§ § § -- June 5, 1999

Leslie was quiet in the pre-dawn after they had seen Jamie and Pavithra off the next morning, and Roarke studied her. "You've been unusually withdrawn, Leslie, ever since you came back from the cemetery yesterday," he noted. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, trying without success to stifle a yawn. They were due to meet their weekend guests in about three hours, and she was hoping to sneak in a little nap before she had to accompany Roarke to the plane dock. "I stopped by Teppo's and Tattoo's graves while we were there," she admitted, "and it was weird, Father. Visiting Tattoo's grave made me think of the weekend right after Helena died, when he tried to grant that fantasy and that awful old woman nearly destroyed your friendship with her lies."

Roarke understood immediately what she was referring to. "It took you a long time to get over that," he recalled.

Leslie shook her head, staring at the ground as they walked along towards the waiting car. "Why are some people so cruel?" she asked. "What makes them so mean-spirited that they have to sow discord and misery everywhere they go?"

Roarke paused and studied her closely, and she stopped automatically beside him. After a moment or two he asked, "Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?"

Leslie looked up, nodded, then suddenly grinned with another memory. "Just how long were we in the kitchen eating that Friday night?"

"More than long enough, I seem to recall," Roarke said, chuckling. "You claimed not to be hungry, but once we were there, your appetite returned with a vengeance."

"I know," said Leslie, giggling. "I'm still amazed to this day that Mana'olana never said anything. Maybe she knew." She yawned again. "I do need to talk about it, but do you think it could wait till this evening, maybe? I thought I'd see if I could eke a little more sleep out of the last couple of hours before we have to get ready for the guests."

"Very well," said Roarke. "If it bothers you that much, then I think it's better that we do discuss it."

And, true to his word, he settled down with her in the TV room upstairs that evening; they made themselves comfortable, and Roarke regarded his daughter curiously. "So what, precisely, was it about that weekend that has you so unsettled now?" he inquired.

"The whole thing, I think," Leslie admitted. "The poison that woman spread, the way Tattoo fell for every word…and worse, the fact that it happened right after Helena died and we were all still feeling so raw. I don't think we ever really talked it out, Father. I remember being utterly unable to tell my friends that first Monday after I went back to school, and they were completely baffled. I couldn't talk about it at all till our New Year's Eve party that year, and even then I could only summarize it."

"I see," said Roarke, absorbing this. "Perhaps in part it was because we never got the opportunity to share our grief over Helena with Tattoo. He had been giving us both some space and a chance to come to grips in private, but when you and I reached our own catharsis that Friday evening, it was much too late to speak with him before we needed to turn our collective attention to the business at hand…"

§ § § -- November 9, 1979

Roarke watched Leslie peel another orange and break a section apart from the rest of the fruit. "I believe that's your fourth orange," he said with a teasing half-smile, "not to mention the three apples, two peaches, four plums and a pear…and at least fifty grapes."

Leslie eyed him, looking a little guilty, then offered him the orange section she held, which made him burst into hearty laughter. "Is that a bribe?" he teased further.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Roarke," she finally protested, giggling despite herself, "you helped me eat all that fruit, so you're not that innocent. I told you I didn't want to be the only one Mana'olana got mad at."

"Quite true," Roarke agreed readily, accepting the proffered orange section. "However, I think we've both had enough, and we should quit while we are ahead. We have to be up early in the morning for the fantasies, remember."

"Yeah, and it's already midnight," Leslie realized, popping another orange section into her mouth. "But I was really hungry."

Roarke shook his head in amusement. "This from the girl who claimed she could never eat again. Why don't you put the rest of that in a container for the night and you can have it with your breakfast tomorrow morning. Neither of us has slept much more than we have eaten, and we're better off remedying that without delay."

The next morning they met Tattoo on the front porch and headed to the plane dock, in what felt to Leslie like a rather surreal execution of normality. After the past week's events, it seemed absurd to be going about everyday matters. After a fugitive witness to a murder had made his way down the gangplank, Roarke turned to the next guest and stared in disbelief at the pretty young blonde stepping out of the plane. "Isn't that Miss Donna Mae Calloway?" he exclaimed, eyes narrowing.

To both his and Leslie's surprise, Tattoo spoke up. "Don't worry, boss, this is gonna be our best fantasy ever!"

Shaking his head, Roarke said, "Tattoo, you must know that her aunt, Ellie Simpson, has requested this fantasy for her twice before, and I turned them down!"

"I know, boss," Tattoo said, "but give her a chance! Don't be mad!"

"Don't be mad!" echoed Roarke, outraged. "When I see that she has also brought that aunt of hers with her?"

"They're very close," offered Tattoo.

"Of that I am well aware," said Roarke, very annoyed. "Aunt Ellie has been preparing her niece for the musical career she was never able to achieve for herself. There have been many years of lessons and practice—guitar, piano, musical composition, voice…"

Tattoo nodded confidently. "That's why her fantasy's gonna be a cinch!"

Roarke rolled his eyes while Leslie watched, dumbfounded; she had never before seen Roarke quite this angry with his assistant. "Oh yes, yes, she merely wishes to be a country-and-western-music star," he said sardonically. "A cinch." Tattoo nodded, missing the sarcasm completely, and Roarke sighed. "She is lovely to look at. She may even have ability…but what if she doesn't have sufficient talent?"

Tattoo stared at him in shock. "Boss! This is Fantasy Island!" he exclaimed, as if he thought he had to issue a reminder. He smiled. "Leave everything to me."

Roarke stared dubiously at him for a long moment, then composed himself as his drink arrived and he toasted their latest guests. Leslie observed his narrow-eyed, suspicious regard of Ellie Simpson, Tattoo's appreciative scrutiny of Donna Mae Calloway, and the baldly calculating expression on the older woman's face that even she couldn't miss, and began to wonder if they were going to survive this weekend after all.

‡ ‡ ‡

Tattoo was still brightly confident and Roarke very reserved when the threesome pulled up in front of a bungalow and went to knock on the door. From inside they could hear an approaching voice, which cut itself off when the door swung open and Ellie Simpson beheld them. "Oh well, hello, Tattoo, Mr. Roarke, young lady! Won't you please come in?" she invited in a faintly syrupy tone, gesturing toward the interior.

"Thank you, Ms. Simpson," said Roarke, very businesslike, leading the way in. They could see Donna Mae at a table, working on a piece of music.

Ellie was bubbling. "Donna Mae's gonna be so thrilled," she chattered. "She's so excited she can hardly remember her own name."

"That's all right," said Tattoo cheerfully. "I remember her name. Hi, Donna Mae."

Donna Mae, who appeared to be perhaps ten or eleven years older than Leslie, looked up; she had a pretty face with just a touch of innocence about it, framed by frothy pale-gold waves. She brightened at sight of him. "Oh Tattoo…I can't believe I'm really here—and I owe it all to you!" She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a perfect lipstick print that made Leslie's eyes widen with unexpected amusement. Tattoo smiled a little sheepishly, but his dark eyes were sparkling. Donna Mae turned and added, "Oh, and you too, Mr. Roarke. I promise I won't let you down."

Roarke looked confused. "Let us down?" he repeated.

Donna Mae nodded, full of anticipatory energy, and continued in her soft southern accent, "Mm-hmm—my audition with the first and foremost starmaker in country music, Colonel Hank Sutton of Riverboat Records." As she spoke, she arose and crossed the room, moving a guitar to a chair. Roarke stared in disbelief: Tattoo had certainly been busy! Leslie watched in silence.

Ellie chimed in, "An impossible man to see back home." Tattoo smiled again. "I tried to get an appointment for Donna Mae for six months, but I couldn't even get past his receptionist!"

Donna Mae giggled happily and put in, "But Tattoo arranged it just like that! You know, you are purely amazing!" She went over and kissed Tattoo's cheek again, and Leslie found herself looking for a second lip print.

"Yes," Roarke agreed with heavy irony, "he 'purely' is. I was under the impression that Colonel Sutton came to the island to produce a record album in complete solitude. He specifically requested that he not be disturbed." Leslie glanced nervously up at him, more unnerved by the moment at his mien. "But it appears that Tattoo persuaded him to make an exception. That's remarkable."

Roarke's annoyed sarcasm was apparently lost on Tattoo. "Donna Mae," the young Frenchman said, "powder your nose and get your music—the colonel is expecting us."

Donna Mae's mouth dropped open, and Ellie's face lit up. "Oh, so soon?" Donna Mae cried. "I can't believe it!"

"Oh, my!" Ellie fluttered. "Well, we can't go looking like a farmhand. You gentlemen and little lady'll have to excuse us while we get dressed!"

"Certainly, Ms. Simpson," Roarke agreed. He placed a hand between Leslie's shoulder blades and guided her towards the door.

"I'll wait for you outside," Tattoo promised Donna Mae, following them out.

Behind them Ellie's voice trilled, "I can't thank you gentlemen enough!" Roarke shut the door on the two women and descended the steps with Leslie, while Tattoo lingered on the tiny front porch of the bungalow. Roarke's attitude was so forbidding that Leslie dared not open her mouth; but she peered back at Tattoo over her shoulder and recalled his quietly delighted expression each time Donna Mae had kissed his cheek. He often had the same look around the native girls, but there was something personal in it this time around. She wanted to tell Roarke, but one glance at him kept her quiet.

About twenty minutes later, during which no one spoke at all, Ellie and Donna Mae emerged from the bungalow, with Donna Mae toting a guitar and a fat folder presumably containing all her sheet music. They climbed into the second seat of the station wagon, while Roarke drove and Leslie, to her surprise, occupied the passenger seat alone. Tattoo insisted on sitting next to Donna Mae, raising another red flag for her. Roarke noticed it too, Leslie could see, but he didn't mention it; in fact, he didn't speak all the way to the recording studio in town.

Ellie took charge, as Leslie had begun to note she was wont to do, striding out in front of the others and brazenly opening the door of the recording room where a band was playing a lively country tune. Leslie shot Roarke an astounded look; even she knew that a recording session could have been in progress. He read her expression and cracked his first smile since watching Donna Mae and Ellie step off the plane. "It was all right, Leslie," he explained quietly, leaning towards her to keep the words private. "Do you see that red light over the door? If they had actually been recording, it would have been on."

"Oh," Leslie murmured. "But it still seemed kind of…I don't know, forward."

"You have a good instinct, child," Roarke replied, for her ears alone, and she suddenly felt much less stupid. "Ellie Simpson is extremely ambitious—and impatient."

"She's more than that," Leslie guessed, and Roarke smiled again. However, they had no further time to ruminate on Ellie Simpson's character, for the music within the recording room faded abruptly behind the sound of a strident, somewhat high-pitched male voice.

"Hold it, men! 'Pears we have some company!" came the observation, as Ellie pushed right into the room, stepped aside and held out her arm with a flourish for Donna Mae to enter. Tattoo followed in her immediate wake, with Roarke and Leslie bringing up the rear at a slight remove. "Well, Tattoo," said the corpulent owner of the voice, "you sure are punctual! Now then, which of you pretty little ladies is the giant talent you were tellin' me about, hmm?" Colonel Hank Sutton eyed Donna Mae, then Ellie, and then Leslie, at whom he winked to show he was kidding. Leslie grinned foolishly.

Ellie, on the other hand, preened, clearly highly flattered. "Oh no…it's my niece, Donna Mae Calloway. I'm her aunt, Ellie Simpson…and you better believe this child's been making music ever since she was old enough to crawl!"

Leslie, still mulling over Ellie's redundant statement about being her niece's aunt, watched Donna Mae shake her head. "Now Aunt Ellie," the younger woman said, "Colonel Sutton does not need to know my life history." She gave Ellie the guitar case. "His opinion is gonna be formed strictly by what he hears of my music."

Ellie eyed both Donna Mae and the colonel skeptically. "Mm-hmm."

But Colonel Sutton looked approving. "You say it blunt," he remarked, "but you say it right, Miss Calloway. Well, whenever you're ready." As he spoke, Ellie removed the guitar from its case and looped the strap around Donna Mae's neck. "Now, the boys'll be happy to back you up if you like," he added, settling at the piano while the gathered musicians waited patiently, watching.

Donna Mae gathered herself, cleared her throat slightly and glanced across the group, her regard skating nervously over Colonel Sutton. "Well, this here's a little song I wrote just yesterday, and I hope y'all like it." Ellie and Tattoo were beaming with anticipation; Roarke settled his stance, and Leslie stuck close beside her guardian, half prepared to be influenced by his opinion. Donna Mae drew in a breath and began to sing.

She wasn't exceptional; Leslie, in spite of her utter lack of expertise, had to admit she wasn't especially impressed. Donna Mae had a high, clear, somewhat thin voice, a little breathy in delivery and not very strong; and she rarely, if ever, held a note. When she did, there was no vibrato. Leslie glanced furtively around, taking in the reactions of the others; Ellie and Tattoo were clearly enjoying the musical interlude, Tattoo cheerfully tapping his feet, Ellie nodding with proud approval. The musicians seemed appraising at first, then began to get into the spirit and were soon backing Donna Mae. Roarke stood watching dispassionately, his face devoid of all expression.

But it was Colonel Sutton Leslie ultimately concentrated on. The rotund record executive sat with a politely interested look on his fleshy features, without really getting into the music as most of the others were doing. Donna Mae's performance did hold his attention, at any rate; in fact, he actually looked more involved than Roarke did, which surprised Leslie. She began to think that Tattoo might be able to pull off this nearly impossible fantasy after all.

Donna Mae segued smoothly into a second song and began to sing with more enthusiasm; this one was a real toe-tapper, and Ellie started to sway back and forth. Tattoo cast a glance back at Leslie and Roarke; Leslie smiled quickly at him, but Roarke didn't move, and the younger man seemed slightly daunted for a moment before determinedly focusing on Donna Mae's audition once more.

By the third song, Leslie knew this wasn't going to end as well as Tattoo and his two charges were hoping. Colonel Sutton had begun to look bored and a little bothered; Leslie kept expecting him to check his watch. Before Donna Mae had finished singing, he stood up and made a gesture at the musicians; the song died, and everyone tensed with expectation.

Donna Mae's uncertain voice filled the sudden silence. "Well, those are just some of my more recent compositions. But I have a lot more songs that I wrote earlier."

Colonel Sutton leaned on the piano and said, "I enjoyed hearing you, Donna Mae; y'got some real good ideas. But it takes a lotta effort and more than a little luck to put those ideas across." Ellie's features grew increasingly disgruntled, and Donna Mae looked very disappointed. "Now, if you just keep working at it and don't get discouraged, I—"

Outraged, Tattoo broke in, " 'Don't get discouraged'? What about her contract? To be a star, she needs a recording contract!"

Colonel Sutton looked faintly uncomfortable. "Uh, just a mite premature, Tattoo," he said apologetically. "But I'd be more than happy to listen to Donna Mae again, maybe in a year or so—give her a chance to develop her skills."

"A year?" Ellie exploded. "But Colonel—!"

"Oh, Aunt Ellie!" Donna Mae burst out, her voice filled with the very discouragement the colonel had advised against. She pulled the guitar over her head, thrust it at Ellie and escaped the recording room as quickly as she could walk. Ellie shot a fulminating glance at the colonel and ran out after her; Tattoo glared at him, still very angry.

Colonel Sutton sighed. "Take five, boys," he said to the musicians, who put down their instruments and filed quietly out of the room through another door. To Tattoo he said, "I'm sorry, Tattoo, I didn't mean to hurt her feelings. But I don't think she's got it. I didn't wanna say it to her, but…that's how it is."

Roarke touched Leslie's shoulder and nodded toward the door, and she bit her lip and followed him out with relief. Behind them they could hear Tattoo protesting angrily: "I think you are wrong! I think she's fabulous! She's so sweet and so beautiful…" The sounds died out as they moved out of range, and Leslie bit her lip again.

Roarke caught her expression and glanced behind them, sighing gently. "Those words put it all in a nutshell, I am afraid," he said with regret. "Miss Calloway is an attractive girl, and it appears that Tattoo can't see beyond that."

"He thinks she's good, though," Leslie said. "Did you see him when she was singing?"

"He's biased, Leslie," Roarke said. "Unfortunate, but true. If I dare say so, he is besotted with the girl—and that will almost certainly color the outcome of this fantasy."