§ § § -- July 21, 1992
Camille, having replaced the receiver with a surprised look, glanced around the room at the disapproving faces of her friends. "She hung up on me."
"I don't blame her, after what you just said," Maureen shot back.
"Well, so what'd she say?" Myeko prompted. Camille told them.
"She said you should have campaign posters printed?" Lauren asked. "That's gonna cost a bundle, you know."
"But she does have a point," Myeko said. "How can you take anyone seriously whose campaign posters are written in glitter and crayon?"
"And misspelled to boot," added Maureen.
All four quads looked up from their latest work-in-progress. "What'd we spell wrong then?" Jeremy wanted to know.
"Oh, let me make a list," Camille suggested sourly, picking up one of the posters that was still drying on the coffee table. "Hmm. In this one, you misspelled 'mayor' and 'government'…real nice work, guys. And hey, who left the second L out of my name in this one?" She lifted a red poster and displayed it around the room; her friends burst out laughing, and so did Julianne, Jennette and Jonathan, all of whom elbowed Jeremy, the poster's creator.
"Well, how come you didn't tell us before you went out and put them up?" Jeremy shouted in self-defense. "I mean, we weren't the only ones who nailed 'em up."
"I put up a misspelled one at the hotel," Maureen remarked, shaking her head. "And probably the ones I put up at the casino and the pool were spelled wrong too, but I was in a hurry to meet Grady for breakfast and I didn't pay that much attention."
"You mean he hasn't moved into that white elephant of yours with you?" Myeko asked in surprise, gently bouncing Alexander on one knee. "I mean, now that you two are engaged and all…"
"That place is too big for both of us," Maureen said, sighing. "Trouble is, I still have no idea what to do with it. Russell didn't realize what he was doing to me when he willed it to me. It's tempting to raze it and build Grady's dream house there, but the building itself is in darn good shape and it seems kind of a waste to level the place."
"Don't you ever see ghosts there, Miss Tomai?" Jennette asked in all seriousness, abandoning the latest poster and coming to join the older women. "I mean, we hear stories about that chateau all the time. How this weird old silent-movie guy cast evil spells in there and died there, and how some woman went nuts in that place, and how Miss Leslie even saw her dead husband in there…and then that actor guy died there too. Don't you think the place is jinxed or something?"
Maureen stared at her, green eyes widening slightly as she processed Jennette's words.
"Well…you know, I never considered it that way. Not that I give any credence to ghost stories, but now that you bring it up, the place does have kind of a creepy history." She looked at Lauren. "You were thinking of moving, weren't you? Want to rent some rooms from me?"
Lauren grinned. "Hey, ghosts don't bother me any. If you want corporeal company, I'll be happy to move in." They both laughed.
"Do you think we could get back on track here?" Camille finally demanded, having examined the quads' posters and determined that at least one word on every single one of them was spelled wrong. "Geez, you guys, you're thirteen years old and going into eighth grade. You'd think by now you'd've learned how to spell."
"You know I hate spelling," Jeremy protested.
"That's no excuse," Camille told him. "You should have looked it up, or at least asked one of us how to spell what you didn't know. Now you've made it all academic. I'm gonna have to get professionally-done posters after this. What kind of money are we looking at here? Do I have to go have my portrait taken?"
"Maybe you should have asked Leslie before you got all snippy at her and she hung up on you," Lauren said pointedly, the only one unafraid to tell her cousin the unvarnished truth. "It wasn't exactly fair of you to tell her you'd stop being her friend unless she got involved in your campaign…such as it is." Maureen snickered at this.
"It's not like Mr. Roarke would've fired her if she did," Camille said sulkily.
"That's not the point!" Lauren said, exasperated, and saw her cousin gear up to deliver the expected response. "Never mind what it is, either. Leslie did bring up something valid. If you hope to get any actual votes when election day gets here, you need to start sinking some fairly serious money into this campaign of yours. Besides printing up posters, you need to get airtime on the island radio station, take out ads in the Fantasy Island Chronicle, and set up at least one interview. And when you do, you better be ready for it. They're going to ask you for your campaign platform, and right now, you haven't got one."
Maureen caught Myeko's amused gaze and observed, "This is starting to look more like an ego trip than an actual run for office."
"I have a platform!" Camille insisted. "If I get elected, I'll change Fantasy Island for the better—just like it says on those misspelled posters." She awarded the quads a dirty look that encompassed all four of them; they all stuck their tongues out at her in return.
"That's a slogan, not a campaign," Maureen said scornfully.
"What Maureen means is, what're you going to actually do to change the island for the better, assuming you get the position you're scrambling for?" Myeko clarified.
In the middle of her sentence the door opened, and Jimmy came in for his lunch break as he often did. "Yeah, you know, I was kinda wondering about that myself." He grinned at the quads and gave Camille a kiss hello. "Hi, folks."
"Hi, Jimmy," they all chorused, except for Camille, who grumbled something.
Jimmy slid a finger under her chin and lifted it till she was forced to look at him. "I'm serious, hon," he said. "What's the grand plan? Are you gonna raise wages and lower taxes? Pass new laws restricting fishing too close to the island? Pave the Main House Lane and the road into the Enclave and the turnoff to the airport? Outlaw gambling so that your mother loses her job? Bring in ethnic restaurants for our guests from places besides the U.S.?"
"Hire teachers of obscure foreign languages for the high school," Maureen added with a grin, "such as Tagalog and Estonian."
Reluctantly Camille joined in the ensuing laughter. "Okay, okay, you got me. I admit, I'm not exactly prepared." The moment she made the admission, though, her face lit up. "Wait a minute, you just gave me an idea! I could lobby for a good, small college right here on the island. Our own graduates! That way we wouldn't have to send every graduating high-school class off-island for further education."
"Oh, I don't know," Myeko remarked doubtfully. "Remember when we all graduated and we couldn't wait to get out of here so we could see a different part of the world when we started college? The only ones who didn't go were Leslie and Maureen. The rest of us did, and most of our classmates did too."
"Why didn't you go?" Lauren asked curiously of Maureen. "I could see why Leslie didn't bother, between her not having been born here and the fact that she was pretty much in line for the job she's got now. But what about you?"
Maureen shrugged. "College wasn't really in my plans. I've always worked for my mother's catering service, and it's my understanding that when she retires, I'll take over. And I like the work. Since I know how to cook, I'm not reduced to eating TV dinners and canned spaghetti all the time."
Lauren laughed. "I bet Grady loves it too."
"I still think a college is a great idea," Camille said. "Maybe we'd lose all the local high-school grads, but on the other hand, grads from other countries would positively kill to attend college here on the island. And hey, Maureen, that'd be a perfect use for Russell's bequest to you. You could turn it into dorms and rent them out."
"So is that what you're going to run on? Building a college on Fantasy Island?" Jimmy asked skeptically, while Maureen pondered Camille's idea. "I don't know…sounds like it won't hold up all by itself."
"Well, I liked the idea about paving the streets," Camille ventured thoughtfully.
"That was supposed to be a joke," said Jimmy, rolling his eyes and heading for the kitchen. "Hey, Quads, did you leave any lunch for me?"
"No," the quadruplets chorused back immediately. It was clear that they and Jimmy went through this ritual every day, from his jocular manner of addressing them and their automatic, perfectly-synchronized response. This time it got laughs from Lauren, Myeko and Maureen, who hadn't heard it before.
"Well, if that's gonna be your campaign platform," Lauren said, "then the next step is to line up the ads and interviews and air time I mentioned before. Maybe in the meantime you can think of something to go along with the college idea, but for now that actually isn't all that bad. I have to wonder what Mr. Roarke would say, though…it is his island, after all is said and done. He just allows the rest of us to live here."
"Wow, that sounds pretty autocratic," Maureen remarked, grinning. "I mean, like he's running a billionaire's playground paradise on a lark, just to give himself something to do, and watching the rest of us poor stupid peons doing all the work."
Myeko laughed. "I'd love to hear Leslie's opinion of that." She arose and settled the baby on her hip. "Well, I gotta get going. The little guy here isn't going to take his nap till I get him back to his own room; he's picky about where he sleeps. See you guys later."
"I'll go with you," Lauren said, standing up as well. "I think we've done about all we can do for now. Camille, you could use the afternoon to call print shops around here and find out what you can expect to spend for posters."
"Hey, whoa," Jimmy yelled from the kitchen. "You want her to spend real money on this stuff? What was wrong with the quads' posters?"
"Have you actually looked at any of them?" Lauren demanded, grinning. "There's a whole bunch of them around here, and Maureen posted at least one in the hotel lobby, for Pete's sake. Take a look at those and then ask me that again."
Once out the door, Myeko and Lauren went as far as the little cottage Myeko shared with Toki and their son before Lauren decided to drop by the main house and see what Leslie was up to. She emerged off the path into the yard at the side of the house and strolled down the lane till she was able to see Roarke and Leslie just finishing a late lunch on the gazebo section of the veranda, where they ate almost all their meals. Roarke was idly studying the front page of that day's Fantasy Island Chronicle while Mariki rolled her wheeled serving cart in their direction.
"You might want to start a subscription to that," she called whimsically, bringing both their heads around to see who was talking. Roarke smiled in greeting.
"Long time no see," Leslie called to her. "What's happening? Out for a stroll?"
"Oh, sort of," Lauren said. "I just blew one day of my vacation brainstorming at Camille's and watching the quads make more posters. Camille's campaign seems to be finally gathering some steam. Just wait till you hear what she…"
"No, don't tell me!" Leslie exclaimed with a laugh. "If you do, it'll spoil everything when we finally see the inevitable interview in the newspaper. It occurs to me that if you're going to keep working on Camille's campaign, you might want to think twice about playing double agent."
"How can I be a double agent when I don't have anything to tell Camille about her opponent's platform?" Lauren countered, laughing. "But okay, if you'd rather hear it straight from the horse's mouth, that's fine by me."
Mariki stopped beside the table and chipped in her two cents while loading dishes. "I don't think Mrs. Omamara has any business running for island lord mayor. She has that little boy to raise, and no political experience at all. I'm going to do like I've always done and vote for Mr. Roarke."
At that Roarke looked up, amused. "I appreciate the endorsement, Mariki," he said with a slight chuckle, "not that we were asking."
"I wasn't telling you so, sir," Mariki replied candidly. "I was telling her." She gestured at Lauren, who laughed again and put up her hands in mock surrender.
"Hey, it doesn't matter to me who you vote for," she said cheerfully. "I just thought I'd drop by and give you a rundown. Listen, are you two sure you're not going to mount a campaign, now that you've got opposition?"
Leslie shrugged. "There's just no time. Father and I both have way too much to do to prepare for the weekend. You know how it is."
"I hate to tell you this, but Camille doesn't quite believe you," Lauren said delicately.
"Then that," Roarke remarked, "is Camille's problem, is it not? You might tell her I wish her all the best in her endeavor; but I'm afraid I simply cannot find the time to spare to counter her campaign with one of my own. And frankly, I didn't expect I would have to do so." His voice was pleasant, but both Lauren and Leslie detected a slight undertone of irritation nevertheless. Leslie stared at him, visited suddenly with a strong sense of déjà vu, while Lauren shrugged unconcernedly.
"No bother, Mr. Roarke," she said easily. "I'll pass on the message, thanks. Enjoy your lunch, and see you later, Leslie."
"Take care," Leslie called after her as she started down the lane. She waited till she was sure Lauren was out of earshot and Mariki had disappeared back into the kitchen with her cart before addressing Roarke.
"Father," she said, "it does bother you, doesn't it?"
"What does?" Roarke queried absently, eyeing a lurid headline on the bottom of the Chronicle's front page.
"That Camille's angling for your position," Leslie said.
Roarke looked up with an expression of what appeared to be honest surprise. "Why should I be? I will readily admit that hearing of her plans to run was an unexpected development; but quite frankly, I don't believe she is much of a threat. Mariki herself noted that she has no political experience at all, and you and I are not the only ones who see that."
"Yes, but you seemed a little…oh, annoyed, I guess, when you gave Lauren that message for Camille," Leslie observed.
"Annoyed? I?" echoed Roarke, looking blank.
"Yes, you," Leslie said, gently teasing, but still prodding. "I'm pretty sure Lauren noticed it too. Come on, Father, I think it's getting to be a bit of a trial for you."
Roarke fixed her with a stare that really was annoyed this time. "My dear Leslie, if you must persist in discussing this subject, may I suggest that you discuss it with someone else. I see no merit whatsoever in belaboring the fact that Camille is determined, for whatever reason, to unseat me; and this is the last time I intend to repeat myself. I am not upset in the slightest over her intention to contest me for an honorary position." By this time his voice had iced over, and its volume had risen enough to carry clear across the veranda.
Leslie studied him with great interest for about thirty seconds, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fist, before finally nodding in thoughtful acceptance and arising to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad to hear you're so disinterested, Father," she said lightly, without bothering to conceal her amusement. "Just the way you were when Tattoo ran against you." She grinned outright, glanced at her watch and gave a soft gasp, reminded suddenly of an appointment for which she was in danger of being late. "Oops, gotta run…" She turned and crossed the veranda at a half-jog.
"Young lady," Roarke's voice thundered after her. Leslie halted beside the car, which she had left parked just in front of the sidewalk, and turned back to him.
"What's the matter, Father?" she asked. "I'm running late."
"Listen well, Leslie Susan," Roarke warned, the last of his patience exhausted. "I was not upset when Tattoo ran against me; and I am not upset that Camille is running against me. I am delighted by the change in routine. Is that quite clear?"
His temper had kicked in unexpectedly; Leslie hadn't seen that particular expression on his handsome features at least since the last time Chester the Chimp had raided the study when she was about sixteen. "Of course you're delighted, Father," she called back, but found herself unable to control the grin that broke out. "Not that it really matters, of course!"
Even from where she stood, she saw Roarke's expression change again, and slapped a hand over her mouth before ducking hastily into the driver's seat and peeling away down the lane, raising a huge dust cloud. She managed to hold back her laughter till she had gained the Ring Road and knew she'd probably pay for her little jibe later, but the temptation had been irresistible.
On the porch, Mariki had returned for the rest of the dishes and had overheard the last exchange between her employer and his daughter. "Sounds to me like you need a campaign, sir," she observed with tart amusement.
Roarke turned sharply to glare at her. "Do you wish to spearhead that campaign?" he invited, his voice heavy with frost.
Mariki shrugged, remarkably unfazed by his show of temper. "I just thought Miss Leslie must have hit a nerve, to have brought out that reaction in you. I haven't seen you so happy to have opposition since Mr. Tattoo ran for island lord mayor."
At this, Roarke's glare blazed, but his voice grew ominously quiet. "That…will…do," he announced with implacable finality, and with that stalked firmly away. Mariki wisely waited until he had gone inside the house to give voice to her mirth as she finished clearing the dishes off the table.
