadley, who shook it out and read the front page. "That is a copy of today's Fantasy Island Chronicle."
Hadley stared at the banner headline. " 'Multimillionaires Arrive on Fantasy Island'?"
Roarke looked at him with surprise, then frowned slightly and extended a hand. "May I, Mr. Boggs?" Hadley gave him the paper, and Roarke took a good look at the front page, with Leslie peering over his shoulder. Aloud Roarke read the subheadlines: " 'Boggs Family Has Vast Mineral Holdings'…'Uranium Strike Worth…Billions'?" He emphasized the last word with sudden suspicion and shot Tattoo a killing look. Tattoo looked rather sheepish, and Leslie stared curiously at him, wondering what Tattoo had to do with the exaggerations.
Hadley protested, "Mr. Roarke, all my folks got left is a ten-acre chicken-scratching hollow. I mean, they had to sell the best part of their farm just to send me to school!"
"Well, you know, newspapers sometimes…embellish…especially about society affairs," Roarke said, with another black look at Tattoo.
"Journalistic license?" suggested Tattoo hopefully.
"Yes," Roarke said, in a tone that promised repercussions.
Hadley stared at the mansion. "This is embarrassing, Mr. Roarke. A family of poor dirt farmers, rubbing shoulders with all that gold and glitter…what've I done to my folks? It's like giving them a whole pile of toys on Christmas, then taking them back the next day."
Tattoo asked a little uncertainly, "Does that mean you want my boss to cancel your fantasy?"
Hadley hesitated. "I'm not sure—" he began.
At that moment Emily and their parents came up to him. "Hadley!" she bubbled. "Hadley, you just gotta come and look—it's purely unbelievable!"
"It's just like a castle," Otis added. "There's runnin' water, electricity, color TV…and it all works!"
"An' servants doggin' ya ever'where…shoot," added Mrs. Boggs, sounding disenchanted. She half turned away and shot a glance into the sky.
"Mr. Boggs," Roarke said gently, "you must make a decision."
Hadley glanced at his family, who watched him expectantly; finally he turned back to Roarke and inquired gamely, "What time's the party?"
"Four P.M.," Roarke replied. Hadley nodded, and with that headed toward the mansion along with his family. Tattoo began to take several backward steps; Leslie noticed and twisted at the waist to watch him. Roarke, though, hardly moved. "Tattoo, why don't you try the other side of the island? There are some excellent places to hide."
"You gave me a job," Tattoo said in self-defense. " 'Call the newspaper,' you said."
Roarke turned then and awarded Tattoo the full wattage of his disapproving glare. "And give them the Boggs party announcement—that's all I said."
Tattoo tried another tack. "Boss, please. I'm the best assistant you ever had, right?"
Roarke scowled. "That is not the issue! We're talking about multimillionaires—uranium, yet!"
"Society papers—they always exaggerate, you said," Tattoo pointed out.
"Without an ounce of help from you, of course," countered Roarke skeptically.
Tattoo managed to look innocent and wounded all at once. "Oh, boss!"
"Uranium," Roarke muttered in disgust, slapped the newspaper against one hand with the other and stalked back to the car. "Get in, Leslie, we have another appointment." His voice was brusque and left no room for argument, even had she had one; she scrambled into the car without further ado. Tattoo glanced back at the mansion, sighed and climbed in beside her, while Roarke got in up front with the driver, still shaking his head.
Roarke's annoyance had dissipated enough by the time they reached the main house that he was able to greet Trudy Brown with cordial warmth. She smiled halfheartedly in response and returned her attention to the scene outside the French shutter doors, where she stood with her arms folded over her abdomen.
Roarke leaned forward slightly. "You seem unhappy, Miss Brown. Are you disappointed with Fantasy Island?"
Trudy turned back. "Oh, no, Mr. Roarke," she said, finally joining them inside the study, where Leslie had paused beside a full-length free-standing mirror covered by a red curtain, and Roarke and Tattoo waited by a club chair. "It's even more beautiful than I expected. I guess this seems pretty silly, but…I kind of hoped that I might change too."
"Oh?" Roarke asked.
Trudy glanced down at herself. "Look at me…as plain as ever."
"Miss Brown, your fantasy is to make things happen in your life," Roarke reminded her. "You don't need beauty to win a gymnastics competition."
Trudy glanced hesitantly at him; her gaze skipped away, then returned, filled with pleading. "Would it be asking too much just to be a little pretty too? I mean…it would help me with my confidence…wouldn't it?"
"Perhaps the self-confidence—faith in yourself—should come first," Roarke said gently. "Others see you as you see yourself."
"I guess you're right," Trudy conceded quietly, but there was disappointment all over her downcast face as she started for the foyer to leave the house.
"However, Miss Brown…" Roarke's voice stopped Trudy in her tracks, and he smiled and turned to his ward beside the mirror. "Leslie?"
She nodded and pushed the curtained mirror a little farther into the room, so that Trudy's attention was directed to it. She and Roarke each drew aside one of the curtain panels that concealed the glass. "This mirror was made for Helen of Troy…or so the legend says," Roarke began, and Trudy nodded understanding. "No one is certain what the material is, but it was crafted so perfectly that it reflects images without the slightest distortion. Look into it, Miss Brown." Slowly Trudy stepped back into the room and approached the mirror, hands clasped in front of her, head down. When she finally met her own gaze in the mirror, Roarke prompted, "Tell me what you see."
"An ugly duckling," Trudy replied listlessly.
"Beauty emanates from within," Roarke told her. "See yourself as I see you: your figure, slim and graceful; your skin, smooth as cream; your eyes, sparkling jewels." As he spoke, fog filled the reflection, obscuring the image of Trudy they all saw therein. After a moment it cleared, revealing a very pretty young woman with stylishly curled hair, clad in a delicate pale-pink dress with ruffled sleeves. Trudy's large blue eyes got even bigger as she contemplated what she saw; Leslie and Tattoo both turned from the image to the girl, only to see that Trudy herself looked just like her new reflection. She raised her hands to her face and let out a breathy laugh of wonder.
"Boss, how did you do it?" Tattoo asked the question Leslie wanted to voice.
"I did nothing, Tattoo," Roarke replied. "Miss Brown made it happen, by daring to look at herself as she really is, within her soul."
Trudy looked wonderingly at him; her features took on a thoughtful look. "Can I make other things happen?" she asked.
"Oh, indeed!" Roarke assured her with a nod and a smile.
"What kind of things?" Trudy persisted, hopeful excitement filling her face.
"You will find out soon enough. Use your power wisely, Miss Brown," Roarke added with quiet sternness, "or I warn you, the price will be very high."
Trudy's eyes gleamed. "I am so happy!" she exclaimed and giggled deliriously as she took Roarke's hands in gratitude. "Thank you!" With that, she turned and all but ran out of the house; Leslie, watching her go, had the feeling that Roarke's warning had been lost on her. Then a movement caught hers and Roarke's attention at the same moment, and they looked around to see Tattoo standing before the mirror, one hand over his head, bouncing on his toes—clearly in an effort to get the mirror to make him taller! When he caught Roarke watching him, he turned away with a small sigh. Leslie laughed, laid a hand on each of Tattoo's shoulders from behind and bent down to kiss his cheek.
"You don't need that, mon oncle," she assured him. "You're perfect just the way you are." Tattoo glanced at her in surprise over his shoulder, then grinned sheepishly. Roarke smiled broadly and nodded agreement.
‡ ‡ ‡
Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie had an early lunch together so that Tattoo could handle some extra rounds and Roarke could check ostensibly on the progress of the setup for the gymnastics competition, but primarily on Trudy Brown's fantasy. It didn't take them long to reach the gym, where they walked in on a few dozen contestants diligently practicing. Some distance away, Leslie noticed Trudy talking with a young man she hadn't seen before; Mabel Martin stood nearby, eyes fixed firmly on Janet, who was just starting a practice routine on the parallel bars.
"There's Janet," she commented without much enthusiasm. From Trudy's demeanor when they'd first met her at the main house, and from the way she had seen Janet and Mabel completely ignore Trudy at the plane dock—not to mention what Roarke had told her and Tattoo there—she was prepared to dislike Janet Martin on sight. But as Janet got into her routine, she had to admit the young woman was quite good.
Roarke, on the other hand, was watching Trudy, whose gaze was as fixed on Janet as Leslie's was. Even from where he stood, he could see Mabel gazing admiringly at her daughter and Trudy glaring, her face as pale as ever.
Just as Janet reached the pinnacle of a revolution around the upper bar, a pin popped neatly out of the pole that anchored the bar in place; the bar instantly dropped loose, sending Janet plunging to the mat. Mabel gasped and raced across the room to assist her; the man who'd been standing beside Trudy followed her, and Roarke shook his head, knowing exactly what had happened.
"Leslie," he said, and she turned her attention from the scene on the mat in time to hurry after him as he approached Trudy. Trudy didn't see them coming till Roarke spoke: "You could have injured your cousin very seriously."
Trudy turned to look at him with an eerily expressionless face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roarke," she said woodenly. "I don't know what came over me."
She did it? Leslie thought, blinking. But why? Roarke eyed Trudy and finally asked, "You really don't know, huh?"
Trudy's mask crumpled and she appealed to him with some desperation. "I'm sick and tired of being the black sheep, the also-ran…the one who always gets Janet's hand-me-downs. It's been that way ever since my parents died, and I had to move in with Aunt Mabel and her precious daughter." Leslie, enlightened and instantly very much in Trudy's camp, watched with deep empathy as Trudy peered hopelessly up at her host. "Do you know what it's like to get leftover love, Mr. Roarke?"
"You never receive love until you learn how to accept it," Roarke said quietly.
"I want them to love me, honestly!" Trudy insisted.
"Love you, or approve of you?" Roarke countered. She stared at him, as if unsure what to say. "I warn you once more, Miss Brown: think clearly, control your emotions, or you may cause irreparable harm." He eyed the speechless young gymnast firmly for a long moment before nodded and departing the building, gesturing at Leslie.
She hesitated, torn between wanting to talk to Trudy and following her guardian's dictates; but Trudy just shook her head a little and turned away, and Leslie left at last. Roarke was waiting for her at the door. "Did you wish to stay and watch the contestants practice?" he asked.
Again she hesitated long enough to search out Trudy in the crowd, but when she found her, Trudy was merely sitting on the corner of a mat with her head in her hands. "No, I guess not," she said and left the building with Roarke. She could feel his scrutiny, but was relieved when he didn't ask any questions.
She wondered about Trudy Brown's story all afternoon, but didn't see her till they had gone to that evening's luau. Leslie had spied her friend Michiko there and talked to her for a while, but then Michiko had been forced to leave when her father, sheriff of the island's police department, went off duty for the evening and took his daughter home. Leslie had filled a plate with fruit and then, searching for a table, spotted Trudy seated at one, all alone. She instantly veered over there; normally she would have been a bit too shy to make initial overtures, but she felt drawn to Trudy, now that she knew more about her.
"Hi, Leslie," Trudy said, looking surprised.
"Hi, Trudy," Leslie replied. "Is anybody sitting here?"
"No, go ahead and sit down," Trudy offered, and Leslie did so, an excited feeling fluttering through her stomach. "Hey, that looks good."
"We always have great food at the luaus," Leslie said. "You can have some of mine if you want."
"Thanks." Trudy reached out with the fork that sat beside her own empty plate and speared a chunk of papaya off Leslie's. "So you live here, is that right?"
Leslie nodded, seizing the opening and explaining that she was Roarke's ward and how that had come about. Trudy listened with real interest, making Leslie feel even better; chronologically they were about seven years apart in age, but Leslie always felt a kinship with a fellow orphan, no matter how much older or younger that person might be than she.
Trudy nodded, her eyes glistening with understanding. "You were lucky to come here and live with Mr. Roarke." She paused to accept a glass of nonalcoholic punch from a passing native girl bearing a tray. "It's awful to say and I know it, but sometimes I wish my father had been an only child like my mother. I really think Aunt Mabel resented me from the day I was born, and when I had to move in with her, she made sure I knew she was being extremely generous."
Leslie bit her lip, then dared to point out, "But she still took you in."
"Oh, sure." Trudy rolled her eyes. "She had to. For one thing, she was named guardian in my father's will; and even if it weren't for that, there wasn't anybody else. Janet's always come first with Aunt Mabel and she lorded it over me all the time. I wanted to be friends with her—we're the same age, after all. But she thought she was better than me, and I learned in a hurry to stay in the background so they wouldn't turn on me. Well, at least not too much."
Leslie considered that. "I suppose having relatives isn't all it's cracked up to be…is that what you're saying? I'm asking only because both my parents and all my grandparents were only children, so I had no relatives left at all. There were never any cousins to hang out with, and my last grandparent died when I was eight. I always had to just sit and listen in whenever my friends talked about visits with their grandparents and cousins, and even now it's still uncomfortable for me to hear stuff like that."
"Frankly, it's better having no cousins at all than one like Janet," Trudy said and gave a long sigh. After a minute she turned to Leslie. "But you know your mother loved you, right? I mean, she turned over your care to Mr. Roarke. And it's pretty clear to me that Mr. Roarke doesn't resent your presence at all. He never tells you to get out of his way, or puts you down in front of anyone else, or anything like that."
"No, he's never done that," Leslie said softly. She looked thoughtfully at Trudy, then said, "Power or not, I don't care what they say. I came to the arena with Mr. Roarke right before supper and I saw you on the balance beam and the parallel bars. You are so good, Trudy! You're really terrific! Don't let your aunt and your cousin get you down. You have a real shot at winning, and if I were a judge, I'd give you the highest possible marks."
Trudy's pretty face brightened with a wide smile, bringing her small cleft chin into prominence. "Thanks, Leslie, that's sweet of you to say."
"All my friends and I are coming to watch the tournament tomorrow," Leslie said, "and I'll tell them who to root for. You're going to have a whole cheering section, so don't forget, we're on your side." She returned Trudy's grin.
Roarke came up to the table then. "Everything is well in hand here, Leslie, so we'd better go to the arena now and make sure the television crews are getting settled in. I hope you're enjoying the luau, Miss Brown."
"It's great," Trudy said. "Leslie and I were just getting to know each other. She's a really nice kid, Mr. Roarke."
"I certainly agree with you there," Roarke said and chuckled at Leslie's blush. "Good evening, Miss Brown. Leslie?"
"See you at the competition," Leslie said and got up, taking her plate with her. She munched on tropical fruit all the way to the car; when she had finished and folded the paper plate for later disposal, Roarke finally spoke.
"I see you were having quite a chat with Miss Brown," he remarked.
"She's really nice, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said enthusiastically. "I like her a lot, and I think she can win. She's great. I mean, it's not just that she's a nice person, but she's talented too. She's a terrific gymnast. And I think that power you gave her really put a lot of self-confidence in her."
"You think so?" Roarke inquired indulgently.
"I'm sure of it. I told her we saw her earlier this evening. I wanted her to know how good I think she is. I mean, after all, you've told me before that praise does a person a lot of good."
Roarke cast her an amused glance. "So I did. I'm happy to see you're taking that advice to heart, Leslie." She beamed at him and settled back in her seat, feeling good. She couldn't wait to see what happened at the competition tomorrow.