§ § § -- September 6, 1992

The polls opened at eight that morning, but for the first two hours or so, foot traffic was sluggish. Roarke and Leslie themselves didn't expect to be able to go and cast their own votes till late afternoon; the weekend was another busy one, particularly in light of the knowledge that they had an ambitious time-travel fantasy coming up the next weekend and were already in the middle of preliminary preparations. Roarke was perusing a very interesting letter from Alaska when the phone rang; Leslie answered it, had a short conversation and scrawled something down, then hung up and turned to the elegant oaken credenza that stood against the wall at a right angle to the corner bookcase. She yanked open a drawer and began rapidly poking through the hanging folders therein.

Finally growing aware of her urgency, Roarke turned to watch her. "Leslie, why are you in such a rush?" he asked. "Was that Captain Scarabelli?"

"Yes, from the Clara Jean…ship-to-shore phone. He says they're going to dock in about three hours and wants us to meet him there with the bill of lading. And I know I put it in here." All the while she continued checking folders.

"Calm down," Roarke said. "Look in the folder labeled Parthenon."

Leslie froze for a second, then did as he suggested and found her quarry therein. "Aha, there it is. Good…now I need to find out how many pineapples the plantation has for next weekend, and then—"

"Leslie," Roarke said, raising his voice, and she stopped altogether. "Everything will get done in due time, all right? You need not feel that you must have it all taken care of today. There are still five days. Besides, we do have Jean-Claude's retirement party this afternoon, don't forget."

"Oh, that's right," she said. "I sincerely hope someone else is doing the cooking for that." Roarke laughed.

"I believe Maureen's mother's catering company is handling it," he said, and at that point the phone rang and he picked it up. "Yes? Oh, hello, Maureen." He chuckled to himself and glanced at Leslie. "Yes, she's right here." He held out the receiver to her.

"Speak of the devil," Leslie remarked with a grin and took it. "Thanks. Hi, Maureen, what's going on?"

"Hi, Leslie. Grady and I are just about to leave for the polls and cast our votes," said Maureen. "Have you and Mr. Roarke voted yet?"

"No, we've been scrambling around handling business matters all morning," Leslie confessed. "I'm not sure when we'll be able to get out there."

"Oh, well, maybe we'll see you there," Maureen said. "Grady and I were planning to stick around awhile after we vote, just to give Camille a little moral support."

"You're kidding," Leslie said, astonished. "She's at the polls?"

Maureen laughed. "Oh, she has her reasons. If you two get a long-enough break, you might want to come check it out for yourselves."

"Hmm," Leslie murmured, intrigued. "Now you've got me curious. Well, I'll see if I can talk Father into carving out a few minutes to detour in that direction on our rounds. If you and Grady are still there, that'll be great, since we haven't seen each other in several weeks. We've got some catching up to do."

"Boy, do you have that right," Maureen chortled. "I have news for you, Leslie, and you're the last one to know! If you get down here, you'll finally find out."

"Hey, you can stop tantalizing me," Leslie said, laughing. "Okay, we'll be there."

"I presume something is happening at the voting station," Roarke said, watching her hang up the phone and folding the letter he had been reading.

"According to Maureen, loads of exciting things are going on over there," Leslie said. "Since we have to vote at some point today anyway, we might as well do it now. She said she and Grady are going over there to cast their own votes, so it seems like a good enough time to cast ours. And I think we can use a little break."

"Perhaps so," Roarke agreed. "Very well, why don't we go."

The polling station was located in the high school, and they had to go to the pineapple plantation anyway; so they went there first and got an accounting of available fruit for the upcoming weekend before driving back toward the school and parking in the small lot there amongst dozens of bikes, a police jeep and a luxury car that probably belonged to a resident of the Enclave. It took them a little while to get inside, and longer than that to cast their votes, because quite a few people tried to talk a bit with Roarke. One of them turned out to be a reporter from the Chronicle, who dogged both Roarke and Leslie for comments before they were mercifully ushered into their separate voting booths.

At the exit they noticed Leslie's friends sitting around a long table; Camille sat at a card table by herself, with a large open box in front of her. The girls all noted one another at the same time, and everyone exchanged smiles except for Camille, who turned red and looked away. Grady Harding, sitting beside Maureen, arose and shook hands with Roarke.

"Good to see you, Mr. Roarke, Miss Leslie," he said. "Maureen, do you want to ask now? You might not have a better chance."

Maureen reddened too, but grinned. "Well, you see, Grady and I have been engaged for awhile," she explained, making Leslie light up, "and we were hoping you'd perform the ceremony at our wedding, Mr. Roarke."

"I should be delighted to do so," Roarke said. "Congratulations to you both!" Leslie and Maureen hugged each other, and Roarke and Harding strolled off to join Jimmy Omamara and Toki Tokita, both of whom were nearby watching the quads and David. Myeko had Alexander and offered to let Leslie hold him for awhile; she took a seat that Lauren dragged over for her and bounced the five-month-old on her lap while catching up with her friends.

Finally, at a lull in their conversation, Leslie peered past Myeko and Lauren at Camille. "Why isn't she over here with us, and what's in that box on the table and the one underneath it?"

To her surprise, Myeko, Maureen and Lauren looked a little uneasily at one another; then Lauren sighed with some exasperation. "They're T-shirts."

Leslie stared blankly at her. "Pardon me?"

"See, she figured on selling them to make back some of the money she spent on her campaign," Lauren explained. "Trouble is, she's so humiliated by what she thinks is a total failure, she won't even open the boxes."

"Well, how's she supposed to recoup her investment if she doesn't?" Leslie asked practically, shaking her head. "Although I don't quite see what selling T-shirts has to do with her campaign."

"Oh, they're special T-shirts," Maureen said, grinning again. "In fact, Lauren's the one who came up with the idea. Camille was going to sell them especially at the polls."

Leslie frowned, trying to figure it all out, glanced at Myeko and then focused determinedly on Camille. "Myeko, your son and I will be right back," she promised and arose, carrying Alexander over to the table where Camille sat looking sulky. "Hi."

Camille looked up and turned red again. "Hi," she mumbled.

"I hear you've got T-shirts to sell in those boxes," Leslie said.

Camille shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

"So can I see one?" Leslie persisted gently.

"What for?" Camille said rudely.

Leslie let out a patient sigh. "Because I'm interested."

"Oh, I just bet you are," Camille muttered.

Leslie shifted Alexander on her hip and leaned forward. "Look, Camille, you may not believe this, but the reason I'm here has nothing to do with gloating or taunting you or anything else that might be running through your mind. You've really got to get rid of this resentment of yours. Father and I came over here to do our civic duty, and I thought it was a good opportunity to catch up with you guys, since we've seen so little of each other all summer. The election isn't over yet, and I say the subject is off limits till it is. I'm trying to extend the proverbial olive branch here, because in spite of everything that's happened since this campaign of yours started, I still consider you my friend." She straightened back up, satisfied that she had Camille's full attention and understanding. "Now then—are you going to show me one of those T-shirts, or not?"

Camille stared at her for another few seconds, then quirked a reluctant quarter-smile and extracted a box cutter from her pocket. Leslie and Alexander both watched while she slit the box open and retracted the blade within its sheath, then folded back the flaps and lifted out the shirt on top. Shaking it open, she displayed it at Leslie. On the front was the message, in big red, white and turquoise letters on a dark-blue shirt, "I SURVIVED THE CAMPAIGN OF CAMILLE OMAMARA: SEPTEMBER 6, 1992."

Leslie laughed. "Hey, that's great! So how much is it?"

Camille, looking astonished, lowered the shirt and peered at her over the top. "Uh… they're fifteen dollars each."

"Hm," Leslie mused and turned to Alexander, who, attracted by her movement, turned his own head to stare back at her. "So tell me, Alexander, what do you think of that shirt? You like that?" She gestured playfully at the shirt Camille held; Alexander just looked back at her and suddenly gurgled. Leslie played along. "You do, huh? Y'know, I think you've got good taste. In that case, I'll take one." She dug into the pocket of the dress she always wore on weekends, turning simultaneously to her other friends and calling out with a big teasing grin, "Hey, Myeko, get over here and buy your son a T-shirt—he wants one!"

"Oh, gimme a break!" Myeko yelled back good-naturedly, getting up anyway and coming to join Leslie at the table. "He told you that?"

"Sure did," Leslie said cheerfully, handing Camille a couple of bills. "They're only fifteen dollars. Surely you can afford that."

"Geez, it's not the price I'm worried about," Myeko bantered. "Look at it. That thing's the size of a UFO. It'd swallow him whole, without so much as a burp."

"Are you going to deny this kid the chance to own a piece of genuine collector's memorabilia?" Leslie asked. "Hey, political souvenirs can be collector's items. By the time he's old enough to wear it as a shirt instead of a ballroom gown, it'll probably be worth money." At that the other girls, including Camille, laughed.

"It's worth money now," retorted Myeko, "but only to her." She gestured at Camille, who smirked, and they laughed again while Myeko found the money and bought a shirt. By this time their teasing had drawn a small crowd; and once Myeko had her shirt, she turned to them and cheerfully urged them to get their own shirts while the supply lasted. In a few minutes Camille was doing a brisk business, and the girls were back to chatting.

Roarke, Harding, Jimmy and Toki eventually came over to see what was happening, and Roarke watched in amused surprise while the other men got talked into buying shirts. "How about you, Mr. Roarke?" Myeko inquired with a grin. "At this rate you'll be the only person on the whole island who doesn't own one of these. Even Leslie bought one."

Roarke's eyebrows lifted and he caught his daughter's gaze. "Supporting the opposition, are we, Leslie Susan?" he inquired mildly.

She slanted a glance in Myeko's direction and said mischievously, "Alexander made me do it." Myeko awarded her a dirty look but joined in the ensuing laughter.