§ § § -- April 16, 1994
"I don't know if we can," Myeko said to Camille inside the bank in Amberville, staring at the balance recorded in her checkbook. "I mean, I know we promised the boys and the quads, but…well, Toki's child-support check hasn't come yet."
Camille rolled her eyes. "He's probably too busy whooping it up in Honolulu," she said scornfully before softening and heaving a sigh. "Actually, I can see the problem. My bank balance doesn't look too healthy either. Maybe I ought to go ahead and get that part-time job, and never mind waiting till David starts kindergarten next year. He's gonna throw a fit when he finds out we can't afford the admission."
"We'll just have to put it off till later, I guess," Myeko said sadly. "I wanted to do it myself, you know? Just so I could forget all my problems."
"Excuse me, ladies…" Camille and Myeko both turned to see a man they didn't know hovering nearby. "I couldn't help overhearing. What's up?"
The two women looked at each other dubiously; then Myeko shrugged. "We promised our sons and my friend's brothers and sisters that we'd take them to the amusement park today," she explained. "But neither of us has enough money to pay all the admissions, even put together. Why do you ask?"
The stranger grinned in friendly fashion and whipped a pair of bills from his pocket. "Here, take the kids to the park," he said, "and have a great time. It's on me."
Camille and Myeko stared at him, at the proffered money, then at each other in disbelief. Finally Camille said incredulously, "You gotta be kidding, mister."
"Why would you do that?" Myeko wanted to know.
The man shrugged. "I came into some money," he said cheerfully, "and what good is it if I can't share it? Call it my good deed for the day." He grabbed Myeko's hand and stuffed the bills into it. "Have a great time, ladies." With that, he jogged toward the door.
"Hey, mister, wait," Camille blurted.
"Hold it, we can't—" Myeko began, but their voices trailed off as the stranger ignored their calls and vanished out the door. Camille gaped after him, completely bewildered, while Myeko finally thought to examine the money in her hand. Her loud gasp made Camille's head snap around in alarm.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"That guy just gave me two hundred dollars!" Myeko croaked. "That'll cover not just admission, but meals and even those stupid target-shooting games that Jeremy's so crazy about. Heck, we could even get souvenirs."
"Let me see," Camille said, and Myeko displayed the two $100 bills at her. Camille leaned forward and squinted at them, then scowled. "I bet they're counterfeit."
"Well, we're in a bank, aren't we?" Myeko pointed out. "Let's check with one of the tellers." She headed for an open window.
Five minutes later they emerged from the bank, still dazed with amazement and a little puzzlement. "I don't get it," Myeko said, "but you know what? That guy insisted we enjoy ourselves, so I say let's go for it."
Camille shrugged and grinned in resignation. "Might as well," she said. "Let's get the quads and the runts, and we'll catch the next bus to the amusement park."
Across the town square, Kurt Jensen was still congratulating himself for saving the day for some kids. Thinking about the house and new car he planned to buy, he wandered into a gift shop that sold touristy souvenirs of Fantasy Island, and idly scanned the water globes, T-shirts, pennants, paperweights, shot glasses, coffee mugs, keychains and other odds and ends displayed around the shop. At which point he heard whispers and giggles, and turned to find three pretty Polynesian girls standing in a knot a few feet away, their attention on him. When they saw they'd drawn his notice, they all lit up and approached.
"You're the guy who won the lottery, aren't you?" one asked brightly. "We saw your picture in today's paper. My goodness, all that money."
"Your wife and family must be thrilled," ventured a second girl.
"Oh…I'm not married," Jensen said uncomfortably, and cleared his throat when the three girls exchanged wide-eyed, delighted glances.
"Maybe you'd like a little company for the luau tonight?" the third girl offered with a hopeful smile. Her companions nodded eagerly.
Jensen backed a few steps away. "Well, actually, I didn't know about that…"
"Oh, we have one every week, and everyone goes," number two said. "You really shouldn't miss it. And we'd be happy to be your escorts."
"All three of you?" Jensen blurted. "At the same time?"
"Why not?" inquired number one with a smirk.
Jensen considered this, eyed the girls—all of whom were quite attractive and exotic-looking—and to his own surprise, found he liked the idea more and more the longer he thought about it. "Yeah," he said, "why not?"
"Ladies…" broke in a new voice, and all of them turned to see Roarke nearby, his disapproving gaze on the three native girls. "I believe you have tasks to occupy you elsewhere, do you not?"
The girls all blushed in embarrassment and hung their heads. "We just thought your guest might like a little company for the luau," said number one.
"We didn't mean any harm, Mr. Roarke," number three exclaimed.
Roarke frowned sternly. "That's as may be. At the moment I suggest you get on with the jobs you have been assigned."
"Yes, sir," the girls chorused and scuttled out of the shop, nearly creating a bottleneck at the door in their haste to get out. Jensen sighed and shrugged, turning back to Roarke.
"I suppose that was one of those hazards you warned me about earlier," he said.
Roarke chuckled. "If those are the only 'hazards' you encounter this weekend, Mr. Jensen," he observed, "then you should count yourself very lucky indeed. Will you excuse me?" Jensen watched him depart the shop, shook his head and put the matter out of his mind, perusing the T-shirts again.
The bell over the door tinkled and this time three little girls from the fishing village made their way inside, stopping in front of a display case filled with dolls in Polynesian garb. The owner barreled out from behind the counter and chased them out, grumbling when they were gone and returning to his former pursuit. Jensen watched the whole altercation, then gathered the T-shirts and shorts he had chosen and went to pay for them. "Those kids troublemakers or something?" he asked.
The shopkeeper grimaced. "They don't have enough to keep them busy," he said, ringing up the sale. "Every weekend they come in here and stare at those dolls. That'll be twelve-fifty." Jensen dug into a pocket and extracted a fifty-dollar bill, at which the owner peered in surprise. "You got anything smaller? I can't change that."
Jensen bit his lip and extracted his wallet, peering inside and poking at considerable length through the large collection of bills therein. "Uh…I don't have anything smaller." He turned around and regarded the display case, then asked, "How much are those dolls?"
The shopkeeper snorted. "Beyond the means of those little brats," he grumbled. "They're twenty-five bucks apiece."
"Hold on a minute," said Jensen and, leaving his items on the counter, poked his head out the entrance. The three little girls were pressed against the window, hands cupped around their faces, peering inside. "Hi, kids."
They yanked back and stared at him; the oldest ventured, "Hi, mister."
Jensen grinned. "I hear you girls like those dolls that man has in there."
The smallest girl beamed and nodded. "They're pretty," she lisped. "They look like the pretty ladieth Mithter Roarke gotth at the luau."
"We'll never have enough money to buy them," said the middle girl gloomily, "but at least we can come inside and look at them."
"Tell you what," Jensen said. "Now you can look at them anytime you like. Come on inside and I'll buy a doll for each one of you. Pick out your favorite."
"Wow, really?" the middle girl exclaimed. Her face and that of the youngest lit like stars, but the oldest looked torn. It was clear she desperately wanted a doll of her own, but was old enough to be leery of strangers offering gifts.
"Wait, you two," she said. "You know Mommy says we should never take candy from strangers. Especially strange men."
"But it'th not candy, it'th dollth," protested the youngest girl. "Pleathe, Lani!"
"It doesn't matter," Lani said severely. "He's still a stranger."
"Girls, I'm one of Mr. Roarke's guests," Jensen said. "If you're worried, just ask Mr. Roarke, and he'll tell you. Is that good enough?"
"Mr. Roarke knows who you are?" Lani asked skeptically.
Jensen nodded. "And you know Mr. Roarke, right? He's not a stranger. So if you know Mr. Roarke, and Mr. Roarke knows me, then that makes me less of a stranger."
Lani thought this over, decided his convoluted logic appealed to her, and gave in with an eager smile. "I guess you're right, mister. Okay, come on, let's go see which dolls we want." Jensen ushered them in ahead of him and wound up waiting another twenty minutes while the girls deliberated over their choices. The shopkeeper looked extremely doubtful, but he said nothing as he rang up the new purchases and quoted the total. Jensen handed over the requested amount with a broad smile.
"Okay, girls, the dolls are all yours. Have fun with them!" he said jovially.
"Thanks, mister!" the girls chorused and ran out of the store. The shopkeeper watched them go, shaking his head.
"You know, pal, you'll never get those three off your back now," he said. "Every time you see them, they'll be all over you, asking for toys or candy or who-knows-what."
Jensen shrugged. "I'll probably never see them again," he said dismissively. "I just wanted to make those kids happy. Besides, now that they have the dolls they want, it might stop them coming in here and driving you nuts."
The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. "We'll see about that. But it's your call, bud, so I hope you enjoy your stay."
Jensen grinned and accepted the bag, sauntering out of the store and feeling very good about himself. Whistling, he wandered across the square, stopping in the green beside the little wishing well that stood there and removing an entire handful of change from his pocket. Just for fun, he opened his hand over the well and watched a shower of coins tumble into the water with a collection of little splashes.
"Hate to sound like a cliché," remarked a weary voice from nearby, "but it fits, so…brother, can you spare a dime?"
Jensen twisted around till he saw the owner of the voice: a man somewhere close to his own age, looking as if he hadn't had a shower or a decent meal in days at least. "Yeah, I can spare a dime. I can spare a few of 'em," Jensen remarked. "Where'd you come from?"
"Long story," the fellow said, shrugging. "I had to work my way here on a barge, and the captain wasn't the most generous sort on earth, if you know what I mean. I've got about fifteen cents to my name after I bought a pass onto this island from one of my former shipmates. But heck if I know what I'm gonna do now."
"What happened before that?" Jensen asked in fascination, then held up a hand. "Wait. Looks to me like you could use a good hot shower and maybe something to eat. You wanna come on back to my bungalow?"
The man's eyes widened. "You must be one of Roarke's weekend guests, if you're staying in one of those," he said, impressed. He grinned and stuck out his hand. "The name's Jeff McKay, once upon a time from White Bird, Idaho, now a drifter from any old where."
Jensen grinned. "Kurt Jensen, from Plainville, Massachusetts."
They shook hands and started out of town, and McKay said, "Plainville, Massachusetts, you said? Never heard of it."
"Well, I never heard of White Bird, Idaho, so I guess we're even," Jensen said with good humor, and they both laughed. "Plainville's a small town—I was born and raised there. Still live there actually. You grow up in White Bird?"
"Yeah, I'm another small-town kid," McKay said. "Matter of fact, I used to be a real upstanding citizen. I was even on the police force for awhile…except things happened. Lost my job, lost my wife…" He cleared his throat and shook his head hard, as if to dispel whatever was bothering him. "You know, I really appreciate this. Like I said, I was working my way along on the barge. I signed on in Hilo and discovered in less than a day what a sadistic slave driver the captain was. He was planning to go to Australia, and I thought that sounded like a great place to make a fresh start. But we'd been at sea half a day and I realized I was never gonna last long enough to get there. The man doesn't let his crew rest and barely lets them eat. It's a wonder he keeps anyone on board. One of the other sailors happened to have an ancient pass to this island—I guess he was a native, and something drove him away from home, but he had the pass anyway. He said it was in case he ever decided to go back. I guess he wasn't too keen on that idea in the end, since I managed to talk him into selling the pass to me. It cleaned me out, but at least I made it here, and maybe my luck'll turn around. Even if Roarke doesn't let me stay, he might give me a temporary job, long enough to earn some money to get on to Australia like I thought I would."
"Gotcha," Jensen said, nodding thoughtfully. "Well, I guess we could always check in at the main house later. I'm actually living out a fantasy this weekend, so as I mentioned, I've got one of the bungalows. There's loads of hot water and soap, so take all the time you want. You got a change of clothes?"
McKay grimaced. "Everything I own, I'm wearing." He looked down and surveyed his tattered, filthy pants and shirt; his sneakers looked as if he'd had them since about 1970. "Geez, this is gonna make me look like the worst sort of sponger, but…"
"No problem," Jensen said and displayed his bag at him. "I just bought two pairs of shorts and three souvenir T-shirts. You can borrow those, and we'll trot out and shop for some more clothes for you after. I got a pair of flip-flops you can use too."
"You, man, are a lifesaver," said McKay gratefully. "And one way or the other, I'm gonna pay you back."
"Don't bother," Jensen said, flapping a hand. "I came into some money, and it doesn't seem right to keep it all to myself. Consider it a gift to get you going again, and forget about paying me back. Come on, let's get back to my bungalow."