§ § § -- October 6, 1993
They had supper with Solange and the children, and Mireille insisted on having Leslie read her another bedtime story before she was satisfied enough to go to sleep. Leslie grinned as she left the little girl's room. "What a charmer," she murmured, pulling Mireille's door shut. "You'll have your hands full in around ten years or so, you know."
"We already do," Solange remarked dryly, and they all chuckled. "Well, why don't you two go ahead and call Mr. Roarke now? Antoinette needs some help with her homework, so I'll be in her room if you need me, mon chér."
"That's fine," said Tattoo. "We'll sit in the studio. Leslie, the phone in the living room is a cordless model, so go get the handset and then come with me."
They checked the local phone directory, since they had no idea how to call overseas—and particularly Fantasy Island—from France. In the end, Tattoo called the operator and wrote down the instructions he was given; then he followed them carefully, and he and Leslie waited through a short series of clicks as the connections went through. Finally there came the buzz indicating the ringing of the phone on the other side of the planet, and Leslie grinned with anticipation.
"Yes," said Roarke's voice after two rings.
"Hi, Father, how's everything at home?" Leslie asked.
"Well, good morning, Leslie! Or should I say 'good evening', since I am sure it's fairly late in France?" Roarke said, chuckling. "Everything is just fine, as always, although the house seems quite empty without you, and I admit to a difficult time adjusting to Julie being in your place, however temporarily. Tell me, how is your trip going?"
"So far so good," Leslie said. "There's someone here who'd like to say something."
"Hi, boss," Tattoo greeted his former employer with a wide grin.
"Tattoo, my friend, hello to you also!" exclaimed Roarke, delighted. "It's very good to hear both your voices, believe me. So, Tattoo, is Leslie resting as she was advised to do?"
Tattoo shot Leslie a sly look that made her brace herself for the teasing she knew was coming. "You wouldn't believe it, boss. Laziest girl I ever saw. She claims her doctor told her it was okay, and then just lies around all day doing nothing. We've been waiting on her hand and foot!"
Roarke was laughing on the other end. "Indeed! Running you ragged, is she? If that daughter of mine causes you any more trouble, my friend, you have my permission to evict her." Tattoo laughed as well, and Leslie rolled her eyes.
"Just for that, I think I'll take an extra month off," Leslie said, escalating their laughter. She giggled with them and settled back in her chair, gazing absently into the back yard, softly pink in the dimming sunset. "Actually, it's been quite a trip so far. Arcolos was one of the more interesting places I've seen, and Paris really lives up to its nickname. And Father, you should see Tattoo and Solange's home here. It's simply gorgeous." She went on to describe the house and its setting to her father, with Tattoo inserting a detail here and there. "Not only that, but there's one of Tattoo's paintings in almost every room. I wish you could see the one in mine. It's a letter-perfect rendering of the main house. I could have sworn it was a photograph the first time I saw it."
"How could it be anything else?" Roarke asked reminiscently. "Tattoo spent a great deal of his life here on the island, and no doubt his memories are quite vivid. And how are Solange and the children doing, my friend, not to mention you yourself?"
They chatted for a while, till out of nowhere Leslie yawned despite herself. Roarke's tone grew instantly concerned. "Are you certain you're getting enough rest, Leslie? I realize you want to see the sights along the way, but I don't want you taxing yourself. Remember, the main purpose of this trip is for you to get some much-needed rest."
"Don't worry, Father," Leslie insisted, casting a rueful smile at Tattoo, who returned it with understanding. "I've been sleeping like the dead most nights, and it has nothing to do with trying to do too much sightseeing during the day. As a matter of fact, Tattoo and Solange sent their youngest in to wake me up this morning, because I apparently overslept."
Tattoo laughed. "She's exaggerating, boss. We did have Mireille go in and wake her up, but I told her to sleep as long as she liked. We're not on much of a schedule around here, especially since Solange made me cut back on my time at the gallery and I go only once a week these days. Leslie, if you do feel tired, go on to bed, and don't feel as if you have to get up at any special hour, you understand?"
"But…" Leslie began.
"My child," Roarke broke in, "you'll be home again in another two weeks, and there will be all the time on earth to talk then. On the other hand, I should like the opportunity to speak with Tattoo, since we are so rarely in touch nowadays. I don't mean to sound as if I am trying to brush you off…"
"Oh sure," Leslie teased him, "you just don't want to talk to me." She snickered at Tattoo's rolled-eyes expression. "Okay, okay, you both talked me into it. I have to admit, I saw more of Paris than I expected to today. Well, then, good night, Father, and I hope I have a chance to talk to you again before I come home."
"I don't," Roarke retorted, triggering a loud laugh from Tattoo. "I told you before you left, don't worry about staying in touch with us. Just enjoy your vacation, and leave thoughts of home until the time you are actually on your way back."
"Is that an order?" Leslie asked.
"It certainly is," Roarke said; then his voice softened. "Please, Leslie, this is not an idle request. As good as it is to hear your voice and to know you're well, I insist that you not go out of your way to contact me. Your arrival home is soon enough to hear about your trip. Now go and get some sleep, and let me speak with Tattoo."
She sighed. "Oh, all right. Well, then, I'll see you soon, Father…and good night, Tattoo, see you in the morning."
"Good night, petite chérie," Tattoo replied with a fond, avuncular smile, and she disconnected the cordless phone and took it back into the house with her. Tattoo watched her go and sighed, too late hearing the gusty report into the phone.
"Tattoo, what's wrong?" Roarke immediately asked. "And don't mince words, my friend. Tell me the truth: Leslie mentioned Solange's concern over you, and I want to know. How, exactly, is your health?"
"I guess it could be better," Tattoo admitted reluctantly. "Some days I feel normal, other days it's like I'll never get up again. The doctors tell me some of my organs are beginning to malfunction. They don't know how much longer I might expect to go on. I already have trouble sleeping, and I have to do it sitting up now." Sighing again, he outlined his other health troubles, things he had refused to tell Leslie.
Roarke was quiet for a long moment on the other end. Finally he asked in a heavy voice, "How long has this been going on, Tattoo?"
"Several months," Tattoo said, hesitated, then sighed again. "Actually, most of this year. But I felt twinges long before that. Boss…it's as well Leslie's here now. It could be the last time I ever see her. I couldn't tell her the truth. She's already lost so many people she loved, and it looks like I'm going to be the next one. And we've been shielding my kids from the whole truth, too. Mireille's not even two, she wouldn't understand…but Patrick and Antoinette would be…" His voice broke and he left the sentence hanging there.
On Fantasy Island, Roarke settled back in his chair, becoming suddenly aware of the raucous avian chorus outside. The bright, noisy tropical morning, so like thousands of others he had experienced here over the years, seemed offensive now somehow. He closed his eyes for a moment; his former assistant's revelations had brought on the same free-fall panic he'd felt when Helena Marsh had died. For Roarke, as for Leslie, it was an all-too-familiar feeling, one he would have paid dearly never to experience again.
He cleared his throat to steady his voice. "How much does Solange know?"
"Everything," Tattoo told him. "But there's one thing she doesn't know: she thinks I'm trying to bring on my own passing by working the way I do, but that's not it at all. When I'm gone, her life and the kids' lives will be upset enough. I don't want them to have to lose this house and everything I've worked so hard to give them. That's why I'm painting like crazy. I must have two dozen works in progress in my studio now, and I'm going to keep turning out paintings till I can't anymore. This is the only home that Patrick and Antoinette and Mireille have ever known, and I don't want them having to leave it when I'm gone. I've got everything put away in a special account for her and the children, so that Solange can put off going back to work till Mireille's in school at least. Any dance company will take her, she's that good…I just don't want her to be forced back into it."
Roarke was silent, waiting; he knew Tattoo wasn't finished. He closed his eyes again.
In the glass-walled studio, Tattoo swallowed thickly, staring at the fading sunset without seeing it. "One other thing. When I do start to…I mean, whenever my systems begin their final shutdown and I'm no longer able to function, I've made it clear I don't want any kind of artificial life support. When it's my time, they're to let me go, pure and simple. There's nothing anyone can do for me, I've accepted that, and there's no reason to prolong my life when there's no chance of my getting any better."
"I understand, my friend," Roarke said quietly.
"My will's all updated," Tattoo went on stolidly. "Everything's ready when the time comes. After I've passed on, you're going to get a telegram, boss. Solange and the kids will be coming to Fantasy Island with my lawyer, and that's where the will should be read."
"All right, Tattoo," Roarke agreed.
"One more thing: please, boss, don't tell Leslie, not till it's happened. I'm sure she'll get upset, but tell her I insisted on it. I just can't bear the thought of turning her world upside down all over again, not before it has to be." His eyes glittered in the light that spilled over from within the house. "I'm certainly not going to send her home unhappy."
"That seems somewhat cruel," Roarke protested gently. "I would certainly tell her, since you request it of me…but I suspect she would feel less cheated hearing it from you."
Tattoo hesitated, thinking this over. "You think so, boss? I don't want to ruin the rest of her trip, after all. And this is something you just don't tell someone over the phone or in a letter. It's better in person. Yet if I do it now…"
Roarke grasped the quandary Tattoo was in. "I see your dilemma…very well, my friend, I'll tell her as you specified." Tattoo heard him sigh deeply. "She is there for another week. Do you feel you can handle it?"
"Her being here makes me feel better," Tattoo said warmly. "Funny how she's giving me the energy I've been losing for awhile now. She asked to see my paintings here in the studio. And you should see her with Mireille—I can't figure that out at all. Mireille's gone crazy over Leslie." He laughed. "She won't let anyone but Leslie read her bedtime story to her, and she wanted to come with us when we went into Paris today. We're already making jokes about Leslie taking Mireille home with her."
Roarke laughed as well. "So she has an admirer! That's not such a surprise; the island children like her very much as well." The two fell silent for a moment or two; then Roarke's tone shifted. "I would ask one thing of you, Tattoo…simply to make Leslie's visit a happy one. Leave her with pleasant memories. They will help her later on."
"Of course, boss, of course…that's the easiest thing you could ask. You know…I've said this a few times before, but…I just want to say it again. You're still the best friend I ever had—I think, in a way, you're responsible for my life being as good as it's been. You gave me a chance when nobody else would. You've always treated me as just another human being, and you allowed me my dignity and the opportunity to make my own way in this world; and you gave me the confidence I needed when it was time to leave and carve out my own life. If it hadn't been for you, my life would've been completely different. You were just there, being my friend and giving me chances I never had from anyone else. Merci beaucoup, mon chér ami. I can't thank you enough for everything you've ever done for me."
There was a thick silence across the line, and at last Roarke's whisper floated halfway around the world: "You are so very welcome, my friend…more than you can ever know." His emotion, so carefully concealed from his guests, his employees and often even his daughter, came through loud and clear to his oldest and dearest friend.
A/N: I thought long and hard about where I should take the character of Tattoo. I started thinking about this quite some time ago. There has been at least one article, in a recent Boston Herald issue, suggesting actors to fill the two principal roles should the original series premise be brought back in a remake film, as a number of other classic TV shows have been in the last decade or so. (Antonio Banderas as Mr. Roarke and Peter Dinklage as Tattoo? They're both good actors—but no, I don't think so!) For longtime original-series fans, only Ricardo Montalbán and Hervé Villechaize are the right actors for those parts. In light of the fact that Hervé Villechaize is deceased, and that Tattoo is far and away the role he was best known for, it's difficult for me (and undoubtedly many other Fantasy Island fans) to imagine anyone else in the part. So I began to think that perhaps Tattoo's life should bear at least some echoes of Mssr. Villechaize's, and after wrestling with the idea for some months, I decided finally to go ahead and write it. The health problems I have attributed to Tattoo in this story were those of Mssr. Villechaize in real life.
I've started the threads of at least two future stories in this one, and this in turn is the first of a large two-parter. In the continuation of the story of Leslie's vacation trip, the seeds of a third future story will be sown as well.