§ § § -- May 9-13, 1983
The entire island seemed to be in a flurry of preparation for the wedding. Julie agreed to host the whole thing in the generous yard of the MacNabb home, so that she could run back and forth to the kitchen as needed. A wooden latticework arbor was built in the large side yard, and every flower shop on the island insisted on contributing to its decoration. Solange and Leslie were busy choosing and being fitted for dresses; guests shopped for wedding gifts; the Fantasy Island Chronicle chose a reporter and photographer to cover the occasion; Roarke prepared the ceremonial words and quietly sent out word that he was in the market for a new assistant. On Wednesday Tattoo's oft-mentioned but never-before-seen cousin, Hugo, arrived from France on the late-morning charter plane.
That in itself was something of an event, at least as far as Leslie was concerned. Hugo turned out to look absolutely nothing like his cousin. He was about five feet tall, so that he had to look up at everyone else just as Tattoo did; he had abundant blond hair and gray eyes, and there was a restless mien about him that suggested he was always on the lookout for some new get-rich-quick scheme. It turned out that Hugo did not speak one word of English, which meant that either Tattoo or Solange always had to play translator.
"What does he think of your idea to open an art gallery, Tattoo?" Roarke inquired, driving the five of them back to Tattoo's cottage, where Hugo was going to stay. (Solange occupied a small bungalow.)
Tattoo sighed. "He thinks I'm going to be a starving artist for the rest of my life," he said. He shot his cousin a quick derisive glance and, safe in the knowledge that Hugo had no clue what he was saying, added, "Shows what he knows. He's tried everything in the book to make a fortune overnight and nothing works, so I'm taking any advice he gives me with a grain of salt."
"Only a grain? I think you better make that the entire salt shaker," Leslie observed, evoking laughter.
Hugo asked a question in French -- no doubt wondering what had just been said -- and Tattoo gave him an innocent shrug, which made Roarke and Leslie smile at each other. That shrug said it all.
§ § § -- May 14, 1983
Leslie tried not to look at her watch again, but in vain. The wedding was to begin at precisely four o'clock, so that Tattoo and Solange would have time to stay at the reception for awhile before boarding the day's final outgoing charter plane. She was nearly sick with nerves, as well as dread of the happy couple's looming departure. It occurred to her that, once they were gone, she would probably never see them again, no matter how many promises they made to visit often and stay in frequent touch. Tattoo and Solange would settle into their married life together; Solange would be busy with the dance company, and Tattoo would need to devote all his energy to getting his art gallery off the ground. They weren't going to have time for much else, especially if they wanted time alone together. The realization was so depressing that her mind shied away from the thought, and she tried to focus on the upcoming ceremony.
Under an enormous tent, Julie was still setting up the buffet, with Frida's help. All of Leslie's friends and their families were to be guests, and Solange's parents had already arrived and were now seated in the front. The reporter from the Chronicle was randomly interviewing guests, and the photographer alternated between double-checking his supply of film and perusing the buffet with a ravenous gleam in his eyes.
Julie's older sister, Delphine, had come too, with her husband Greg. Delphine was visibly pregnant and had told Leslie their baby was expected to arrive in mid-July. Julie, of course, had been ecstatic at the idea of becoming an aunt and had already bought a mountain of tiny baby outfits for her future niece or nephew. Leslie, remembering the story Julie had told her about the MacNabb family magic, realized Delphine wasn't yet 40, and grinned to herself at the thought that Greg was going to have his hands full once the baby was born, especially if Delphine hadn't prepared him in advance!
From behind, Roarke's voice remarked suddenly, "You look anxious, Leslie."
She started and then smiled at him sheepishly. "We're going to be on time, aren't we, Mr. Roarke?"
"Of course," he said, smiling back. "I believe all the guests are here..." Then he glanced around and frowned. "Where is Hugo?"
As if conjured, Hugo came around a stand of trees at the edge of the MacNabb property, leading a child by the hand. Roarke and Leslie both stared hard, squinting. No, wait, that was no child... "Oh no," Leslie groaned. "He's got Chester the Chimp with him!"
Roarke closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. Taken separately, Chester and Hugo were daunting enough. Together, they would undoubtedly be formidable, in a particularly ominous way. He looked around and finally spied Tattoo approaching from the house, where he had just finished changing into his wedding tuxedo. "Tattoo," Roarke called.
"Something wrong, boss?" Tattoo asked curiously, joining him and Leslie.
Roarke gestured at the pair entering the yard, and Tattoo gaped in disbelief. "Where did that cousin of mine ever find that stupid monkey?" he demanded rhetorically. "I think I better have a talk with him."
"I think so too," Roarke agreed darkly. "Good luck."
"You'll probably need it," Leslie added, and blinked at the black look Tattoo shot at her before grinning at Roarke. Roarke only rolled his eyes, and with that went to take his place up front.
Tattoo and Hugo had some fairly energetic words before Hugo finally appeared to give in, and led Chester over to the buffet, where he tied the chimp securely to one of the tent's anchor poles. Julie gave Hugo a very doubtful look, and Frida promptly took herself over to the other end of the tent. Hugo merely smiled at them and ambled over to where Leslie stood, waiting for Solange.
"You're supposed to be down there," Leslie said, pointing down the aisle. Hugo peered at her blankly, and she rolled her own eyes. "You," she repeated, pointing at Hugo, "there." Again she pointed down the aisle. Hugo's face cleared and he smiled at her, then sauntered down the aisle to where Tattoo had joined Roarke. Both of them gave Hugo dark looks.
"I hope," Solange murmured, "that this isn't an omen." Leslie turned to look at her, and Solange smiled a little crookedly. "They say every wedding has a glitch, and I saw Hugo walk in here with that chimpanzee. If something does go wrong, we already know who's to blame."
Leslie laughed, easing the tension, and just then the processional started. "Oh my God, this is it," she whispered. "Oh Solange..."
"It's okay," Solange reassured her. "Go on ahead, just the way we rehearsed it."
For some time thereafter, the wedding itself was more or less a blank in Leslie's mind. Since she had only to stand nearby and hold the bride's flowers, her mind was free to roam; and it did so with a vengeance. She couldn't seem to get her train of thought away from the glaring fact that once the reception was over, the newlyweds and their families would be leaving Fantasy Island, perhaps for the very last time. Who, then, would be Roarke's assistant?
Every word of the matrimonial ceremony that Roarke spoke brought Leslie closer to a new waterworks. She struggled valiantly to hide her emotions, but could manage no more than a sickly little smile. Fortunately for her, all eyes were on the bride and groom. However, Roarke, for all his careful attention to the ceremony, was fully aware of her and the emotions she was desperately damming up. He spared her barely a glance as he said warmly, "Now, by the power vested in me as chief magistrate of Fantasy Island, I pronounce you husband and wife." He smiled at Tattoo and said almost conspiratorially, "You may kiss the bride." Tattoo turned to Solange with a comical leer, and everyone laughed before she knelt and they shared the traditional first kiss as a married couple.
When they pulled apart, a long cheer rose from everyone assembled, and people began to crowd around the newlyweds to offer raucous congratulations. For this Leslie was profoundly thankful, for she could no longer keep herself under control. She burst into tears, dropped the bouquet and fled blindly in the direction of the house. In some remote part of her mind, while she stumbled along searching for some relatively secluded corner in which to bawl, she was amazed at herself for this storm of grief, as if she were suffering the loss of her family all over again. She felt that, in a way, she was losing family. She couldn't help her runaway emotions, and didn't want to ruin everyone else's joy in the occasion by standing around crying endlessly.
Near the long buffet table where the wedding cake towered in all its glory, Roarke found himself standing beside the newlyweds by pure coincidence. Solange caught his arm and exclaimed, "What a beautiful job you did, Mr. Roarke! I'm so glad we asked you to perform the ceremony for us. Thank you so much."
Roarke smiled broadly. "You are very welcome, Solange. I wouldn't have dreamed of having anyone else do it." They might have said more, but at that point they were set upon all at once by Solange's parents, Hugo, and the Chronicle's reporter and photographer, insisting upon shots of the wedding party. The photographer was munching ostentatiously on an hors d'oeuvre, his jaw moving up and down in rotating movements reminiscent of a cow's, and the reporter shot him a disgusted glance before repeating her request for a wedding-party portrait.
"Just as a kind of souvenir to put in the paper?" she pleaded. "Mr. and Mrs. Tattoo; you, Mr. Roarke, the bride's parents, the groom's cousin, and of course your daughter, Mr. Roarke." Obviously fed up, she jabbed the photographer in the ribs with her elbow. "Drat it, Gordy, stop eating so you can take a proper picture. You look like Elsie the Cow having lunch."
"Where is Leslie?" Tattoo asked then.
Roarke, still nonplused at having Leslie referred to as his daughter, cleared his throat. "Leslie seems to have gone missing. Excuse me, please, I'll try to find her."
It didn't take him long; shortly he spotted her huddled in a violently-rocking heap near a stand of rosebushes. Her long straight hair formed a neat, shining curtain around her face and arms as she sobbed. Roarke knelt beside her and gathered her into his embrace.
"Leslie, child, why so much emotion?" he asked gently.
She looked up, her face a mask of such agony that his own heart unexpectedly contracted. "Things'll never be the same," she choked out. "It's like losing a member of my family, and it was hard enough the first time." So saying, she broke down anew.
Roarke realized at that moment precisely how close she and Tattoo had really been, and out of nowhere had an idea. It was only two more weeks till Leslie's graduation from high school, and he was certain the gift he had just decided to give her would be a welcome one. He let her cry for a few minutes, patting her back; then he slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her face so that she was forced to meet his gaze.
"Leslie, did you not realize that this has been Tattoo's fantasy?" he asked. "In my business, what else could I do but grant it to him?" He smiled, and was finally rewarded with a tiny, very watery return smile. "You are right, things won't be precisely the same. But never fear, Fantasy Island is not going to shut down simply because my trusted assistant is no longer working here. And I can assure you that Tattoo and Solange will always be in your heart, and you in theirs. Come along now, and give them the last gift of being in the wedding-party portrait."
Leslie groaned and halfheartedly swiped at her tears. "Oh no. I just hope it's not in color."
Roarke laughed and helped her to her feet. "Why don't you check quickly with Julie. She may be able to help you with a little makeup." He ushered her along in front of him, thinking of all that lay ahead in Tattoo's impending absence.
The entire island seemed to be in a flurry of preparation for the wedding. Julie agreed to host the whole thing in the generous yard of the MacNabb home, so that she could run back and forth to the kitchen as needed. A wooden latticework arbor was built in the large side yard, and every flower shop on the island insisted on contributing to its decoration. Solange and Leslie were busy choosing and being fitted for dresses; guests shopped for wedding gifts; the Fantasy Island Chronicle chose a reporter and photographer to cover the occasion; Roarke prepared the ceremonial words and quietly sent out word that he was in the market for a new assistant. On Wednesday Tattoo's oft-mentioned but never-before-seen cousin, Hugo, arrived from France on the late-morning charter plane.
That in itself was something of an event, at least as far as Leslie was concerned. Hugo turned out to look absolutely nothing like his cousin. He was about five feet tall, so that he had to look up at everyone else just as Tattoo did; he had abundant blond hair and gray eyes, and there was a restless mien about him that suggested he was always on the lookout for some new get-rich-quick scheme. It turned out that Hugo did not speak one word of English, which meant that either Tattoo or Solange always had to play translator.
"What does he think of your idea to open an art gallery, Tattoo?" Roarke inquired, driving the five of them back to Tattoo's cottage, where Hugo was going to stay. (Solange occupied a small bungalow.)
Tattoo sighed. "He thinks I'm going to be a starving artist for the rest of my life," he said. He shot his cousin a quick derisive glance and, safe in the knowledge that Hugo had no clue what he was saying, added, "Shows what he knows. He's tried everything in the book to make a fortune overnight and nothing works, so I'm taking any advice he gives me with a grain of salt."
"Only a grain? I think you better make that the entire salt shaker," Leslie observed, evoking laughter.
Hugo asked a question in French -- no doubt wondering what had just been said -- and Tattoo gave him an innocent shrug, which made Roarke and Leslie smile at each other. That shrug said it all.
§ § § -- May 14, 1983
Leslie tried not to look at her watch again, but in vain. The wedding was to begin at precisely four o'clock, so that Tattoo and Solange would have time to stay at the reception for awhile before boarding the day's final outgoing charter plane. She was nearly sick with nerves, as well as dread of the happy couple's looming departure. It occurred to her that, once they were gone, she would probably never see them again, no matter how many promises they made to visit often and stay in frequent touch. Tattoo and Solange would settle into their married life together; Solange would be busy with the dance company, and Tattoo would need to devote all his energy to getting his art gallery off the ground. They weren't going to have time for much else, especially if they wanted time alone together. The realization was so depressing that her mind shied away from the thought, and she tried to focus on the upcoming ceremony.
Under an enormous tent, Julie was still setting up the buffet, with Frida's help. All of Leslie's friends and their families were to be guests, and Solange's parents had already arrived and were now seated in the front. The reporter from the Chronicle was randomly interviewing guests, and the photographer alternated between double-checking his supply of film and perusing the buffet with a ravenous gleam in his eyes.
Julie's older sister, Delphine, had come too, with her husband Greg. Delphine was visibly pregnant and had told Leslie their baby was expected to arrive in mid-July. Julie, of course, had been ecstatic at the idea of becoming an aunt and had already bought a mountain of tiny baby outfits for her future niece or nephew. Leslie, remembering the story Julie had told her about the MacNabb family magic, realized Delphine wasn't yet 40, and grinned to herself at the thought that Greg was going to have his hands full once the baby was born, especially if Delphine hadn't prepared him in advance!
From behind, Roarke's voice remarked suddenly, "You look anxious, Leslie."
She started and then smiled at him sheepishly. "We're going to be on time, aren't we, Mr. Roarke?"
"Of course," he said, smiling back. "I believe all the guests are here..." Then he glanced around and frowned. "Where is Hugo?"
As if conjured, Hugo came around a stand of trees at the edge of the MacNabb property, leading a child by the hand. Roarke and Leslie both stared hard, squinting. No, wait, that was no child... "Oh no," Leslie groaned. "He's got Chester the Chimp with him!"
Roarke closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. Taken separately, Chester and Hugo were daunting enough. Together, they would undoubtedly be formidable, in a particularly ominous way. He looked around and finally spied Tattoo approaching from the house, where he had just finished changing into his wedding tuxedo. "Tattoo," Roarke called.
"Something wrong, boss?" Tattoo asked curiously, joining him and Leslie.
Roarke gestured at the pair entering the yard, and Tattoo gaped in disbelief. "Where did that cousin of mine ever find that stupid monkey?" he demanded rhetorically. "I think I better have a talk with him."
"I think so too," Roarke agreed darkly. "Good luck."
"You'll probably need it," Leslie added, and blinked at the black look Tattoo shot at her before grinning at Roarke. Roarke only rolled his eyes, and with that went to take his place up front.
Tattoo and Hugo had some fairly energetic words before Hugo finally appeared to give in, and led Chester over to the buffet, where he tied the chimp securely to one of the tent's anchor poles. Julie gave Hugo a very doubtful look, and Frida promptly took herself over to the other end of the tent. Hugo merely smiled at them and ambled over to where Leslie stood, waiting for Solange.
"You're supposed to be down there," Leslie said, pointing down the aisle. Hugo peered at her blankly, and she rolled her own eyes. "You," she repeated, pointing at Hugo, "there." Again she pointed down the aisle. Hugo's face cleared and he smiled at her, then sauntered down the aisle to where Tattoo had joined Roarke. Both of them gave Hugo dark looks.
"I hope," Solange murmured, "that this isn't an omen." Leslie turned to look at her, and Solange smiled a little crookedly. "They say every wedding has a glitch, and I saw Hugo walk in here with that chimpanzee. If something does go wrong, we already know who's to blame."
Leslie laughed, easing the tension, and just then the processional started. "Oh my God, this is it," she whispered. "Oh Solange..."
"It's okay," Solange reassured her. "Go on ahead, just the way we rehearsed it."
For some time thereafter, the wedding itself was more or less a blank in Leslie's mind. Since she had only to stand nearby and hold the bride's flowers, her mind was free to roam; and it did so with a vengeance. She couldn't seem to get her train of thought away from the glaring fact that once the reception was over, the newlyweds and their families would be leaving Fantasy Island, perhaps for the very last time. Who, then, would be Roarke's assistant?
Every word of the matrimonial ceremony that Roarke spoke brought Leslie closer to a new waterworks. She struggled valiantly to hide her emotions, but could manage no more than a sickly little smile. Fortunately for her, all eyes were on the bride and groom. However, Roarke, for all his careful attention to the ceremony, was fully aware of her and the emotions she was desperately damming up. He spared her barely a glance as he said warmly, "Now, by the power vested in me as chief magistrate of Fantasy Island, I pronounce you husband and wife." He smiled at Tattoo and said almost conspiratorially, "You may kiss the bride." Tattoo turned to Solange with a comical leer, and everyone laughed before she knelt and they shared the traditional first kiss as a married couple.
When they pulled apart, a long cheer rose from everyone assembled, and people began to crowd around the newlyweds to offer raucous congratulations. For this Leslie was profoundly thankful, for she could no longer keep herself under control. She burst into tears, dropped the bouquet and fled blindly in the direction of the house. In some remote part of her mind, while she stumbled along searching for some relatively secluded corner in which to bawl, she was amazed at herself for this storm of grief, as if she were suffering the loss of her family all over again. She felt that, in a way, she was losing family. She couldn't help her runaway emotions, and didn't want to ruin everyone else's joy in the occasion by standing around crying endlessly.
Near the long buffet table where the wedding cake towered in all its glory, Roarke found himself standing beside the newlyweds by pure coincidence. Solange caught his arm and exclaimed, "What a beautiful job you did, Mr. Roarke! I'm so glad we asked you to perform the ceremony for us. Thank you so much."
Roarke smiled broadly. "You are very welcome, Solange. I wouldn't have dreamed of having anyone else do it." They might have said more, but at that point they were set upon all at once by Solange's parents, Hugo, and the Chronicle's reporter and photographer, insisting upon shots of the wedding party. The photographer was munching ostentatiously on an hors d'oeuvre, his jaw moving up and down in rotating movements reminiscent of a cow's, and the reporter shot him a disgusted glance before repeating her request for a wedding-party portrait.
"Just as a kind of souvenir to put in the paper?" she pleaded. "Mr. and Mrs. Tattoo; you, Mr. Roarke, the bride's parents, the groom's cousin, and of course your daughter, Mr. Roarke." Obviously fed up, she jabbed the photographer in the ribs with her elbow. "Drat it, Gordy, stop eating so you can take a proper picture. You look like Elsie the Cow having lunch."
"Where is Leslie?" Tattoo asked then.
Roarke, still nonplused at having Leslie referred to as his daughter, cleared his throat. "Leslie seems to have gone missing. Excuse me, please, I'll try to find her."
It didn't take him long; shortly he spotted her huddled in a violently-rocking heap near a stand of rosebushes. Her long straight hair formed a neat, shining curtain around her face and arms as she sobbed. Roarke knelt beside her and gathered her into his embrace.
"Leslie, child, why so much emotion?" he asked gently.
She looked up, her face a mask of such agony that his own heart unexpectedly contracted. "Things'll never be the same," she choked out. "It's like losing a member of my family, and it was hard enough the first time." So saying, she broke down anew.
Roarke realized at that moment precisely how close she and Tattoo had really been, and out of nowhere had an idea. It was only two more weeks till Leslie's graduation from high school, and he was certain the gift he had just decided to give her would be a welcome one. He let her cry for a few minutes, patting her back; then he slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her face so that she was forced to meet his gaze.
"Leslie, did you not realize that this has been Tattoo's fantasy?" he asked. "In my business, what else could I do but grant it to him?" He smiled, and was finally rewarded with a tiny, very watery return smile. "You are right, things won't be precisely the same. But never fear, Fantasy Island is not going to shut down simply because my trusted assistant is no longer working here. And I can assure you that Tattoo and Solange will always be in your heart, and you in theirs. Come along now, and give them the last gift of being in the wedding-party portrait."
Leslie groaned and halfheartedly swiped at her tears. "Oh no. I just hope it's not in color."
Roarke laughed and helped her to her feet. "Why don't you check quickly with Julie. She may be able to help you with a little makeup." He ushered her along in front of him, thinking of all that lay ahead in Tattoo's impending absence.