§ § § -- September 7, 1992

The results of the election didn't come out till late Monday morning, and predictably, Roarke won by a healthy margin with all but 28 votes. Leslie's morning following the departure of their guests was free, and she was sitting with her friends on the veranda railing in front of the door to the study. Camille had that day's paper. "Twenty-eight votes?" she burst out, stunned.

"Got that many, did you?" Lauren jibed.

"Thanks," Camille snorted.

Leslie grinned. "Hey, you should be glad you got those. That's twenty-seven more votes than Tattoo got when he ran against Father that time. And the one he did get, well…" The memory overcame her and she started to laugh.

"You know, you never told us what Tattoo's reaction was when he found out he lost," Maureen remarked. "What happened?"

"Oh, that's right, I never did," Leslie realized, snickering. "Well, you see, we were seeing the guests off that Monday morning…"

±±±±±±±±±

Waving at Terri Summers and her father as the latter pushed the former swimmer up the docking ramp in her wheelchair, Roarke remembered something and turned to Tattoo. "Oh…by the way, Tattoo, what do you think of the election results?"

"Who won?" asked Tattoo with quickening interest.

Roarke cleared his throat a little. "Well, with all due modesty, I was re-elected, again, to another term as island lord mayor…almost unanimously." Both Leslie and Tattoo caught the almost, and gave each other surprised looks before Tattoo turned to Roarke.

"How many votes did I get?" he asked eagerly.

Roarke hesitated. "Well, all the precincts haven't been heard from yet," he said, trying to duck the question.

"Well, how many votes do I have so far?" Tattoo persisted.

Roarke gave a very-well-you-asked-for-it shrug and said point-blank, "None." Leslie blinked, then smirked.

"None?" Tattoo cried, outraged. "That's impossible! I must have at least one—I voted for myself!"

Roarke glanced at Leslie, then back to Tattoo and amended, "Well, there was one ballot which had to be voided…"

"Oh, really?" Tattoo demanded, folding his arms over his chest and waiting with an expectant scowl, trying diligently to ignore Leslie's ever-growing grin.

"It seems," Roarke said with a nod, "that your campaign manager, Chester the Chimp, ate half of it." At which Leslie promptly exploded with laughter.

Tattoo moaned and growled, "That stupid monkey!" At wits' end, he slapped a hand to his forehead, then jerked back to awareness and glared at Leslie. "And you! You just stop that, Leslie Hamilton, right this minute, you understand me?"

Giggling madly, she said, "I told you not to hire Chester, but you didn't listen to me, so that's just what you get." She collapsed against Roarke, who himself was valiantly fighting to stifle his amusement.

Tattoo glared around at the native girls and the band members, who were all gazing innocently at one another or into the sky, and finally yelled, "Well, someone's gonna pay for this!" So saying, he stomped away to the waiting car.

"I think I see steam coming out of his ears," Roarke commented, which brought on snickers from the assembled natives and a shriek of merriment from Leslie. "Poor Tattoo." But he was grinning in spite of himself.

±±±±±±±±±

"So there, it could've been worse," Maureen said to Camille amidst the girls' mirth.

"Yeah, that's for sure," Myeko remarked, convulsed. "At least you didn't have a chimp running your campaign." Fresh laughter burst from them all.

"I guess that explains why there was never any post-election interview from Tattoo," Lauren remarked, wiping a couple of tears aside and trying to catch her breath. "My parents always wondered what had happened, but they weren't surprised that Mr. Roarke got all the votes on the island. Now I see why he wouldn't let the paper talk to him."

Leslie nodded. "It was three months before he even allowed either Father or me to mention the whole subject. So actually, Camille, you could have done quite a lot worse than you did. And you managed to sell every one of those T-shirts."

At this point Roarke came out the door and smiled apologetically. "Hello, ladies. I'm terribly sorry to break up your chat, but unfortunately, Leslie has some work to be done." He caught his daughter's curious look. "It has to do with that fantasy we discussed the other day."

"Oh, I see," Leslie said with understanding. "Okay. Well, folks, sorry I have to run, but you know how it is around here. Work, work, work."

Camille cleared her throat and slid off the railing where she'd been perched. "Uh…Mr. Roarke?" Roarke turned curiously back to her, and she smiled sheepishly. "I just wanted to tell you, congratulations on winning again. And I apologize for everything."

Roarke smiled warmly. "You made it a worthwhile contest, Camille, and there is no need for apologies. It's good to see that you and Leslie have patched things up." They shook hands; then Roarke made his way into the house. Leslie, following along, paused by the door.

"Just one thing," she said, puzzled. "Were you really serious about those bicycle license plates?" Camille rolled her eyes and they all laughed again.


This story was built around a sketch that appeared in the episode "The Hit Man / The Swimmer", original airdate September 7, 1979. The first, second and fourth flashback scenes in this story comprised the sketch in question (the second flashback was cut from the syndicated version of the episode); the third flashback is my own creation. I also made reference in the third and fourth flashbacks to the two main fantasizers in this episode: Fred Forbush was played by David Doyle, and Terri Summers was portrayed by Eve Plumb. Thanks and apologies go to the "Fantasy Island" staff writers who first dreamed up this sketch all those years ago.