§ § § - February 20, 1982
She met Roarke for lunch, wondering in the back of her head what she should say if he asked about Tattoo and his business. "I see you've had a productive morning," Roarke observed jovially, taking his usual chair at the table on the veranda.
"Um, I suppose you could say that," Leslie said and sat down. "What's for lunch? I hope it's something really good. Maybe something with pineapple in it. Or mango…I love mango. Maybe even papaya—that stuff is delectable. You know something, Mr. Roarke, I never had mango or papaya till I came to this island. Now I'm hooked."
"Are you?" said Roarke, who was eyeing her a little strangely. "Interesting that you should say so now, after you've been here three years."
Leslie hunched her shoulders a moment, not having to feign sheepishness. "Aw, well, I guess I was, um, so overwhelmed by all the new flavors and textures that I, uh…" She let the sentence die where it was, aware that it sounded too ridiculous to be believed. "Well, I said it now," she finally offered lamely.
Roarke looked amused. "So you did. Well, to answer your question of a moment ago, I believe Mana'olana has prepared roast-beef sandwiches and potato salad, and she says there will be some of those baked beans you were raised with."
"Oh good," Leslie said, genuinely pleased; she was hungry.
"Does Tattoo plan to join us?" Roarke inquired.
Swimming lessons, Tattoo's voice seemed to say in Leslie's head. "Well, he said something about swimming lessons," she said, seizing on the phrase. "I guess that means he's going over to the pool to find out how they're coming along."
"Ah, I see," Roarke said. "He's quite dedicated this weekend. Good for him." With that, he began to put food on his plate.
Relieved that the subject seemed to be closed, Leslie filled her own plate and ate with enthusiasm; Tattoo did not appear throughout the meal, and she was debating going back to the Ideal Mate Encounter Service to check in on him when Roarke said, "Well, since Tattoo apparently has things fairly well in hand, why don't you stay and sort the mail for me. I have some paperwork that simply can't be postponed any longer, and I'd better start on it."
Leslie agreed and followed him into the study; she took her usual place at the desk, and he sat in one of the red-velvet-upholstered chairs that matched the settee under the tall shuttered windows, going through several papers that lay on the polished dark-wood table before him. Some ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door.
"Yes, come in," Roarke called out without pausing in his work.
Leslie looked up from a letter in time to see the blonde Claudia Mills, whom she recognized from the plane that morning, enter the room. When Claudia saw Roarke, she lit up and dashed down the steps toward him; Roarke arose from his chair barely in time to catch her as she threw her arms around him, exclaiming in delight. "Oh, I was told that I could find you here, Mr. Roarke. Ooh, now that I see you up close, you're even more handsome than in your picture!" she chirped happily.
Leslie gulped, hoping no one else heard her. Oh boy, now all the nasty stuff's gonna hit the fan, she thought. Like a rubbernecker examining a car wreck, she watched avidly.
"Oh, that's very flattering, Miss…uh, Miss Mills, isn't it?" Roarke responded, a little taken aback, but ever polite and warm.
"Claudia," she said, "but don't be so formal."
"Uh, thank you…uh, Claudia." Roarke visibly gathered himself. "Claudia, I'm curious; may I ask exactly what picture you're referring to?"
"Oh yes!" Eagerly Claudia dug into her little clutch and produced the IBM card with Roarke's photo in the corner, while Leslie watched, completely helpless to do anything to stop the ongoing debacle. Yup, Tattoo's definitely fired this time…
Roarke took the card, then did an absolutely beautiful goggle when he saw the picture of himself. Leslie barely prevented an outburst of glee at his reaction. Fortunately for her, he was too shocked to notice. His dark eyes slid closed for a second, then he opened them again and gave the ceiling one resigned glance. "The Ideal Mate Encounter Service, of course…" he mumbled to himself.
The thrilled Claudia Mills threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close, startling him. "I was thinking that a garden wedding would be ideal, don't you?"
Roarke actually looked a little panicky. "Well…"
"Oh, with a lot of champagne and flowers, and music," Claudia barreled on, then caught herself and said to him, "I prefer Mozart, if you don't have any objections."
"Oh, no no no, absolutely not," Roarke blurted, beginning to back away, to no avail, since Claudia hung stubbornly onto him. "I've always thought that garden weddings are lovely too…" At that point he backed into the ceiling support post beside the desk with a thud, startling himself, yet kept talking. "I can hardly wait to make the…additional arrangements…that will be required…uh, uh, Tattoo?" Leslie stared, no longer even trying to hold back her astonished mirth; her eyes were round with delight and her face slack, mouth wide open with a burgeoning grin.
Claudia had actually started loosening his tie. "Oh, this is perfect! You're perfect, Mr. Roarke…I'm so glad that you think we should jump in with both feet," she bubbled, comically exaggerating the italicized words in a way that made Leslie very nearly explode. She had just seen Tattoo edge hastily off the terrace from the corner of her eye, but the little scene playing out before her was just too delicious to miss.
"Oh no, no, we needn't be so hasty," Roarke protested through a bright, false, desperate smile. "We can decide that later…actually, there are so many, uh, other details which I shall have to attend to." Claudia had managed to back him into the wall this time. "For instance, I shall have to have a talk with my assistant, Tattoo." The last two words came out through his teeth, and Leslie couldn't help herself; she threw one swift glance at the terrace, but fortunately for Tattoo, he was gone. Roarke concluded, "A very long talk, if you will excuse me." He offered the card to Claudia.
"Of course, Mr. Roarke," she agreed brightly. "I'll just go back to my bungalow and get unpacked."
"Excellent idea, Claudia, excellent," Roarke lauded, plainly in the hope of getting her out of the house so he could find the errant Tattoo. But she wasn't quite finished and leaped on him again with another choking hug.
Then she asked: "Mr. Roarke, do you think that I could be more informal? I mean, now that we're going to be married?" She turned wide, hopeful eyes on him; their faces, hers eager and his all but terrified, were about half an inch apart.
"Oh, uh, but, uh…" Roarke actually stuttered, and Leslie gaped, a heartbeat away from falling to the floor. "Of course, Claudia, of course," he finally managed.
"Well, you do have a first name," she prompted. This really caught Leslie's attention, and her eyes got as wide as Claudia's while she slid to the edge of her chair, dying to hear her guardian's response to this.
Roarke's eyes, too, had popped open; he looked hopelessly trapped. As Claudia and Leslie hung on his words, he pulled himself together once more, drew in and released a breath, smiled and assured Claudia, "Yes—yes, indeed I do." He kissed her hand, and just when both females thought he was going to tell them, Roarke whipped aside and poked his head out the French shutters. "Tattoo?" he all but shouted, and seizing the chance he'd just given himself, strode across the terrace.
"But…but what is your first name?" Claudia protested and peered at the card in bewilderment. Only then did she finally focus on Leslie, who still sat half on and half off her chair, just short of getting up and running after her guardian. "Oh…do you know Mr. Roarke's first name?"
At that, Leslie did fall off the chair, landing hard on her thigh. "Ow," she groaned, then peered up at Claudia Mills with a woebegone expression. "I've been wondering that for the last three years."
"Tattoo?" they both heard Roarke's voice in the distance, and Claudia looked up and out after the departed Roarke, her face relaxing into a besotted smile and sigh. Leslie scrambled gracelessly off the floor, tossed some excuse in Claudia's direction and took off in her guardian's wake, ignoring the gentle throb in her leg.
As Roarke kept calling for Tattoo, Leslie finally caught up with him, dodging another couple, just as he passed a bench on which sat Harriet Wilson. She recognized him and leaped to her feet, catching him beside a fountain. "Oh, there you are!" Roarke stopped where he was and stared curiously at her.
"Oh, I'm delighted," he said, while Leslie, taking advantage of his distraction, swept a hurried 360-degree look around her for Tattoo, in vain. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Mr. Roarke," the woman said, sounding deeply thrilled, beaming at him. "I'm Harriet Wilson." She said this as if she expected him to recognize the name; it did snare Leslie's attention, since she had been with Tattoo when he first went to see her. She completely forgot about Tattoo, far more interested in what was about to take place.
"Yes?" Roarke prompted blankly, though with his usual gracious smile.
"You know, the Ideal Mate Encounter Service," Harriet explained.
Roarke's smile began to fade. "Oh yes…yes, I'm quite familiar with it."
Harriet plunged a hand into her bag and came up with a card identical to Claudia's, displaying it at him. "Here you are."
Roarke's smile vanished altogether as he once again beheld his own likeness gazing up at him. Something nearby moved, and Leslie noticed Tattoo peering anxiously out from behind the huge glossy leaves of a large bush, staring at the proceedings while Harriet said breathlessly, "Oh, Mr. Roarke, I think you take a wonderful picture."
"Thank you," Roarke mumbled, then met her gaze and blinked, repeating the phrase.
"I think we ought to be married at sea, don't you?" Harriet asked in a dramatically dreamy voice. Roarke got out no more than a flustered "Well…" before she continued, "At dawn…and we ought to read our own vows. I've already written mine." She gazed adoringly at him, sliding her hand down his somewhat loosened tie.
"Yes," said Roarke, looking a bit dazed. "Yes, that would lend a certain…romantic flavor to the ceremony." He actually smiled, and for one insane moment Leslie thought he was about to agree to go through with it, while he and Harriet gazed at each other. Then he turned aside and called sternly, "Tattoo?" The bush instantly closed over the small patch of white Leslie could still see in her peripheral.
Harriet started and blinked, and Roarke said hastily, "Forgive me for shouting…the excitement of such a momentous occasion…" Tattoo dared peek out of the bush again; Leslie felt as if she were at a tennis match, her head was swinging back and forth so much. "And there are so many preparations that must be made. Tattoo is my associate, in charge of weddings," Roarke explained, and on Harriet's "oh," added, "I have a few things to say to him." I just bet! Leslie thought, and deliberately turned her head to face her guardian, in an attempt to keep from being included in whatever Roarke had in mind for Tattoo.
"If you will please excuse me…Harriet…" Roarke said the name almost in reverence, and kissed her hand as well, before releasing her and walking away with a very odd and ominous look on his face. Oblivious, Harriet watched him go, a dreamy look in her eyes.
"Isn't he the most romantic man on earth?" she gushed.
"Oh, yeah," Leslie blurted. "Um, uh-huh. 'Scuse me, I better go." Just as she took to her heels in Roarke's wake, she again saw the bush swallow Tattoo, and for the first time was sorely tempted to reveal his whereabouts to Roarke.
Having spent the next ten or fifteen minutes hunting his assistant down, with his ward faithfully trailing him like a leashed puppy, Roarke stopped near the town square, thoroughly exasperated. "This is simply ridiculous!" he announced and turned so abruptly on Leslie that she stumbled on her own heels and plummeted to the ground. "Do you—oh, forgive me, Leslie, I'm terribly sorry." He extended a hand and helped her stand.
"Well, that's two," Leslie muttered.
"What?" her guardian prompted.
She shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind." She busied herself brushing her skirt free of the dirt from the path.
Roarke watched in silence till she finally realized he had neither moved nor spoken, and slowed her motions, then stopped, looking apprehensively up at him through her bangs. He had folded his arms over his chest and was gazing intently at her. "As I was about to ask, now that I have your attention at last," he said a little ironically, and Leslie winced a little. "Do you know where I might be most likely to find Tattoo?"
"Well, uh…he could be anywhere, really," she began.
"Don't beat around the bush, Leslie Susan," Roarke warned. "My patience has just about run out. Now tell me, where would Tattoo be?"
Leslie gave up. This was none of her doing; she had merely been assigned to keep an eye on Tattoo, and the seeds of this shipwreck had already been sown long before that. She released a sigh and said, "Well, he's got this assistant named Ambrose Tuttle, and they have a storefront on the other side of town. He might be there."
"Thank you. Now, kindly take me there," Roarke said, and she knew this was more an order than a request. Without a word, she struck out across the town square, with Roarke hard on her heels.
As before, the front office was deserted. Roarke frowned at his ward, who recoiled slightly. "Well?"
"They could be in the back," Leslie offered timidly.
Roarke nodded sharply and crossed the room, then checked himself, glanced back at Leslie with a look that suggested she stay nearby to answer any questions, and eased open the door to the back room. Leslie could see Tattoo at the back wall, emptying envelopes from a large wire basket into a mail sack; Roarke peered around the door at Ambrose Tuttle, stepped silently inside, let Leslie in, and deliberately slammed the door.
Tattoo leaped half a foot and whipped around, his face filled with shock. Ambrose cranked around, almost as startled as Tattoo; Roarke regarded him with a look of mock apology and then smiled at Tattoo. "Hi, boss," Tattoo ventured.
"Well, Tattoo, I must say, you've been quite elusive today," Roarke observed, his voice surprisingly friendly-sounding. Leslie peered up at him without moving her head, bracing herself for the explosion she knew was coming.
"Oh, well, we were busy," Tattoo offered, smiling broadly back; there was a clear note of panic in his look.
"I see," Roarke said and looked at Ambrose. "Mr. Tuttle?"
"How are you, Mr. Roarke?" said Ambrose nervously.
"Fine, thank you," Roarke replied, all fake joviality.
"Uh, did you come to see the computer?" Ambrose asked.
Roarke started forward. "Actually, I am here for quite a different reason. I thought you would like to be the first to know that I am engaged to be married."
Tattoo moved away from the mail and offered, "That's great."
"Thank you." Ambrose clearly caught Roarke's false cheer and watched warily, eyes darting back and forth between boss and assistant; once he met Leslie's gaze and she bit her lip, making him widen his eyes momentarily in a sort of ocular shrug. Roarke then dropped the bombshell: "To two entirely different women!"
That precipitated guilty glances between Tattoo and Ambrose, which Roarke didn't miss. "I strongly suspect that these marital commitments originated in this very room."
A long silence ensued, broken only by a faint throat-clearing from the Frenchman. Roarke fixed his gaze on him. "Tattoo?"
Tattoo fumbled for only a second. "Ambrose, explain."
Good old Mr. Pass-the-Buck, Leslie thought unexpectedly, but dared not make a sound or even an expression, lest Roarke see. Ambrose gamely gave it his best shot. "Mr. Roarke, it was a mistake," he said straight out. "The computer malfunctioned."
"Oh," Roarke responded, nodding in evident understanding.
"We are very sorry, boss. But maybe you have a suggestion," Tattoo offered. Leslie closed her eyes. Oh no…
"Yes, I do!" Roarke barked in a sudden fury; both Tattoo and Leslie jumped, and even Ambrose flinched. "You must find other suitable husbands for Miss Mills and Miss Wilson at once!"
Again the room fell deathly silent, while Ambrose and Tattoo looked warily at each other; Ambrose's eyebrows flicked up and down in a Well, you heard him gesture. No one moved, till Roarke took a seat on the corner of the table and folded his arms across his chest again, gathering control and regarding Ambrose with another sarcastic smile. "Do you think your computer is capable of that, Mr. Tuttle?"
"Well, I sure hope so, Mr. Roarke." The blond man looked dubious.
"I hope so too, Mr. Tuttle," Roarke replied meaningfully.
"As I recall from her profile, Miss Mills was the bouncy, all-American-type girl," Ambrose began, a little stiltedly, his nervousness showing through his voice. Roarke and Tattoo both nodded, and Tattoo gave Roarke an A-OK sign, which just made Roarke exasperated. While Ambrose turned to the computer and made a few adjustments, probably mostly for show, Leslie shifted her weight uncomfortably.
Roarke saw her. "Would you like to sit down, Leslie?" he offered, indicating the chair.
"Yeah…thanks, Mr. Roarke," she said and wasted no time doing so. Somewhat relieved when Roarke smiled at her, she smiled back and joined her guardian and Tattoo in watching Ambrose play with his pet computer.
A series of little beeps, gradually growing in volume, emanated from the machine, suggesting to Leslie a cut-rate Artoo Detoo from Star Wars; Ambrose stepped back just as a large red bulb on the front of another panel began flashing, accompanied by a goofy whooping sound that increased in pitch and rapidity. An IBM card abruptly shot out of a slot directly below the red bulb and landed in a metal tray.
Ambrose picked it out and handed it to Roarke. "Now this gentleman should be ideally suited for Miss Mills," he said.
Roarke and Leslie both looked at the card; there were two pictures on this one, one of Claudia Mills and the other of a muscular, mustachioed fellow wearing a football uniform. Tattoo edged a couple of steps closer, but when Roarke looked up at him, he stopped short, his curiosity going unsatisfied. Leslie winked at him, trying to let him know she would tell him later what she'd seen.
"Well," said Roarke, with another broad fake smile, "at least that will leave me with only one fiancée." Tattoo beamed nervously back. "However, you will also find a suitable husband for Miss Wilson, won't you, Mr. Tuttle?"
Expansive now that he'd had a success, Ambrose said, "Oh, sure!" He pushed a button somewhere, and once again the computer bleeped and flashed and whooped, spitting out a second IBM card. Roarke rolled his eyes at the whooping noises and Leslie grinned.
Ambrose took the new card and gave it to Roarke, who peered at it in silence for a moment before nodding. Then he inquired, "Mr. Tuttle, are you quite certain that this is the only gentleman on Fantasy Island who will fulfill the high standards set down by your matrimonial services?" Leslie tried to get a look at the card, but Roarke was holding it in such a way that she couldn't see the photos on it.
"The computer never lies," Tattoo said with great self-assurance.
"Well, then, congratulations, Mr. Tuttle, and all the happiness in the world," Roarke said, smiling broadly and getting up to heartily shake Ambrose's hand. Ambrose stared blankly at him while Leslie gasped, instantly realizing what had happened.
"What?" Ambrose bleated.
Roarke showed him the card, and the second he saw the picture, Ambrose's eyes bugged out in almost cartoon fashion, making Leslie burst into the laughter she'd spent the better part of an hour damming up. Ambrose Tuttle himself was deemed to be the perfect match for Harriet Wilson!
"Me? And Harriet Wilson?" Ambrose exclaimed, stunned.
Roarke nodded. "Yes!"
Tattoo's smile dropped away with a nearly audible thud; Ambrose looked broadsided. "But I don't want to get married!"
"But Mr. Tuttle," Roarke protested, "Tattoo and I have already agreed that marriage is a most sacred and cherished institution. Oh, and I will arrange for you a most marvelous ceremony; I assure you, you will be very pleased." On Ambrose's trapped expression and Tattoo's open-mouthed astonishment, Roarke opened the door, smiling, looking much happier. "And now, gentlemen, good day. Come along, Leslie."
She followed him obediently out the door, mouthing "good luck!" at Tattoo, who only rolled his eyes. To tell the truth, she was frankly glad the problem had been solved, although there was still one very large question nagging at her…