§ § § -- January 8, 2000 – Fantasy Island

It had been a very bad week for Leslie. She hadn't really slept; what little sleep she got was restless and poor. By Saturday morning she had visible bags under her eyes, and her father was banking heavily on one of their guests to help improve things for her.

Leslie showed so little interest in the first fantasy that Roarke leaned over and studied her face. "Are you paying attention, Leslie Susan?" he scolded gently.

She blinked a couple of times and shrugged listlessly. "Sure, I'm listening."

"Well, you'd better put a little extra attention to the business at hand," said Roarke, not unkindly. "Whatever is going on in our personal lives, the guests should never see any evidence of it, and you know it. Try to look at least a little more alert, if not happy."

"Tall orders," Leslie said sourly, but she lifted her chin and cleared her throat. "Okay, here I am. Now who else is coming this weekend?"

Roarke gestured at the landing dock, where a man with honey-blond hair, dressed preppy-fashion in a button-down shirt, Dockers and a sweater whose arms were knotted around his shoulders, was just stepping through the hatch. Leslie watched him for a moment, unsure, though a memory seemed to be kicking up in the depths of her brain somewhere. "You're going to tell me I should know that man, aren't you?"

"I think you do," Roarke said. "That is Mr. Spencer Gray, who comes all the way from Plainville, Connecticut."

He got precisely the reaction he had hoped for: Leslie's eyes popped and she gawked at the newcomer. "Spence!?" she exclaimed, astonished.

"You do remember him—good," Roarke said with satisfaction. "In that case, tell me what you recall."

"We were in school together through my third-grade year," said Leslie. "He was very quiet, but whenever someone provoked him he'd always stand up for himself. He had a younger sister named Stephanie, who was best friends with Kristy and Kelly. Kids used to tease me because they thought he was my boyfriend, and I always got upset and told them he was only my friend." She actually laughed. "And he was that. In fact, he was a better friend than any of the girls I used to hang out with."

Roarke smiled broadly. "You have a good memory, Leslie. Mr. Gray wrote not very long ago telling me that he had always wondered what had happened to you after the fire that precipitated your family's move to California. And now he's here for a reunion with you. So what do you think?"

"This is great," Leslie said and turned to him with a wistful smile. "Thank you, Father. Now maybe I can get my mind off Christian for just one weekend."

Roarke smiled again and nodded once, then winked at her just before the native girl delivered his drink and he raised his glass to deliver the familiar weekly toast. When Spencer Gray lifted his own drink in return, he aimed his toast at Leslie, who grinned sheepishly and ducked her head.

‡ ‡ ‡

The moment she and Roarke got back to the main house, Leslie fled upstairs to try to minimize her emotionally-beaten appearance, which left Roarke alone to greet Spencer Gray when he arrived. "Welcome, Mr. Gray," Roarke said. "Sit down, won't you?"

"I think maybe I'd rather stand," said Spencer. "I've sat so much on all my flights, my rear end is sore. It feels good to stand up. Where's Leslie?"

"She'll be down in a moment or two," Roarke assured him. "Just to set your mind at ease, she remembered you very well."

Spencer lit. "Really? That's great! It's been so many years, you know, and I'm dying to find out how on earth she wound up here. I did some hunting around on the internet, and you wouldn't believe how many Leslie Hamiltons there are out there. And the worst part is, I didn't know her middle name, or I could have narrowed down the search and found her a lot sooner than this." Roarke chuckled, and just then Leslie came down the stairs at a rapid pace, looking up as soon as she hit the floor in the study.

"Spencer Gray, is that really you?" she burst out.

"Yep, it's me all right," he said, laughing. "Leslie, you're gorgeous! You look just terrific! I guess life's been pretty good to you, huh?" He crossed the room to her and grabbed her hand, and she responded with an all-out bear hug that he gladly returned.

"Wait till you find out what life's done to me over the years," Leslie said, rolling her eyes and stepping back to study him. "I'm just as interested in what's been going on with you, you know. Do you still live in Plainville?"

"Yeah, I never did get out," Spencer admitted. "Remember how I used to talk about moving to some exotic-sounding place? California or Alaska, maybe? And instead you were the one who wound up moving."

Leslie nodded. "Yeah…which reminds me, how's Stephanie?"

"Happy as a clam," Spencer said. "She was married five years ago and has a two-year-old. She told me to find out whatever happened to the twins when I came here." A shadow crossed Leslie's face that neither Spencer nor Roarke missed, and Spencer glanced at his host. "I hope you don't mind if I steal Leslie for the day, Mr. Roarke," he said.

"By all means—she's the very reason for your fantasy, after all," said Roarke warmly. "Enjoy yourselves, you two. Leslie, I think you'd better be back here for dinner, because Mariki has been fussing, as usual."

"What else is new?" said Leslie, and she shared a laugh with Roarke. "Spence, you're invited too, you know. So let's see, what would you be interested in doing?"

"I'll follow you wherever you feel like going," Spencer told her. "I read the entire website before I came, and it looks like there's no place on the whole island that isn't worth checking out. Someone was very thorough with the descriptions." Once more a shadow darkened Leslie's features, and Spencer took her hand. "You okay?"

She shook off her mood with an effort. "I'll be fine. Come on, then, I'll show you the Japanese teahouse and the pond. My friend Katsumi's the hostess there and she should be working today." She glanced back at Roarke. "See you later, Father."

Roarke smiled and watched them go. Leslie led Spencer out the door and to a car that sat in the lane, and once they were on their way he eyed her. "Did you just call Mr. Roarke 'Father'?"

She grinned. "Sure did. Why don't we wait till we get to the teahouse and I'll tell you the whole sordid story." She met his laughing gaze for a moment and then took in his attire with a swift glance. Shifting her attention back to the road, she remarked, "Since when did you turn into a button-down businessman? You never used to wear anything but dungarees and plain white shirts, like some kind of little laborer."

Spencer burst out laughing. "I guess I was kind of a scrapper," he agreed. "It was just easier for my mother to put me in clothes that'd take the kind of punishment I put them through. You can't possibly have forgotten all the fights I got into on your behalf."

"But you were fighting girls, mostly," Leslie countered, grinning.

"Which in turn got me into fights with the guys," Spencer returned, and again they laughed. "Hey, this is really nice. Looks authentic." They had reached the teahouse, and Leslie pulled over to the side of the road and parked.

"It is," she said. "Father's very thorough in his research. Come on and let's see if Katsumi's busy." She led the way to the teahouse and peered inside; Katsumi was cleaning up from a recent tea ceremony and brightened when she saw Leslie.

"You are looking better, Leslie," she said. "Not good for you to be so sad all the time. I'm glad you came."

"Actually, an old friend of mine is here," Leslie said, gesturing at Spencer who had squeezed into the room behind her. "Katsumi Miyamoto, meet Spencer Gray."

Spencer nodded at Katsumi, who gave him a half-bow that seemed to disconcert him. "If my manners seem lacking, you'll have to forgive me, both of you," he said. "I just don't know the protocol—all my business travel is to Europe."

"You travel to Europe?" Leslie exclaimed, amazed. "I've been only twice—actually, I lived there for a few years." She saw Spencer's interest kindle again and threw her hands in the air. "Katsumi, I hope you don't mind if Spence and I talk in here. We haven't seen each other in more than twenty-five years, and there's a lot of catching up to do."

"That is fine," Katsumi agreed readily. "You would like some tea, maybe? Oh yes…I forget, Leslie, you don't like tea. You are quite odd." She was grinning as she said that, and Leslie rolled her eyes again, precipitating a laugh from Katsumi. "I need tea for the next ceremony anyhow. I have mango juice. You wait here and I give you some." She swept out of the room with a tray full of delicate porcelain teacups.

Spencer surveyed the low Japanese table with the cushions scattered around it. "Boy, if I sit down there I'll probably never get back up again," he joked. "But if you can do it, so can I. I'm not much older than you."

"Oh? Just how much older are you?" Leslie teased him, choosing a cushion and lowering herself onto it. "I can't remember if you ever told me when your birthday is."

"Shame on you," Spencer scolded her with a laugh. "You came to my seventh birthday party, you know. I was born on February tenth—and yours is May sixth, isn't it?"

Leslie eyed him. "Uh-oh. If you can remember a detail like that after a quarter century, then maybe I should wonder just what motive you really have for coming here." Her tone was still light, but her eyes had lost their sparkle.

Spencer peered at her with sudden concern. "Leslie, do you need to talk about it? I hate to say it, really, but you look as if something awful's happened to you lately."

She broke their gaze and swallowed visibly, cleared her throat and finally looked up again, shaking her head with a determined expression on her face. "No, it's not worth wasting our time on," she said. "I'd rather find out what you do that allows you to travel to Europe, even if it is just on business."

Spencer shrugged, trying to resettle his weight on the cushion he'd picked. "I'm into computer software," he said. "It's not exactly a unique field, but my specialty is games—and in my case, it's games for girls. Most of the ones out there are geared toward boys, and I think girls get short shrift. Who says girls don't want to play computer games?"

Leslie laughed. "Good for you. I suppose they sell in Europe too."

"Yeah, mostly in northern Europe—Germany, Holland, the British Isles, the Scandinavian countries. I'm trying to make some inroads in France and Switzerland, and if that's successful I'll look into Spain, Portugal and Italy. I sell pretty well in the U.S. and Canada too, and I'm CEO…which is why the preppy look." Spencer grinned self-deprecatingly and Leslie laughed again.

"That's really terrific, Spence. Congratulations. How about a family?"

Now it was Spencer's face that clouded over. "I was married for nine years, divorced two years ago," he said. "Two kids. Daniel's eight and Lesley's five and a half." He saw Leslie's look and shrugged. "Yeah, she's named after you. I didn't tell Donna that, but she insisted on spelling it L-E-S-L-E-Y. She said she didn't like it the other way."

"No taste," growled Leslie with feigned indignation, making Spencer chuckle. "I'm sorry about your divorce, Spence."

Spencer made a dismissive noise. "Forget it, it's history. Enough stalling, Leslie, I want to know how you got to Fantasy Island, and why you call Mr. Roarke 'Father'."

Katsumi returned just then with two glasses of juice. "I won't interrupt," she said, giving Spencer and Leslie each a glass. "If you let me take the last cups, I stay in the kitchen and you have privacy. Smile, Leslie," she said as an impish postscript, and released one of her delicate tinkling laughs when Leslie stuck her tongue out at her friend. Chuckling softly, Leslie watched her leave, then shifted on her cushion and stretched out her legs.

"Well, okay, since you asked, prepare to be bored stupid," she said. "Before I start, though, what do you remember about our move?"

"I know you went out west somewhere," Spencer said, clearly searching his memory. "Mostly what I remember is that awful house fire that killed your grandmother. After you were gone, Stephanie waited for weeks for a letter from either Kristy or Kelly, and it never came…and she was really upset. But she didn't blame them—she figured it was your dad's fault. She spent enough time playing at your house, I guess she knew what he was like."

Leslie nodded. "Michael Hamilton wasn't one to encourage his daughters to make friends," she recalled. "He didn't exactly forbid us from doing it, but he was never happy to come home and find one of us playing outside with a friend. It sounds so weird to hear you call him my dad, because I disowned him eons back."

"What for?" Spencer asked. "Where'd you go?"

"We moved to northern California," Leslie began, "a town called Susanville. Kristy and Kelly were just as upset about leaving Stephanie behind, and they did want to write letters, but Michael told them we couldn't afford to buy stamps so they could have a pen pal in a place they'd likely never see again." She sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, he was right." And she went on to tell Spencer the story of the Susanville house fire while he listened with eyes going wider and wider with shock and horror.

"Oh my God," Spencer said, aghast, when she finished. "When was this?"

"I was thirteen," Leslie said. "The only survivor, and I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I had visions of military-style orphanages and secondhand clothes and all kinds of awful things…and then Mom's will was read, and the next thing I knew I was on my way here to Fantasy Island." She then explained that part of her life to Spencer.

"And your mother arranged for that? A family curse and…" He blew out a breath and shook his head in disbelief. "Great Scott, if I'd known all that about you when we were kids in school together, I'm not sure I'd have believed it…but I'd have picked a fight with anybody who dared say you were lying."

Leslie grinned. "I bet you would have, too," she agreed. "Are you really sure you want to hear the rest?—because there's a heck of a lot more."

"Oh, wow," Spencer groaned, laughing. "Well, lay it on me." She giggled and told him about her growing up on the island, Roarke's formal adoption of her, and her marriage to Teppo, which seemed so long ago now. Spencer's eyes narrowed when she talked about him, but he nodded.

"That explains your remark about living in Europe. I've been to Finland. Did you ever manage to learn the language?"

"No, and it wasn't because Teppo didn't try to teach me. But I must be a dolt for languages, or at least for Finnish, because it just never sank in. Anyway, Teppo was killed just after our fifth wedding anniversary, and most of his family didn't really want me around, so I got out and returned here. Father was between assistants and hired me, and so here I am. Now…you got all that?"

Spencer snickered. "You could write a book. My life isn't anywhere close to as exciting as yours has been. Well, exciting and sad—you've lost a lot of people in your day. No wonder you seem so sad sometimes."

Leslie, startled, jerked her head up to stare at him. Did her old hurts really show that much, or was it just her fresh pain over Christian's loss that he had seen? "Oh…that's all water under the bridge," she murmured uneasily. "Hey, you ready to go?"

"Sure," Spencer said, watching her curiously. "Where to?"

"I feel like distracting myself," she said, "and I never seem to get to the amusement park except for business reasons. What say?"

"Bring it on," said Spencer with anticipation. "I could use some real fun for a change."

"Terrific," said Leslie, climbing to her feet. "I hope you don't mind getting wet. I'm planning to hit the log-flume ride a couple of times."