§ § § -- December 13, 1992
Shortly after lunch, Leslie was on her way to Julie's B&B to get a room count for that night when she met up with her friends again, out for a stroll along the far side of the duck pond across from the main house. The only one missing was Lauren, she realized. "What's this, a group stroll?" Leslie kidded.
Her friends grinned at her. "Sort of," said Myeko. "Actually, we're just taking advantage of this fabulous weather. That, and people-watching."
"Speaking of the people we're watching…" murmured Maureen, and all eyes followed Tricia Ashcroft, alias Ashley, as she strode purposefully along the Main House Lane in the direction of the Ring Road. Even from this distance they could all see her fierce frown; she was clearly oblivious to her surroundings. Leslie watched, her stomach beginning to roll at the woman's gait. Please don't let anyone say anything about…
"Why is she walking like that?" Myeko asked.
"Maybe she has a rock in her shoe," suggested Tabitha.
Maureen nodded. "That's a possibility. But then, how come she doesn't stop and shake it out?"
"Oh, come on," Leslie said, essaying a grin. "Obviously she's got somewhere to go, and she's just in a hurry to get there."
"Walking like that?" Camille said skeptically. "I mean…that's the way a guy would walk!" At that moment Tricia twisted her ankle sharply in the low heel and expelled a curse that they could hear across the pond. Leslie winced; Maureen and Tabitha looked at each other; Camille and Myeko snickered.
"That's the way a guy would curse, too," Myeko remarked. "I should know. Toki curses like that a lot."
"Oh, he does?" Camille asked, a sly grin spreading across her face as she regarded Myeko. "And what do you do that makes him say those words?"
"Oh sure, blame it on me," Myeko shot back good-naturedly. To Leslie's disappointment, their attention wandered back to Tricia, who had resumed her ground-eating walk down the lane. A moment later she rounded the corner and disappeared from their view.
"There's something really weird about that woman," Camille announced. "I mean, last night at the luau, she kept staring at Heather, that friend of Lauren's. And when Heather was complaining about her boyfriend, you should've seen that woman's face—red as a stop sign. Come on, what's with her anyway?" This last was directed at Leslie.
Leslie tried to borrow some of Roarke's smoothly evasive mien. "What makes you think I know anything about her?"
"She's your guest," Myeko pointed out.
"So?" Leslie prompted.
"So what's her problem?" Camille persisted.
Tabitha cleared her throat. "It's not really any of our business," she said hesitantly. "I know we're all curious. I am too, after all. But I don't think we have any right to make Leslie tell us about her."
"You're right, Tabitha," Maureen said firmly. "Come on, guys, lay off. We've all known for years that Leslie has to live by Mr. Roarke's rules about the fantasies, and you know how strict those rules are. Besides, she might be able to tell us tomorrow anyway."
"Yeah, yeah," Camille grumbled. "But I still say something's fishy about old Tricia there." She sighed at the looks she got. "Okay, okay, I'll drop the subject."
"Thank you," Maureen said in a pointed tone.
"Where's Lauren?" Leslie put in, hoping to change the subject once and for all.
"Oh, she's hanging out with that Heather person," Myeko said. "I had no idea they'd hit it off like that. But I guess it makes sense—Lauren's the only one of us who's never been married and isn't involved with some guy."
"No she isn't," Tabitha said. "I've never been married either, and I'm not involved."
"But what about that friend of yours? Fernando, I think?" Myeko protested.
Tabitha laughed. "Oh, we've been friends for a long time. I don't think either of us has ever thought of the other as anything different. You know, I'm sure Leslie has work to do, and we're holding her up. Are we making you late, Leslie?"
Leslie smiled. "I was actually on my way to Julie's. Out of curiosity, just where are Lauren and Heather hanging out?"
"Oh, Lauren said something about checking out guys at the beach," Camille said dismissively. "Well, since you have to get to the B&B, we won't keep you. See you later."
Leslie waved at her friends as they moved along; then she picked up her pace, moving at a near-run down the Ring Road in the hope of catching up with Tricia. That had been too close a call for her liking. She was almost at Julie's before she finally did find Tricia, who was still stalking along the roadside glaring at the scenery she passed.
"Tricia, slow down," Leslie called. Tricia stopped short in surprise and whirled around to watch Leslie approach. "What's the big rush?"
"Where the hell is Heather?" Tricia demanded outright.
"At the beach with my friend Lauren," Leslie said immediately. "Look, before you go tearing off, I need to remind you again. Do you realize you're walking like a guy?"
Tricia gave her a completely bewildered look. "Huh?"
"You keep forgetting you're a woman for the time being," Leslie explained. "My friends and I saw you a couple of minutes ago, and they noticed that masculine gait you were employing. Tricia, walk barefoot if your shoes are giving you trouble, but for heaven's sake, watch yourself! You keep calling attention to yourself. And incidentally, I'm not so sure you should be tracking down Heather. I realize you're jealous," she said, raising her voice and her hands at the same time to forestall Tricia's budding protest, "but you're a woman, for heaven's sake. Heather wouldn't understand."
"I don't see why not," Tricia said heatedly. "Heather's staying in my bungalow, in case you've forgotten. I have every right to make sure she's not flirting with other guys. I mean, I can always tell her I'm just making sure she doesn't wind up with another loser, and she never has to know the real reason."
"She will," Leslie told her flatly. "Sooner or later she's going to find out—because, as you said, she's sharing your bungalow. Even if you aren't right in her line of sight when the potion wears off tonight, how are you going to explain how a couple seconds ago, you were Tricia, and now you're Timothy?"
Tricia gaped at her. "Oh, geez Louise. I never thought of that."
"Maybe you should," Leslie said. "Either spring for another hotel room for her, or be prepared to explain what happened to Tricia and why Timothy's in her place." She pasted on a smile and nodded her head coolly. "Have a nice afternoon. Excuse me, please." With that, she continued on her way to the B&B.
"But…" Tricia began, letting her voice falter and watching Leslie go. After a long frustrated moment, she threw her hands in the air and yelled, "Women!" At which a passing couple gave her a strange look, and she smiled weakly and decided she might be safer at the beach with Heather and Lauren.
‡ ‡ ‡
Though she did find Heather and Lauren on the beach and even spent a little time with them at their invitation, Tricia found Leslie's parting words to her more than a little distracting. She sat morosely on a towel trying to think up some way to keep her eventual retransformation from being seen by Heather, but couldn't come up with a single good idea. More than once her trains of thought got derailed because Heather or Lauren would poke her in the side and demand to know what she thought of this or that passing man.
Finally Heather grew exasperated. "Tricia, what's the matter with you? You're such a wet blanket today! I thought you wanted to guy-watch with us."
Hers and Lauren's indignant, questioning stares suddenly made Tricia profoundly relieved to have a legitimate excuse at the ready. "I've just got something on my mind," she said with a heavy sigh. "I can't seem to quit thinking about it."
"Well, you can tell us," Heather encouraged her. "We're friends, right?"
"Oh, sure, of course…but, uh, this is kinda personal," Tricia said, flustered.
Heather and Lauren looked at each other and said in perfect unison, "That time of the month." Tricia gave them a blank look, then blushed fiercely when she got their meaning.
"No, it's not that. I just…well, actually, I gotta go see Mr. Roarke," she said, already pushing herself to her feet. "And it's very, very, very urgent."
"Oh," said Lauren, looking curious. "Well, in that case, good luck."
"Yeah," Heather agreed. "See you at our bungalow tonight, Tricia."
Tricia managed only half a smile in response, gave them a limp farewell wave and left the beach at an all-out run. Her sense of urgency spared her the strange stares she was getting from Lauren and Heather as they watched her leave.
"Do you think she has some kind of…well, foot trouble or something?" Lauren asked finally. "I mean…I've never seen anybody run like that."
"I have," Heather said doubtfully. "Men do. You don't suppose…" She and Lauren stared at each other for a long, wide-eyed moment, and then both scoffed, "Naaaaaaah." But neither one sounded very sure of herself.
Tricia sprinted madly all the way to the main house, so that by the time she arrived there almost ten minutes later, she was too out of breath to speak at first. Roarke was the only one in the study. "Ms. Ashcroft…are you all right? Here, sit down and catch your breath for a moment. May I get you anything?"
Tricia shook her head and collapsed into a chair, panting. "Urgent…problem," she finally managed to blurt out between ragged breaths.
"Oh?" said Roarke, resuming his seat behind the desk. "When you are able to speak, then by all means, tell me about it."
It took another five minutes before Tricia could talk. "Well, without going into a lot of detail, Leslie pointed out something to me a little while ago. She said that now that I'm sharing my bungalow with Heather, I'll have to find some way to explain to her why Tricia vanished and Timothy took her place."
"Oh…" Roarke's features grew very thoughtful. "You face quite a dilemma, then."
"Mr. Roarke, you have a tremendous knack for understatement," Tricia informed him with great irony. "What'm I gonna do? I've been racking my brain and I can't come up with a thing, short of leaving Heather the bungalow and taking a hotel room."
"Unfortunately, that would be quite impossible," Roarke said. "There's not a single open accommodation on the entire island tonight. The only thing I can suggest is that you be elsewhere when the transformation takes place."
"That's just great, Mr. Roarke," Tricia retorted, sitting up and glaring at him. "But I have to go back for my stuff—Tricia's and Timothy's. Even if Heather doesn't see the actual metamorphosis, I'll have one hell of a…excuse me…one heck of a time explaining how come Tricia left the bungalow and never came back, and all of a sudden here's Timothy, wandering in and announcing, 'Hi, it's me.' "
Roarke nodded slowly, contemplating this for a moment or two. Then he smiled and leaned forward over the desk. "Perhaps there's a solution. Where is Miss Adams now?"
"On the beach with some friend of Leslie's. They've been watching men parading by for the last couple hours or so."
"Good. Then why don't you return to the bungalow now and pack, and leave Miss Adams a note as Tricia, explaining that you were forced to end your vacation prematurely due to a family emergency. When you've done that, bring your bags back here, and we will leave them in the room where you entered your current…uh, condition. Try to be here at ten-thirty this evening; that is when you will return to being a man."
"Exactly ten-thirty?" Tricia asked. "Not, say, ten, or even nine-thirty?"
Roarke looked faintly reproving. "As I have already explained to you, the effects last for thirty-six hours. There may be a margin of error in one direction or the other, but not to the extent you are clearly hoping for."
"Oh." Tricia sighed and shrugged. "Well, I tried. At least that gives me time to pack and write that note, and then I can go out and enjoy my afternoon. Maybe I'll even hit the bar and really tie one on." At Roarke's raised eyebrows, she said defiantly, "After the weekend I've had, I deserve it."
Roarke gave a slight shrug that said, Your affairs are your problem, not mine. "Very well, Ms. Ashcroft."
Tricia rose from her chair. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke. I really appreciate it." Roarke smiled in response.
About half an hour later she returned; this time Leslie was in the study as well as Roarke. "Hi, Ms. Ashcroft," Leslie said, looking askance at the suitcases Tricia carried. "Leaving already?"
Roarke chuckled. "You'll recall, my dear Leslie, that you yourself pointed out a crucial problem to Ms. Ashcroft earlier this afternoon. This is part of the solution." He explained what the plan of action was to be.
"Aha," said Leslie and nodded. "Well, then, follow me." She led the way to the time-travel room, where Tricia put her bags on the floor beside the round table that still held the decanter still some one-quarter full of amber liquid.
"Ugh," she muttered, staring at it. Leslie snickered and gestured her back out. Once she'd closed the door, Tricia turned to her, though including Roarke in her next question. "So, where on the island will I be able to get a steady supply of strong exotic drinks, with no questions asked?"
Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; Roarke shot a glance at the ceiling and shook his head just perceptibly. Leslie shrugged and looked back at Tricia. "You could try the hotel bar. The bartender there has worked all over the South Pacific, and he knows dozens of drinks you've probably never heard of that pack quite a wallop." She looked at Roarke again. "Besides, I think Kaholo has enough sense to know when to stop serving her."
"Sold," said Tricia and grinned. "Like I told Mr. Roarke, I deserve it."
"Just make darn good and sure you're back here by ten-thirty," Leslie warned sternly. "If you're not…well, I'm sure you can imagine what'd happen."
"No problem. It's only four o'clock. I've got loads of time and nothing to worry about, now that my problem's been solved. See you two later tonight." Tricia started out of the study, whistling.
"Watch the way you walk," Leslie reminded her sharply.
Tricia glanced back at her and grinned. "Gotcha, General." She crossed the room and left the house with exaggeratedly mincing steps, making Leslie groan and drop her head in one hand while Roarke finally gave in to his amusement.