§ § § -- March 16, 1996
No sooner had Denise closed the door behind her than Wayne grabbed her arm with an urgent look that carried traces of desperation and more than a little irritation. "Why are you really here, Denise?" he demanded. "Are you gonna cause problems?"
Denise raised one eyebrow at him and drawled, "Like what—spilling your big bad secret, Wayne?" She snorted. "I ought to. These people think you've had extensive experience with twisters, and it sure would tie their socks in a knot if they found out you've never seen a real live tornado before."
Wayne gritted his teeth. "Denise, dammit, just because you've been through the things and I haven't…geez, do you realize what a snob you sound like? How many other professional chasers out there have failed to see a tornado? I can't possibly be the only one. And so far, no one's ever heard of a chaser getting killed."
"That doesn't mean it won't happen," Denise retorted, "and for all you know, you could achieve the dubious honor of being the first. You're asking for it, Wayne, I'm telling you right now." She paused. "How the heck do I sound like a snob?"
"Saying that just because I've never seen a tornado, I'm guaranteed to screw up this whole thing," he snapped, "while you must be the ultimate expert because you have seen them. So I'm not worth leading a chase tour unless I've seen one, is that it? Until then, I'm totally ignorant, stupid, blind and overconfident? I thought we loved each other, Denise, but I don't see a lot of support coming from you—and you're the one I should be able to count on to provide that support. It'd mean a lot to me if you showed a little more faith."
Denise winced and looked away, drawing both lips in between her teeth and gnawing on them in consternation. "It's just that…I mean, you're so gung-ho and so certain of yourself," she muttered. "I wish I could get you to understand that it's just plain impossible to imagine going through one of these things. You think you know what you'd do, but when the thing's actually roaring in your direction and you know you're about to lose all your possessions and maybe your life too…well, there's no thinking rationally then. Tornadoes just plain defy the imagination. I don't know how else to explain it." She turned back to him and grabbed his arms in appeal. "Wayne, please, please call this off and let's go back to Fantasy Island. I'm begging you."
"You heard that guy in the diner," he said with a heavy sigh. "Even if I wanted to do that, it's too late now. The weather's grown too severe for us to go anywhere. So, as long as we're here, I'm going through with it. I'm in this far, I might as well. Anyway, that's what my tour group's expecting. You can stay here at the hotel if you'd rather, but the rest of us are going, and that's gonna include Roarke's daughter."
"Has she specifically said she's going out on the chase?" Denise asked.
Wayne frowned. "Well, no…but why else would she have come? Listen, you want me to ask her if she's coming with us?"
"I think you should," Denise said.
He shrugged. "Okay, then let's ask." He let her go and knocked on the door; Leslie herself answered, and he smiled at her. "Hi…listen, since you're with us but not part of the tour group, we thought it would be a good idea to ask you if you're going along for the actual chase tomorrow."
Leslie blinked, looking a bit startled. Wayne and Denise watched her draw in a deep breath, glance behind her at Hannelore and Sangeeta who were watching television, and then clear her throat. "Just between me and the two of you, the reason I'm here is that I have a phobia about thunderstorms. Sudden loud noises in general bother me, but thunderstorms are the worst offenders. I'm tired of being afraid of them, and I want to defeat that fear once and for all."
"Sounds like bombing the whole skyscraper to destroy a wasp nest in the lobby," observed Denise, wryly amused.
"I know," Leslie agreed with a self-deprecating shrug. "Father mentioned overkill too. But Fantasy Island rarely gets thunderstorms; and when we do, they're usually pretty tame. I think I need a big violent one to get me through this, and from all the indications we've seen so far, we're just about guaranteed some big violent ones."
"No doubt of that," Denise said. "Well, okay…I think you're being a masochist, but it's your call." She glanced at Wayne, then added, "Just be sure to follow Wayne's instructions tomorrow, no matter what happens." Wayne stared at her in happy surprise.
"You got it," Leslie said. "Denise, are you staying with us tonight, or where?"
"I'll bunk in with Wayne," Denise told her, "even if that means displacing the teacher from Spain and forcing that arrogant British milord to share his private quarters."
"I think Joachim'd rather crowd in with Enzo and Jiro than put up with Lightwood-Wynton," Wayne said, making Denise and Leslie snicker. "Anyway, thanks, Leslie, and good night." Leslie smiled, returned the sentiment and closed the door.
Wayne turned to Denise then and planted a kiss on her lips. "Thanks, hon, I really appreciate that vote of confidence. You don't know how good you just made me feel."
Denise shrugged and followed him back to his room, refraining from commenting. She wasn't altogether sure he was capable of pulling this off; but since he insisted on trying, she might as well let him have the experience and see how he handled it.
‡ ‡ ‡
The leading line in the squall system finally struck in the deepest part of the night, rudely yanking Leslie from a sound sleep. She shot a hurried glance at the bedside clock and noted that it was a little after two in the morning. Lightning flickered outside, momentarily illuminating the room and revealing to Leslie that her two roommates were both deeply asleep. She sighed enviously to herself before the answering thunder boomed, startling her and making her reach for the phone. Using frequent lightning flashes as her light source, she managed to punch out the number to the main house back on Fantasy Island and waited through the buzzes—only to get her own voice on the answering machine.
Great, she thought, just what I need. Then she had an inspiration and swung out of bed, pulling on her robe and stepping into her favorite slippers. Surely the desk clerk would appreciate a little company; the graveyard shift had to be pretty lonely. She found her room key and slipped out into the dark interior hallway, heading toward the elevator. She saw the button's dull orange glow and pushed it, just as a door opened some yards down the hall behind her and spilled lamplight on the floor. She turned around to look, and found herself eyeing Simon Lightwood-Wynton.
The light from his room revealed her identity to him and he smirked. "Well, well," he said. "All dressed up and nowhere to go. Are you frightened of the storm?"
She smiled at him in the friendliest possible fashion. "Just restless," she said. "I see you're having trouble sleeping too."
"I meant to get some more ice," he said, displaying an ice bucket at her.
"Ah." At that moment the elevator car arrived and dinged softly behind her. Seeing a perfect zinger, she offered affably, "Well, then, don't let anyone sneak up behind you in the dark." So saying, she stepped into the elevator, watching his mouth fall open as the suggestion—and the memory it triggered—registered fully, and had the satisfaction of getting the last word as the elevator doors slid closed. Leslie grinned broadly in self-congratulation.
"And what, pray tell, was that all about, Leslie Susan?" inquired an amused voice.
She gasped loudly and whirled around to see Roarke standing in one of the back corners of the elevator car, his dark eyes twinkling. "Father, how on earth did you know? I tried to call you at home and I only got the machine. Don't tell me, you were on your way here when I dialed home…"
Roarke laughed softly. "Don't change the subject," he said, still in a teasing mood. "I see you were sparring with Mr. Lightwood-Wynton once again, and you looked quite pleased with yourself for getting in the last word."
"I was," Leslie admitted readily. "There were too many occasions when it went to him, so it felt really good this time."
Roarke nodded, still smiling. "I'll ask you to explain more fully later. At the moment, I wanted merely to know how you're doing in your battle with your phobia."
"So far, it's weather one, me zero," she confessed with a rueful return smile. "The storm woke me up, and I thought the night clerk might enjoy a little company."
"Indeed!" chuckled Roarke. "Don't let yourself become discouraged, Leslie. Phobias cannot be conquered overnight; it takes time and patience, and above all, perseverance. Just do the best you can—and meantime, as always, be careful."
"That's a given," Leslie assured him. The elevator eased to a stop on the ground floor. "I'll get through this one way or the other. Maybe when I finally do conquer it, storms won't wake me up at night anymore."
Roarke nodded again. "Perhaps not," he said. He reached for her while the doors slid open and caught her arm, concern gleaming from his dark eyes. "But you are merely trying to combat your fear of thunderstorms, and facing a tornado is not necessary to achieve that. Don't you think you should return with me?"
She regarded him, tempted despite herself, then sighed gently and hugged him. "Well, that sure would make me one heck of an overgrown chicken, wouldn't it?"
"Very well," Roarke acceded, laughing in spite of himself. "You show your stubborn side at the worst possible moments, but I must admit, I admire your determination. All right, then, I wish you luck." He stepped back, and she slipped through the closing doors, pausing a few steps beyond. Let's see if I'm right, she thought whimsically and pushed the button. The doors promptly parted, revealing an empty car. Yep, that's what I thought. Leslie grinned and headed for the front desk to make friends with the night clerk.