§ § § -- December 13, 1992
"Don't you think that's more than enough, lady?" Kaholo, the bartender from Maui, asked worriedly, peering at Tricia with a frown. "Geez, you've put away more of these than most guys I see in here."
"I tol' Mr. Roarke I'm tyin' one on tonight and nobody's stoppin' me," Tricia slurred stubbornly, squinting at Kaholo across the bar. "Say, you know what time it is?"
Kaholo started to reply, but then there was a hail from the doorway and the heads of everyone in the bar turned. It was the persistent Fred Carruthers. "Hey, Tricia!" he bellowed happily, making a beeline for her barstool. "Barkeep, whatever she's having, get me one."
"Right away," Kaholo said, casting one more doubtful glance at Tricia, and turned away to mix another of Tricia's latest drink. Fred plopped onto the stool beside her and grinned cheerfully at her.
"Been looking all over for you," he said. "You sure are a tough lady to find, y'know? Hey, listen, I got Roman Kasek's autograph. Guy was in a really crummy mood, but once I asked him to sign my shirt, he lit right up. Shame he lost the contest, y'know?" Kaholo set a glass in front of him. "Thanks, barkeep. So, y'wanna see his autograph?"
Tricia peered at him, trying to focus. "Why, he somebody famous?"
"Oh, he's pretty well known in some parts," Carruthers said, taking a swig of the electric-blue concoction Kaholo had just given him. "He's a professional bodybuilder and…whoooo-eeeeee!" Carruthers' eyes popped and he fanned the air in front of his open mouth. "Holy guacamole, that's got a kick!"
Tricia smirked at him. "Gotta watch those tropical drinks, bud."
"Yeah, I guess!" Carruthers coughed experimentally, then took a cautious sip and swallowed gingerly. "Huh. That's not too bad once you get used to it. So, Trish, you been hangin' out here all night, or what?"
"Yeah, couple hours maybe. This's been one helluva weekend, lemme tell ya. I thought this whole damn thing was gonna be a piece'a'cake. News for ya…it wasn't. That Roarke is some operator. Never tol' me I was gonna hafta dress the part or start lookin' like I was born this way…and then whaddaya know, Heather shows up an' she gets in good with Roarke's daughter's friends. An' th' nex' thing ya know, there she is badmouthin' me in frunna all her buddies, and there's Roarke's daughter lookin' guilty as sin…" Tricia rambled on with her story, never noticing Carruthers' increasingly confused look. "So man, by th' time I got over here, I gotta tell ya, I was ready t' get good an' drunk, y'know?"
"Oh, yeah," mumbled Carruthers. "Cripes, after hearing all that, now I wanna get drunk." He stuck a hand in the air and waved it at Kaholo, some way down the bar. "Barkeep, get me another one, willya?"
"Whyn'tcha try th' Volatile Volcano? That'll purge your system real good," Tricia suggested, grinning evilly. "Purge your brain too."
"Yeah?" Carruthers queried with interest. "I guess I could do with a brain purge. Maybe it'll help me forget I gotta go back home tomorrow and start working on that stupid road project outside of town." He rolled his eyes. "Weather's really stunk, y'know. Oh, I guess that doesn't mean much to you, bein' from Alaska and all, but we get snow in Kentucky too. And lately it's been lookin' like we're gettin' a white Christmas for sure. But you know how tough it is to pave a road in blowin' snow?…" Now it was Carruthers who rambled on while Tricia nursed her drink and half listened. Kaholo set a fire-engine-red drink down in front of Carruthers and removed the depleted glass, eyeing them both with distrust before turning away.
"So you work on the state D.O.T., huh?" Tricia mumbled when Carruthers wound down to sample his new drink. "Man, you wouldn't believe some of the guys on the pipeline in Talkeetna. I shoulda hauled Craig down here with me an' had him do this whole thing right along with me. If anybody needed to learn somethin', it was ol' Craig for sure. Ol' Craig, back up at home, trollin' for women, careenin' down the road o' life like it's never gonna end. Someday he's gonna be road pizza, no question 'bout that. Worst driver I ever saw. Biggest braggart in the state. Oh, look, my Turquoise T.N.T. is gone. Say, barkeep, can I try the Indigo Dynamo?"
Kaholo turned and regarded her very dubiously. "Lady, if I give you one more drink, I'll be out of a job tomorrow morning, guaranteed. Do you want to lose me this position? Why don't you give it a rest?" He turned away without waiting for her answer.
"Aw, don't worry, Trish, I'll order one and sneak it over to you. How many you had so far?" Carruthers inquired.
"Eight," said Tricia. "An' trust me, Freddie boy, that's not enough." She slurped the last of her current drink out of the glass, peered at Carruthers and declaimed, "Road pizza."
"Yeah…" Carruthers reared back suddenly, looking rather alarmed. "Hey, Trish…are you okay? You look kinda…uh…"
"What, I got Turquoise T.N.T. on my chin or somethin'?" Tricia reached up and fingered her chin, blinking when she felt stubble there. Her sodden brain returned to stark reality with a loud thud and she gulped. "What time's it?"
Carruthers checked his watch. "Ten thirty-five."
"Aw, man…!" Tricia stumbled off her stool, dug into a pocket and slammed a pair of twenty-dollar bills on the bar, and glanced warily at Fred. "Nice knowin' ya, bud. Lotsa luck with that road project."
Carruthers gaped at her, huge-eyed. Tricia registered his expression, then caught sight of her image in the mirror behind the bar. A two-day stubble had sprouted out of her lower face and her chest had started to magically shrink; even as she stared, she saw herself grow a half-inch taller. With a loud, very indelicate curse, she took to her heels.
Fred Carruthers gawked after the fleeing Tricia, then shifted his horrified attention to his half-consumed drink. "No more Volatile Volcanoes for me!" he announced, shoving the glass away from him. He left a five-dollar bill on the bar and wandered out in a daze.
Tricia found a jungle path and tore away up it, feeling the retransformation taking place all the while. It seemed like forever, but was really little more than two minutes, when the Alaskan lurched through the open French doors at the back of Roarke's study and stopped short.
Roarke and Leslie stared in astonishment. "Where've you been?" Leslie demanded.
"At the bar. I know I'm late. Whadda I do?" came the frantic reply in a rapidly deepening voice.
"In there," Leslie said, pointing at the time-travel room. She and Roarke watched their guest bound across the room and slam the door, making them both flinch.
"Perhaps now you'll stop pacing the floor," suggested Roarke darkly. Leslie rolled her eyes and sank into a chair.
Ten minutes passed before the door opened and Timothy Ashcroft emerged, clad in his own clothing and looking none the worse for wear, except that his drunken condition had plainly survived his transition back to his natural male state. "Whoa," he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair and eyeing Roarke sheepishly. "I gotta tell ya, I sure am glad that's over." He peered at Leslie. "I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner."
Leslie sighed heavily, looked up at him and shrugged. "Did anyone see you?"
"Uh…oh, I guess poor old Fred Carruthers musta seen the beginning of my morphing act," Ashcroft confessed. "Somethin' tells me he's never gonna be the same again. Come t' think of it, me either." He grinned foolishly.
"Of that I am quite certain," Roarke said dryly.
"So where'm I sleepin' tonight?" Ashcroft ventured.
Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; then she checked the grandfather clock. "I think you're about to get your answer," Leslie said—at which precise moment the door opened and Heather Adams stepped into the foyer.
"Mr. Roarke, I got your message and I was wondering…" Heather's voice broke off as she caught sight of Ashcroft. "Oh my God. Timothy? What're you doing here?"
Ashcroft smiled at her hopefully. "Just came for a little, uh…break from work." He cleared his throat. "So, uh, did you enjoy your weekend?"
"Oh, sure," Heather said, staring at him. "When did you get here?"
"This afternoon," he told her, and it was plain that the mental gears were grinding, though slowed considerably by alcohol. "And, uh, I didn't exactly…make any reservations or anything…and Mr. Roarke says everything's completely booked up…and, well, hey, I don't mean to impose or anything like that, but I might have to catch some Zs in a lounge chair at the pool…"
"Looks like you fell off the wagon," Heather noted astutely.
He shrugged. "Well, you took off without saying anything to me," he said plaintively, "and what was I supposed to think? I mean…well, heck, I figured you'd had enough of me and I might as well drown my sorrows somewhere." He turned a doleful look on her; Leslie turned away, facing Roarke, and gave him a weary stare that made him suppress a smile.
"You missed me that much?" Heather asked.
"Yup. Uh, say, you had anything to eat yet? I'll spring for it, and uh…you can pick anything you want. No questions asked. You're in charge, okay?"
Heather peered at him in disbelief. "Now I know you're drunk, Timothy Ashcroft. I guess I don't have any choice. Come on, you might as well take the sofa bed in my bungalow, since my roommate had to go home early." She gave Roarke and Leslie an apologetic look. "I better get him out of here. I'm really sorry to cut and run…"
"That's quite all right, Miss Adams," Roarke assured her. "Good night, both of you."
"Good night," Timothy and Heather chorused, and each of them lifted one of the suitcases he had brought out of the time-travel room with him and departed.
"My turn," Leslie mumbled, massaging her forehead. "I hope there's some aspirin upstairs. Good night, Father."
Roarke chuckled. "Good night, Leslie," he said, watching her head for her room. To tell the truth, he didn't blame her.
§ § § -- December 14, 1992
Roarke and Leslie watched the car deposit Timothy Ashcroft and Heather Adams on Monday morning and waited while Heather thanked her hosts and headed for the plane dock. "I'll be right with you," Ashcroft said and turned back to them. "Well, one thing's for sure, I'll never forget this weekend as long as I live. And I learned some serious lessons."
"We're very glad to be of service," Roarke said. "Are you ready to face the winter in Alaska once more?"
"Yeah, I think so. I appreciate everything, Mr. Roarke, and thanks for your help too, Leslie. Now I understand a lot more. Incidentally, what happened to Fred Carruthers?"
"He checked himself into the island hospital last evening, as I understand it," Leslie said. "Something about hallucinations brought on by a drink called a Volatile Volcano." They all burst out laughing, and Ashcroft shook their hands and went off to board the plane arm in arm with Heather Adams.
"Well done, Leslie," Roarke commended her. "Do you think you are ready to take on the supervision of other fantasies in the future?"
"Could you give me a month or two?" she pleaded, and Roarke grinned, patting her shoulder with total understanding.