§ § § - August 15, 1992
"You did what?" Roarke said in amazement, staring at Roger Marney from where he and Leslie still sat at the now-cleared lunch table. "I'm sorry, Mr. Marney, but Mrs. Omamara was right. Your actions smack of bribery."
Marney literally squirmed where he stood. "What's gonna happen to me, Mr. Roarke?" he protested. "I gotta find a way to get my business up. My brother's stealin' all my customers, and I'm gonna go bankrupt if somethin' doesn't happen soon."
"Bribing someone into giving you an edge isn't the solution to your problems," Roarke told him severely. "Perhaps, instead of taking out an advertisement for a new car dealership, or one supporting Mrs. Omamara's campaign, you should take out one apologizing to her for your presumptions."
Marney grimaced. "You ain't gonna terminate my fantasy, are ya?"
"I should," Roarke said, staring at the man with high disapproval. "In any event, Mr. Marney, even were Camille Omamara to win the election, she could not give you final approval for your plans. Since this is my island, I would be the one you must speak with."
Marney stared at him, then sighed and threw his hands into the air. "I can't get no good luck nowhere," he complained. "And y'know somethin' else, my brother just got here. Saw him at the pool not too long ago, surrounded by women and drinkin' toasts to ever'body in sight. Course, he's prob'ly here for a vacation, and he can sure afford it, seein' as how he's been takin' my customers left and right. An' that's just the last straw, Mr. Roarke!"
"How long has your brother been in business again, Mr. Marney?" Roarke asked.
" 'Bout six months, how come?" Marney asked, peering at him oddly.
"And he's already taken 'all' your customers," Roarke said thoughtfully. "That seems like rather fast work to me. Did you ever wonder how he managed to build up such a loyal customer base so quickly?"
Marney's gaze lost focus and he stared across the duck pond, considering this, while Roarke and Leslie watched him. "Y'know somethin', y'might have a point there. 'Scuse me, Mr. Roarke, I got a couple phone calls to make." Marney ran off the porch, his weight enough to jar the table slightly as he went.
Leslie chuckled. "I wish I'd thought of that. Now that you mention it, it does sound suspicious. I hope he—"
Before she could go on, she heard her name from a near distance. Both she and Roarke sat up in time to see Camille coasting down the Main House Lane on her bike, two-year-old David strapped securely into his little child seat. "I gotta talk to you! Right this minute, seeing as you're obviously loafing around!"
"Uh-oh," Leslie muttered to Roarke, who raised an eyebrow.
"Perhaps I should leave you two alone," he remarked. Camille, who had come to a stop near the porch, heard this and scowled.
"No, Mr. Roarke, as a matter of fact, you might as well hear this, just in case you feel like doing something about it," she said, whacking the kickstand down with one foot and unstrapping her son from his seat. "Do you mind if we go inside?"
"Of course not," Roarke replied, and he and Leslie met Camille on the other end of the porch. David squirmed to get down, and once they were inside the study, Camille let him loose; he promptly ran out to the terrace beyond the open French shutters, climbing up and down on the furniture there. Camille turned to glare at Leslie when she was sure her son would be reasonably safe.
"Okay, what was the deal behind you sending that car dealer over to try to bribe me into letting him open a franchise on the island?" she demanded.
Leslie gawked at her. "What?"
Roarke, amazed, broke in. "Just one moment, Camille, how did you draw this conclusion?"
Camille barked out the story of her confrontation with Roger Marney at the hotel. "I saw him coming down here and I realized he must be one of your guests. How could you do a thing like that? Aren't you the one who said you and Mr. Roarke aren't even running a campaign? That's the lowest thing I can think of!"
"Before you start in with your accusations," Leslie snapped back, "let me tell you that we just saw him ourselves a couple of minutes ago and only just found out from him what happened. He did it entirely on his own, no matter what you think." She saw Camille's expression grow even more heated, and finally lost her own temper completely. "You know, Camille, I've about had it with your hostility and your short fuse! I've told you the truth all the way along; if you don't believe it, that's your problem, not mine. You have a bad habit of jumping to conclusions, and frankly, I'm getting really tired of being seen as a liar, an opportunist, a manipulator, and whatever other things you think I've been guilty of ever since you and I first met each other. For the last time, Camille Omamara, we are not running a campaign, and we are doing nothing to short-circuit yours! Believe me or don't, but it's the truth, pure and simple!" She turned to her father, who stood watching, and consciously reined in her temper before saying, "I think I'd better go check on the Jernigans, if you don't mind, Father. Seems like a good time to see how their fantasy's going."
"By all means, Leslie," Roarke agreed, and she stalked across the office to the time-travel room, shutting herself inside without looking at either Roarke or Camille.
She turned to him then with a bewildered look. "I don't get it, Mr. Roarke. I mean, I didn't see how else it could've happened. Why would some guest of yours have any interest in an island election? That's why I was so sure she put him up to it."
Roarke sighed gently. "While I normally don't discuss my guests' affairs with anyone other than Leslie, perhaps this one time it's justified. Roger Marney has a fantasy of his own, Camille, and he merely hoped to use you to further his own cause. I suggest that you speak to Mr. Marney himself and learn the full truth. You'll find him in the Hibiscus Bungalow. You do know where that is?"
Camille nodded. "I'll find it. Well, all right…thanks, Mr. Roarke. David, come on, son…Mommy has to go see somebody."
Roarke settled behind the desk when she and David had departed and leaned back in his chair, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling. This particular election race was becoming more than a little tiresome, and there were still three weeks left before the polls opened. Perhaps by then they would know the real reason Camille insisted on running in the first place.
§ § § - August 30, 1992
"I still think you should quit," Jimmy said, running his gaze around the living room and taking in his wife, her brothers and sisters, and her friends. "If the survey isn't enough to convince you to concede, though, then I don't know what is."
"There's still a week left," Camille said glumly, "but I guess you do have a point."
Myeko was reading the article that contained the survey in question. An informal poll of random respondents around the island stated that almost three-quarters of those surveyed planned to vote for Roarke; twenty percent were as yet undecided; and the remaining seven percent thought they might vote for Camille if she could come up with a truly good idea in addition to the one about building a college. "Hm," she remarked. "Guess they didn't like all the other stuff we helped you think up. Well, heck, there's still twenty percent who haven't made up their minds. Maybe that'll help you."
"Maybe I'll sprout wings and fly," Camille retorted.
Myeko grinned. "Well, this is Fantasy Island. Maybe you will."
Everyone burst into laughter, even Camille, who rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot. Come on, there has to be something! Maureen, what'd you decide about the dorm idea?"
"Nothing," Maureen told her. "There's not much point in making that decision before we find out if you're even in a position to make that idea reality."
"But we have to do something," Camille insisted frantically. "Can't we think of anything else?"
Jimmy sighed patiently. "Camille, hon, the paper just laughs now when I call them about a new idea. The poll proves nobody's buying all the stuff we thought of already. We tried everything: paved roads, street lights, new police cars, beautification projects, you name it. None of it's going over. And that nonsense about license plates for all the bikes on the island…" He rolled his eyes. "I never heard so much laughing in my life. That's when the newspaper editor hung up on me. Now he doesn't even take my calls."
Lauren sat up. "Hey, wait a minute. There might be a way we can salvage something from this train wreck. I just had this idea. You'll probably still lose the election, but at least we can try to recover some of the costs the campaign incurred."
Camille eyed her sourly, but Jimmy perked up. "I'm all for that. What's the idea?"
