§ § § -- April 16, 1994

Exactly one hour later, there came a knock on the door, and Leslie went up and let in Kurt Jensen. "Oh…hi there," he said with interest, studying her.

"Hello, Mr. Jensen," Leslie replied with professional warmth, stepping aside. "Come in and make yourself comfortable. Is there something we can get you?"

"Uh…" Jensen came in and stopped short at the top of the foyer steps, staring around the study. "Wow." He zeroed in on Roarke, who had risen behind the desk, and remarked, "This place looks like you won the lottery, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke laughed. "Thank you, Mr. Jensen, and I also thank you for your timely arrival. Please sit down, won't you? As Leslie offered, may we get you anything?"

"Oh, no thanks," Jensen said, taking one of the chairs. "I'd just like to get right on with business, if that's okay with you."

"Perfectly," said Roarke, sitting down again while Leslie came in and took the remaining chair. "It appears you are rather impatient to experience your fantasy."

"And how," Jensen said, nodding vigorously. "My parents are very well off; as a matter of fact, they gave themselves a cruise to Bermuda for their anniversary, and they left just a couple of days ago. Me, on the other hand, I live a pretty Spartan lifestyle. I live in an apartment in a small town, and I don't have the means to get out too much. I've been watching Mom and Dad live it up for years, and decided I wanted a taste of that sort of lifestyle. I opened up a special savings account for this trip seven years ago—so it's kind of hard to believe I finally made it. I figured, with Mom and Dad having a great time on their cruise, it was high time I got outta Plainville and did some living of my own."

"Does that mean you are dissatisfied with your life there?" asked Roarke.

Jensen sat up a little, looking surprised. "Oh no, no, Mr. Roarke, Plainville's a great place to live and to raise kids. I grew up there myself. It's just, well, your typical quiet small town. I figured I'd enjoy myself and live out one of my dreams at the same time."

"In that case, we hope you'll enjoy it," said Leslie.

"Thanks, Leslie." Jensen glanced a bit sheepishly between her and Roarke. "I don't exactly have a very original fantasy, do I? I guess you guys've probably granted dozens of lottery-winner fantasies."

Roarke chuckled. "However 'unoriginal' you may believe it to be, Mr. Jensen, it is still your fantasy, and as such, you have as much right as others with the same fantasy to see it granted. Now…there will be no need for an actual drawing, since the outcome is a foregone conclusion—" He smiled, and Jensen dipped his head and grinned, still looking a little abashed. "But, of course, everything else will proceed as usual following a lottery win. However, there is one exception. My daughter Leslie will handle the distribution of your winnings; whenever you want or need more, you need only come to her and she will draw up a check for the amount you wish. You may spend it any way you choose."

"Sounds great by me," Jensen said enthusiastically.

"Well enough," Roarke said, then leaned forward slightly, fixing his guest with a concerned gaze. "Just be very certain that you really want to see this through, Mr. Jensen. There are always hazards of one sort or another involved with possessing the kind of money you will have won."

Jensen flapped a hand at him. "Hazards, schmazards. Let's do it, Mr. Roarke."

One of Roarke's eyebrows climbed an inch or so; he glanced at Leslie, who chuckled and shrugged, remarking, "I guess we'd better give the man what he wants."

Roarke nodded. "Very well, Mr. Jensen," he said. "Leslie, if you would, please."

Jensen watched Leslie arise from her chair, retreat behind Roarke's desk and pull open a drawer, from which she removed that day's Fantasy Island Chronicle. She handed it across the desk to him, saying, "You might like this as a souvenir." While she reached inside the drawer again, he shook the paper open and found his own face grinning at him, somewhat maniacally he thought, from the front page, under the trumpeting headline RECORD LOTTERY JACKPOT! Alerted, he skimmed the article till he found the amount in question, then sat and gawked at it while Leslie, having straightened up with a checkbook in her hand, and Roarke watched, both wearing faint, amused smiles.

Finally Jensen's gaze met Roarke's and he breathed, "I won two hundred million bucks?" At Roarke's nod: "What lottery did I play, anyway? Sure wasn't Mass Millions."

Roarke chuckled, that knowing glitter in his dark eyes, his smile very broad. "No indeed, Mr. Jensen…you won the Fantasy Island lottery, of course."

Leslie blinked and turned to him. "Father, we don't have…"

"On the contrary, my dear Leslie, we most certainly do," Roarke corrected her with a firm nod. She gave him a bewildered look for just a moment, then shrugged and accepted it. Roarke eyed her for one more moment, knowing she'd come back later and harangue him for the details; then he returned his attention to their guest. "You have a special account at the bank in town, Mr. Jensen," Roarke informed him. "Leslie will give you your first check for one hundred thousand dollars. You need only show your identification, and you may deposit the check without further ado."

"Deposit, heck," Jensen scoffed. "I'm cashing that sucker and spending every last dime of it. Hey, you said I won two hundred million. What's a hundred grand when you have all that loot? I'm gonna have some fun first, and then I'll think about other things."

"As you wish," said Roarke and gestured at Leslie, who opened the checkbook and wrote out the first check, tearing it out with a slight flourish and presenting it to Jensen.

"Happy spending, Mr. Jensen," she said and smiled.

"Thank you!" Jensen blurted excitedly. "Thank you both…this is gonna be the greatest weekend I ever had. Thanks tons!" Waving the check in mid-air, he jumped out of his chair and scrambled out the door, clearly in a hurry to cash in.

"Subtle," commented Roarke dryly.

Leslie burst out laughing. "Yeah, like a tsunami!" Roarke joined in her merriment, shaking his head.

Once they'd subsided, he arose from his desk. "I think you had better put that checkbook in the locked drawer with the charter-plane passes," he advised her. "It's time for us to pay a call on the Elliott sisters." On their way out the door, he picked up a lidded box about a foot long and six inches wide, and handed it to Leslie while he settled behind the wheel of a station wagon and drove them both to the Lotus Bungalow.

Samantha Elliott answered Roarke's knock. "Oh, hi, Mr. Roarke, Leslie," she said. "Come on in. We've been waiting for you."

"I hope we haven't kept you too long," Roarke said questioningly.

"Oh, we weren't going anywhere," Samantha said and laughed. "We've just been unpacking our stuff and enjoying the breeze. It's amazing how you clearly have a tropical island here and yet there's no humidity."

"Yes, it feels wonderful," put in Victoria Elliott from her wheelchair in the middle of the main room. "All we're getting right now back in Saskatoon is cold rain."

"I'm happy to see you're so delighted," said Roarke with an appreciative smile.

"Please sit anywhere," Samantha invited. "Toria and I are both pretty eager to get going on our fantasy. We've been waiting for this for months. It was just a matter of me arranging my vacation time, you know."

"Indeed," said Roarke, taking a seat. Leslie settled in the nearest chair to him and made herself comfortable, watching quietly, still holding the box. "Very well, then, perhaps you might tell me what has driven you to make such a request."

Victoria eyed him sardonically. "Don't you think it's pretty obvious in my case, Mr. Roarke?" she asked, her voice laced with an edge of bitterness. "I haven't been able to walk since I was seventeen years old. My leg muscles have probably atrophied beyond all help by now, and I wonder if I'd still know how to walk if I were given back the ability all of a sudden. But this is the existence I have to live with. Shut up inside day in and day out, tending the garden, keeping house, watching soap operas…"

"Right now that sounds like paradise to me," Samantha broke in. "Toria has the idea that my life's glamorous and exciting, but frankly, I think I'm close to burnout. I have to be available to my subordinates twenty-four hours a day, six days a week. And I don't even have Sundays to be lazy. That's when I do the heavy work that Toria can't handle on her own. Not that it's all that much, but there are a few things that are just beyond her abilities. I don't think I can go on like this much longer. Toria's full of energy and mine's just about all used up. So we decided to see if it were possible to experience life in each other's shoes."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other significantly, as if sharing a secret joke, and Roarke smiled broadly at her before returning his attention to Toria and Samantha. "As a matter of fact, ladies, it is indeed possible," he said. "Temporarily, of course."

"Of course," muttered Toria, prompting the others to exchange glances. But before anyone could pose any questions, she looked up, took a deep breath, and met Roarke's gaze. "Okay then, Mr. Roarke, if it's possible, how do you propose to make it happen?"

"By the use of these," Roarke said, turning to Leslie with an outstretched hand. She lifted the lid off the box before passing it over to him, and he cradled it in both hands and tilted it so that the Elliotts could see inside.

"Shoes?" said Samantha blankly. The box contained a pair of nondescript-looking navy-blue flats, suitable for an evening out yet comfortable enough to wear during the day.

Roarke favored them with an enigmatic gaze, punctuated with a slight smile. "Ah, but these are no ordinary shoes, Ms. Elliott," he assured her. "They will enable your sister to walk again."

Toria sat up straight and tipped forward, trying to get a better look. "You can't be serious," she said skeptically. "All I have to do is wear those plain old shoes?"

Leslie grinned; Roarke glanced at her and mirrored her expression before directing it at Toria. "Yes, indeed, Ms. Elliott. As unexceptional as they may appear, these are very special shoes. First of all…" He turned to Samantha and extended the box in her direction. "If you would be so kind, Ms. Elliott, put on the shoes and walk once around the room. Be sure to make a trip up the steps toward the door and then back down again before you take a seat there on the sofa, as close as possible to your sister's wheelchair."

Samantha and Toria looked at each other dubiously, but they were both clearly intrigued. "Okay," Samantha agreed and tugged off her own high heels before poking her feet into the navy flats. "Wow, they fit perfectly," she said, eyes widening with appreciation. "And they're so comfortable! Gosh, Mr. Roarke, where can I get a pair like these?" They all laughed while she stood up and trod the perimeter of the room, taking a detour at the steps to the front door and going up and then down them per Roarke's instructions. She thumped onto the sofa directly beside Toria and removed the shoes with a show of reluctance that made Toria playfully swat her.

"Don't get greedy, sis," she teased. "Those are my shoes, you know." Samantha cast her a comical pout and handed the shoes to her.

"So what was that all about?" Samantha queried.

"The purpose of your little exercise was to 'charge up' the shoes, if you will," Roarke explained, his dark eyes sparkling. "In other words, Samantha's ability to walk has now been transferred into the shoes, and as soon as you, Victoria, put them on your own feet, that very ability will in turn transfer itself to you."

Toria stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then shrugged and put the shoes securely in her lap before sliding both hands under her left thigh and lifting it enough to grab her ankle and prop it atop her right leg. She slid the corresponding shoe onto her foot and then repeated the process with the other leg and shoe. The moment the second foot hit the floor, her face went slack with shock and she stared into space, looking stunned.

"Mr. Roarke—?" Samantha began. Leslie caught her eye and shook her head, smiling. They waited, everyone staring at Toria's feet—and sure enough, in about ten seconds they noticed movement within the shoes.

"Toria, you're wiggling your toes!" Samantha shouted.

Toria leaned over and stared in amazement at her own feet. "Oh my God, I really am!" she shrieked.

"Stand up," Leslie urged her then, almost as excited as the Elliotts.

Toria shot her one last apprehensive look, then braced herself for what she clearly expected would be a vain effort. As a result, when she popped easily onto her feet, she had put so much energy behind the attempt that she almost fell forward and had to take a step to catch herself. That motion in itself astounded her even more; she used the momentum to take one step after another, as natural as could be. Anyone just walking into the room would never have known she'd spent almost half her life in a wheelchair.

Samantha cheered, and Roarke and Leslie both watched with broad grins; Toria, looking euphoric, bounded across the room and hugged Roarke where he sat. "Thank you so much, Mr. Roarke!" she cried ecstatically. "I never thought I'd get a chance to walk again! I forgot how great it feels!"

"I don't doubt that for one moment, Miss Elliott," Roarke said, his features growing solemn. "As much as I hate to put a damper on your excitement, however, it is necessary for me to remind you that this condition will last only for these two days. By dinnertime tomorrow, you must both be back in this bungalow."

Toria paused to look at him, her eyes a little troubled. "Why can't it be permanent, Mr. Roarke?" she asked wistfully.

"Because the ability to walk has been borrowed from your sister for the weekend," Roarke explained gently, and used this as a segue to turn to Samantha. "And how do you feel, Miss Elliott?"

With attention drawn to her condition now, Samantha grew aware for the first time that she could feel nothing from the waist down, and said so, looking apprehensive. "Are you sure this is only temporary, Mr. Roarke?"

Roarke nodded. "If you need someone to assist you in any way, I will be happy to provide a helper."

"She'll have me if she needs someone," Toria said, "but thank you anyway. You might as well get into the chair, Sammie. Tell me if you need any help."

Samantha got a determined look about her and shook her head. "No, I'm going to do this on my own. After that I plan to enjoy my rest for the weekend." They all watched as she reached for Victoria's abandoned wheelchair, positioned it where she could get to it more easily, and with much effort and a few muttered curses, finally got herself settled into it. She looked up at Toria with a rueful smile. "Toria, if I ever sounded callous about your condition before now, I take back everything I said and I apologize a hundred times over. You always make it look so easy, transferring yourself back and forth from this wheelchair, I never realized what's really involved."

Toria grinned. "It just takes practice, that's all. Mr. Roarke, Leslie, we can't thank you enough for doing this for us. What's there to do around here for fun?"

"Plenty," Leslie said. "The swimming pool, the beaches, the casino, horseback riding, and there's the weekly luau tonight too. You won't want to miss that."

"Then we'll be there," Toria said eagerly. "Thanks again."

"You're very welcome," Roarke replied, rising. "Enjoy yourselves, and may your joint fantasy be all you hope for. Leslie?"

The Elliott sisters watched their hosts leave, then looked at each other, both still feeling a little funny in their newly-swapped roles. Then Samantha grinned. "Well, why don't we change into swimsuits and hit the pool? I'm ready to soak up some sun after all that rain we've been having back home, and I'm sure you're dying for a swim."

"You read my mind," Toria said cheerfully. "Let me know if you need any help getting into your suit, Sammie."