§ § § -- December 12, 1992
"Please come this way," Roarke said, leading the way to the time-travel room at the foot of the stairs. However, this time it did not contain the trappings of some past era; on this occasion, the walls were bare except for a huge mirror with a gilded frame. Otherwise, the room held only a dressmaker's form with a powder-blue dress and jacket on it, matching high-heeled shoes resting beneath; a chair beside that; and a small round table covered with a floor-length, ruby velvet cloth, atop which sat a purse, a heavy lead-crystal glass, and a decanter about three-quarters full of an amber-colored liquid. Roarke paused beside the open door, with Leslie beside him, while Ashcroft peered at the assorted items. "Change your clothing, please, and when you are ready, let us know." He and Leslie backed up a few steps and he started to pull the door closed.
"Change…into what?" Ashcroft asked apprehensively.
"Those clothes," Leslie said, indicating the dressmaker's form. Roarke closed the door on their guest's startled features, and they looked at each other. Leslie grinned broadly; Roarke sighed a little and smiled reluctantly in reply.
They waited for fifteen minutes, during which time Roarke answered two phone calls and Leslie accepted a stack of mail from Kali, their postal deliverer; then the time-travel-room door eased open and Timothy Ashcroft's head poked cautiously around it so that it was all they saw of him. "I, uh…excuse me, but I…"
"Is something wrong, Mr. Ashcroft?" Roarke inquired.
"Well…I guess I'm ready…" Ashcroft cleared his throat.
Roarke nodded, and he and Leslie both crossed the room to the door and stepped inside. Here, they got a good look at Timothy Ashcroft. The dress he wore was clearly two sizes too small for him; the fabric strained across his torso. He hadn't even tried to get the jacket on. As for the shoes, he was teetering on them in the precarious manner of a drunk, although he was perfectly sober and plainly mortified to boot. "This is gonna be worse than I thought," he said.
"Oh, you're not quite finished yet," Roarke said with a smile.
"I'll say," Leslie put in. "You forgot the pantyhose."
"Ah, yes," Roarke exclaimed, as if just now reminded. "Of course—thank you, Leslie. I believe they may be beneath the table." Leslie knelt and lifted the red cloth, pulling out a small package and handing it to their red-faced guest.
"I'm assuming you don't know how to put these on," she said questioningly.
"Oh man, you don't know the half of it," Ashcroft mumbled, staring at the packet. "I'm starting to think this was a really dumb idea. I didn't know I was gonna have to dress the part…y'know what I mean?"
"If you are to gain all possible knowledge from this experience," Roarke pointed out, "then it's only proper to make use of all the accoutrements. Leslie, if you'll kindly demonstrate the proper way to don those…" He gestured at the package in Ashcroft's hands.
"Sure," Leslie agreed. Roarke smiled and backed out of the room again; Leslie took the packet back, extracted its contents and showed Ashcroft how to gather each leg at a time in his hands. "Very simple really," she said, holding up the bunched-up nylon leg so he could see how she had done it. "Once you've got the leg gathered up like this, then just slip your toes in and pull up—gently. You don't want any runs."
"Right," he said, eyeing her. She tipped her head aslant and gave him a reproving look.
"Mr. Ashcroft, believe me, this is the easy part. Before you get to the point of no return, you might as well tell me now so I can advise my father. Do you still want to go through with this fantasy, or would you rather back out?"
For a long moment Ashcroft stood considering his options, then heaved an enormous sigh. "No, I'll go through with it," he said. "If I quit now, I'll just be the world's biggest chicken, and Heather'll never marry me."
Leslie managed to mostly stifle a smile. "Okay, then. Here you go. I'll get out so you can put these on. Just stick your head out when you're done." She made her exit, trying not to let her relief and amusement show. Of course, Roarke noticed.
"Is everything all right?" he asked.
Leslie grinned. "Well, we'll find out in another couple of minutes or so."
It took longer than that before Ashcroft poked his head out the door again; this time his face was noticeably flushed. "I hope I'm done now."
Roarke and Leslie rejoined their guest inside the room and surveyed him once more. Roarke turned to his daughter. "Is that satisfactory, Leslie?"
She considered what she saw and nodded slowly. "Mmmm…he'll do."
"Fine," said Roarke with a decisive nod. "Now for the other, crucial part of the transformation." He turned to the little table and poured out a quantity of the contents of the decanter into the glass, then presented the glass to Ashcroft.
"What's this?" Ashcroft asked, accepting the glass and squinting at its contents.
"A potion," replied Roarke. "Very carefully and painstakingly concocted, I assure you. It is designed to last thirty-six hours from the time you ingest it. Drink it, please."
Ashcroft's eyes went wide, and for some reason he looked at Leslie. "You mean, that's it?" he asked incredulously.
She gave him a gently reproachful look. "What'd you expect us to do, perform plastic surgery on you?" she asked half teasingly. Ashcroft's expression made her suspect he had anticipated precisely that, and she smiled. "Believe me, this is a lot simpler, and much less painful. Go ahead and drink it."
"All of it? Now? At one time?"
Ostentatiously Roarke consulted his elegant gold pocket watch. Leslie's gentle smile stretched into a grin. "Pretend it's a beer," she offered, resting her left elbow in her right hand and tucking her other hand beneath her chin.
"Leslie," said Roarke somewhat disapprovingly. She shrugged and gave him a well-I-can't-help-it look which made him glance skyward for a second.
But the suggestion clicked with Ashcroft. "Oh," he blurted, as though he'd been given a sign from on high, and without further hesitation chugged the stuff right down. Roarke watched with raised eyebrows; Leslie had to work hard to keep from giggling.
When he finished, Roarke took the glass from him and set it on the table; then he turned to Ashcroft and studied him deliberately, his dark eyes focusing sharply with intense concentration. Leslie watched in solemn silence, her gaze switching back and forth periodically between Roarke and Ashcroft. The room darkened except for a dim light on Roarke and a revolving series of colored lights on Ashcroft, who stood like a statue and stared back at Roarke as if hypnotized. As the difficult transformation took place, Leslie found herself reminded of a melting wax statue. Timothy Ashcroft's features softened, rounded a bit, gradually reformed into feminine contours. His hair grew longer; the faint shadow from a recent shave vanished; his face and body became slimmer and a bit more delicate, and he actually shrank by a good six inches even as Leslie watched.
The whole metamorphosis took about five minutes; finally Roarke seemed satisfied with the results and closed his eyes, taking one step backward. The room brightened to its former lighting level, and both he and Leslie studied the attractive woman who stood in front of them. Their guest stared back, looking hopeful and hesitant all at once.
"What do you think, Leslie?" Roarke asked.
She grinned. "You do good work, Father." To Ashcroft she said, "Go ahead, take a look in the mirror." She gestured at said mirror on the opposite wall.
The former Timothy Ashcroft turned around and gawked at the image that greeted the trio. Slowly Ashcroft approached the mirror, actually reached out and touched the image, then retracted a slender hand and followed the new facial contours, ran fingertips along the hair, reacted with a gasp to the bodily changes.
"Oh my God…" The voice that blurted out the exclamation was a bit low-pitched but decidedly female. "It really worked! Wh…what'm I gonna call myself now? I mean…I can't go by Timothy anymore. Man, if I'd had a sister, she might've looked like this! Unreal, Mr. Roarke, absolutely unreal…I mean, man…is this really me?"
"Yes, it certainly is," Roarke said with a smile. "You are now a woman, Mr. …uh, Ms. Ashcroft, with all the corresponding, uh, attributes." He cleared his throat slightly and averted his gaze to some corner; their guest as a woman had turned out to be fairly well-endowed. Leslie eyed her father with great amusement.
"I don't know if I can handle this…" Ashcroft mumbled, returning to the reflection in the mirror. "I mean, I look like a woman all right, but I don't know how to act like one."
"Which is where Leslie comes in," Roarke said. "She will act as your advisor through the weekend should you need assistance with anything. I wish you the best of luck, Ms. Ashcroft, and I do hope your fantasy is the success you wished for."
Ashcroft peered at him as he passed him on his way to the door and remarked a bit ominously, "Me too." Roarke and Leslie glanced at each other—he curiously, she a touch ruefully—behind their guest's back, just before emerging behind Ashcroft into the study.
‡ ‡ ‡
Leslie had escorted Ashcroft—who cursed at the high-heeled shoes the entire way—to a bungalow, and now stood waiting in the main room while her charge peered into the mirror again. "Well, how about Tricia?" Ashcroft asked.
Leslie shrugged. "It's up to you what name you feel like going by."
"Okay, I guess it's Tricia then." Timothy/Tricia's head popped around the doorjamb. "Can I please change my clothes? These shoes are sheer murder. I don't see how you women stand the things."
"I don't, personally," Leslie confessed. "I have a way of twisting my ankles in high heels, and I'm on my feet too much in this job to make them practical anyway. But you don't have anything else, at least nothing feminine."
"I'm on vacation," Tricia protested. "Don't your women visitors ever wear T-shirts and shorts and flip-flops?"
"Sure they do," Leslie said, grinning. "But you have a little problem. All the stuff you brought with you is sized to fit Timothy, who's quite a bit taller than Tricia is."
"Better too big than too small," Tricia said with determination, kicking off the shoes with enough force to send them flying across the room. "Let me throw on some clothes and we'll do that acid test you were talking about me taking."
Leslie shrugged again and settled herself into a chair, waiting patiently. It took nearly twenty minutes before Tricia came out of the bedroom, wearing the blue dress. "I guess we better go clothes shopping," she said with a put-upon sigh. "All my shorts keep falling off."
Leslie giggled. "Come on," she said. "I'll help."
As it turned out, the acid test Leslie had mentioned came up rather sooner than they had anticipated. They met three of Leslie's friends in town: Maureen, Camille with her son, and Tabitha Zuma, who had come to pick up her mail. Tricia hung back, staring at the young women, while Leslie greeted her friends; then Camille spoke up. "Who's your buddy there, looking like something's about to explode in her face?"
"Oh," said Leslie, casting one meaningful glance at Tricia over her shoulder. "This is a guest of ours this weekend—she decided to buy a whole new wardrobe as a souvenir of her trip to Fantasy Island."
"I did?" Tricia peered oddly at Leslie, who nodded firmly. "Oh…I did. Yeah. Nice to meet you ladies. Name's Tricia Ashley." Tricia made up the surname on the spur of the moment and stuck out her hand, while Leslie watched with interest. Maureen, Camille and Tabitha each shook hands and greeted her, introducing themselves.
"Well, don't let us keep you from your shopping trip," Maureen said, grinning. "I hope you enjoy your stay here, Tricia. Maybe we'll see you at the luau, Leslie—Grady's taking me. We thought we ought to get one in before we turn into an old married couple who stay at home every night spacing out in front of the tube." They all laughed.
"Great…Father and I will probably be there, and I'm sure Tricia here will, too. What about you two?" Leslie addressed Camille and Tabitha.
"Oh, you know the runt here…he conks out by eight," Camille said. "Jimmy has to work tonight, but maybe the quads'll babysit. They'll probably jump at the chance, since they're still trying to earn Christmas money."
"It sounds like fun," ventured Tabitha. "I'll come too." She slanted a shy glance at Tricia and smiled. "You should have a wonderful time. I've never been to a luau, but I've certainly heard about them. I guess it's time I experienced one."
"You're overdue, in that case," Leslie said, grinning. "Okay, super. If you see Myeko and Lauren, tell them to drop in too. You know the drill, everyone's welcome. See you there, everybody." The girls dispersed, and Leslie and Tricia headed for the nearest clothing shop.
"How'd I do?" Tricia asked, looking anxious.
"Pretty well," Leslie said. "At least, as far as it went, since you didn't say much. But that's okay. Now let's see what'll look good on you."
They spent most of two hours choosing clothes, mainly because Leslie encouraged Tricia to try everything on before she bought it. When they had been through five shops and had a large collection of bags and boxes, Tricia finally looked at Leslie and asked, "You think this'll get me through the weekend?"
Leslie grinned, shaking her head. "I was beginning to wonder when you were going to decide you'd had enough shopping for a day. I think you'll be fine."
"Not till you show me how to put on makeup," Tricia said, lowering her voice and glancing around, turning red.
Leslie's grin lingered. "That's true. No need to feel embarrassed about it. Just act as if it's stage makeup. After all, in a way, you are playing a part."
Tricia thought this over. "Hey, that's a great way to look at it. Thanks, Leslie. In that case, let's get to it."
It was nearly another hour before Leslie had a chance to return to the main house, by which time it was almost the lunch hour anyway. "How is our guest's fantasy progressing?" Roarke inquired when she came in.
"Pretty smoothly so far," Leslie said. "We met three of my friends in town, and they didn't sense anything different about him…I mean, her…I mean…well, you know what I mean. I have a feeling I'm going to be all mixed up, all weekend long."
Roarke chuckled. "That's understandable. But don't be lulled by your smooth sailing, my daughter—a fantasy such as this invites trouble."
"I'm just as glad it's waiting to strike," Leslie remarked. "After spending all morning shopping for clothes and teaching Tricia to put on makeup…"
"Tricia?" Roarke asked.
"That's the name he…she's going by for the weekend. Anyway, I'm ready for some fortification. Once I've eaten, I'll have the energy to face whatever may pop up this afternoon. I'll go check with Mariki." She headed for the kitchen; Roarke watched her go, a faint smile lingering. Though he had no way of predicting what twists Timothy Ashcroft's fantasy would take, he knew full well it was going to twist; and he would find it very interesting to see how Leslie handled it.