§ § § -- December 13, 1992

Tricia plodded back to her bungalow about two in the morning on Sunday, having blown a good hundred dollars at the casino and decided to quit before she was too broke to wait till the potion wore off before leaving the island. The diversion hadn't been enough to keep Heather off her mind, and she wondered where Heather was now. Not to mention who with, she thought morosely.

"Hey, lady, need some company tonight?" a male voice asked suddenly, out of the darkness. Tricia stopped short, then heaved an exasperated sigh.

"If you don't get out of my way, buddy, I'll break your jaw too," she threatened. In reply to this, she heard a few muffled curses and then scuffling, which faded rapidly. Tricia smiled grimly to herself and continued on her way. Does Mr. Roarke know how many lowlife males he's hosting on his island? Um…maybe I shouldn't go there, she thought. In my regular male state, I probably acted like that sometimes too. No, wait a minute, I never went that far. Actually, that was freakin' Craig Bonaventure, now that I think about it. I ought to've dragged him here with me and had Mr. Roarke turn him into a woman too. I needed to learn some lessons all right, but if anyone ever needed it, it's Craig. But oh man, what the heck am I gonna do about Heather? I wonder where she is? Does she have a bungalow or is she staying in the hotel? Mind stuck on Heather again, Tricia made her way to her bungalow and let herself in, locking the door behind her and turning on a lamp. What she saw made her gape in mingled amazement and relief.

Heather Adams sat on the sofa in the main room, tears raining down her cheeks. She looked up when the lamp went on and gasped. "Oh, Tricia, I hope you don't mind my being here. But I had to get away from Billy. I met him at the luau and he seemed kinda nice, you know, but then he started doing things I didn't want him to. He followed me to my hotel room and then wouldn't leave, and I couldn't call the desk to have him thrown out because he wouldn't let me near the phone…and I finally grabbed my overnight bag and ran. I just let him have my hotel room." She began to sob in earnest, and Tricia sat down beside her.

"Who's this Billy character?" she demanded without thinking. "I'll go over there and rip his head off. What's your room number?"

"No, no, don't," Heather cried, brushing at her tears. "I don't want any trouble. Besides, you already punched out one guy this evening. If you do it again, Mr. Roarke'll probably throw you off his island. If you'll let me sleep here, I promise, I'll spring for half the cost of the bungalow. But I need a place to stay."

"Never mind the money," Tricia said. "And sure you can stay. But what made you decide to come to my bungalow? Just out of curiosity, you know."

"Oh, well, I figured if I needed a protector, you'd be a good one," Heather admitted. "And you're not a guy, so I don't have to worry about somebody's big paws all over me."

Tricia cleared her throat and shot a glance at the ceiling before turning to Heather. "Well, you can't let that jerk just get away with taking over your hotel room. He'll probably skip out before morning and you'll get stuck with the bill. At least call the hotel and explain what happened. Why didn't you stop at the front desk and let them know?"

"I was afraid he was going to chase me," Heather said. "I didn't want him to have a chance to catch up. Can't we just wait till the morning before we do something?"

Tricia shrugged. "Yeah, I guess, if you insist on doing it that way. Listen…I've been wondering about something." She drew in a breath and spoke carefully. "You were talking about this boyfriend of yours at the luau. If you have a boyfriend, what're you doing flirting with other guys?"

Heather turned red. "I just wanted to enjoy myself. It wasn't supposed to be anything serious, after all. And anyway, I've been so fed up with Timothy being the way he is. I think he means well, but he insists on making all the decisions. I wish he'd realize that I'd like to have some input. Maybe I have some good ideas, but he never lets me say anything so I can show him that. I felt so stifled that I figured, when he went away for the weekend, it was my chance to take this trip I always wanted to take, and have some fun by myself for a change. And it was fun till I met that idiot." She shifted in her seat. "If you don't mind, maybe we could just kind of hang out for the rest of the weekend. You know, like girl pals or something. Scoping out the guys and people-watching and lying on the beach, soaking up some sun. I can sure use it. Right now in Alaska, the weather's brutal, and there's a lot more where that came from. So I intend to make the most of my time here."

"Funny how everybody thinks cold weather's bad and hot weather's good," Tricia mumbled, half to herself. "Me, I couldn't take the heat. It always brings humidity, and then I turn into a giant puddle."

"That's what Timothy always says," Heather remarked with a laugh. "Hey, you wanna sit up and talk awhile? I could make some lemonade…"

"It sounds like fun," Tricia said, still reeling a bit from Heather's sudden propensity for chatter, "but it's almost 2:30 in the morning and I guess we ought to get some sleep. We have all day tomorrow to hang out, anyway. Not only that, but we have to tell the hotel what happened with your room so you can settle that."

"Okay," Heather agreed with a shrug. "I won't bother you, I can just sleep in the sofa bed out here. Do you mind if I borrow your bathroom for a bit?"

"Go on ahead," Tricia said, and the two stood up. Unexpectedly Heather hugged Tricia hard and smiled at her.

"Thanks, Tricia. You're a true friend," she said, then picked up her overnight bag and made her way to the bathroom, which could be reached only from the bedroom.

Tricia mulled over this as she pulled out the sofa bed. Heather seemed to have a lot to say about a lot of things, she realized. Maybe it was time she started listening.

‡ ‡ ‡

As it turned out, Roman Kasek's claim of sabotage proved to be unfounded; and what was more, he lost the locomotive-pulling contest. Most of the island had turned out for it, since it was an occurrence without precedent on Fantasy Island and had proven to be quite a novelty. The crowd at the contest site was slowly dispersing and Tricia was on the lookout for Roarke and Leslie, whom she shortly spotted standing next to one of the vintage train engines talking with Roman Kasek. As Tricia approached, she ascertained that Kasek was doing his "talking" with a pad and pencil, just as he'd had to do in the main house the evening before. His jaw was wired shut, making him look as if the lower half of his face was enclosed in a cage and swathed with bandages.

"I am terribly sorry you did not win the contest, Mr. Kasek," Roarke said, having read Kasek's latest message, "but I must differ with you on one point. You stated when you first arrived here that your fantasy was to have your name remembered by others. And in light of that, you must agree that it has in fact been fulfilled."

Kasek stared at him, clearly not understanding. Tricia snickered, and Leslie caught the movement and grinned in response. Meantime Kasek scrawled on his pad, and from where she stood Tricia could see what he wrote: How do you figure that, Roarke?

"Just listen," Tricia said, unable to resist. Kasek turned, recognized her and glared at her. "Everyone around you is talking about you, Kasek. They'll remember you all right. It's a sure thing you're the first guy with a broken jaw who ever participated in a locomotive-pulling contest."

Leslie had to look away to hide the laugh that wanted to burst forth; Roarke eyed the sky with a long-suffering expression. Kasek's glare became blazing and he began to advance on Tricia, who held up her hands. "Hey, you better be careful who you mess with, friend. As you already know, I've got a mean left hook. And you don't have any spare jaws."

Kasek growled deep in his throat, turned to Roarke and pointed at himself, then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in a gesture that said, I'm outta this place! Roarke nodded. "In that case, have a pleasant journey home, Mr. Kasek." Released, Kasek stalked away and disappeared; Leslie giggled merrily when he was out of earshot.

"I am not certain your intervention was necessary, Ms. Ashcroft," Roarke remarked with a scolding edge to his tone.

"But I think you got the point across to him in a way he could easily understand," Leslie put in cheerfully.

Roarke gave her an exasperated look. "Leslie Susan…"

"Oh, Father, come on—you know as well as I do that Roman Kasek's brains are in his biceps. If he wanted to win the contest, he should've said so. You were right about his fantasy having been fulfilled. I think just about everyone on the island came to see this thing, and I've heard so many people talking about 'that guy with the fractured face' that there's no way his fantasy, as stated, could've not been granted." She turned to Tricia. "Is there anything we can do for you? I assume you were waiting for us to finish with our bodybuilding friend there."

"Actually, yes," Tricia said. "There was something I wanted to tell you about. Heather stayed with me in my bungalow last night." She explained Heather's story about the man who had taken over her hotel room. "She said his name's Billy. I kinda wanted to separate his head from his torso for moving in on my girl, but she talked me out of it…"

Leslie sighed gently. "I hate to interrupt, but another gentle reminder: you need to be careful what you say out loud, or else you'll be the one everyone's talking about."

Tricia blushed again. "Oh, yeah, right." She lifted her hands to her face. "Man, do all women blush like this? I've turned red more times this weekend than in my entire life up to this point. Well, anyway, Heather and I are turning out to actually be friends. She doesn't know who I really am, of course, and she seems to be in a talkative mood this weekend; so we've been getting to really know each other, and I've been discovering things I never knew about her before. Like, she prefers Mexican food to Italian; she's an excellent swimmer—something she doesn't get to do much of in Alaska—and she's never been to any state east of the Rocky Mountains. Dumb little stuff, but I just never knew it before."

"So it appears that your fantasy is paying unexpected dividends," Roarke said.

"Looks that way," Tricia said. "Maybe all this getting hit on by lust-crazed men is worth it for what's happening with me and Heather."

"Tricia Ashley, I was hoping I'd see you again," exclaimed a male voice then, and all eyes focused on Fred Carruthers, who was striding eagerly in their direction.

"Oh, geez. Speaking of lust-crazed men…" Tricia muttered, and Leslie giggled again while Roarke smiled. "Uh, hi, Fred. Actually, I was just about to go find my friend."

"I'll help," Carruthers volunteered brightly. "Hi, Mr. Roarke, Leslie."

"Hello, Mr. Carruthers," Roarke replied cordially. "I hope you enjoyed the contest."

Carruthers nodded vigorously. "Great stuff, Mr. Roarke! It's just amazing, the brute strength of some of those guys. I was gonna ask you. That guy with the broken jaw…is he still around? I really wanted to get his autograph. Imagine exerting that kind of effort with the injury he had! Do you know where I can find him?"

"If you hurry, you may still catch him," Roarke said. "I believe it was his intention to be on the next plane out, and that leaves in precisely…" He checked his gold watch. "Twenty minutes. Your best bet may be to meet him at the plane dock."

"Fabulous, Mr. Roarke! Thanks so much." Fred Carruthers sprinted away, having apparently forgotten all about Tricia, who heaved a relieved sigh.

"Thanks from me too," she said and grinned. "Well, I'm off to find Heather."

Leslie and Roarke watched her go. "This is turning out to be one heck of a weekend," Leslie commented.

"Indeed," Roarke said, eyeing her with amusement. "You seem to be handling Ms. Ashcroft's fantasy with some dexterity. A bit unorthodox at times, but overall you're doing a fine job. If you continue on in this vein, perhaps I will look into putting you in charge of future fantasies on a regular basis."

Leslie stared at him in amazement, her face lighting up. "Really? I'm beginning to feel as if I might almost get up to Tattoo's level of competence."

Roarke grinned at that. "Oh, Tattoo made his share of mistakes, so don't deify him too much in that regard. But he performed his job with great skill, and you are gaining valuable experience yourself." He frowned suddenly. "Now, what did I tell Ms. Ashcroft about the time?…"

"The next plane leaves in twenty minutes, you said," Leslie told him.

"Yes, thank you. In that case, we are due for a check on Mr. Albans, so we'd best hurry." Roarke led Leslie away from the contest site.