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Chapter Seven

Ginger managed to trap the Professor in the doorway to the Supply Hut and was covering his face in sweet, soft kisses. "Please, Ginger, I have work to do," he protested, feebly.

"All work and no play makes Roy Hinkley a dull boy," Ginger purred, running her fingers through his hair.

"Maybe," he replied, biting back a sigh as she tickled the tip of his ear, "but no work at all means no water, no food, no drainage, no sanitation, no..."

"No fun," Ginger pouted, her lips just inches from his. "That's what you are."

"On the contrary," he gulped, pressing further back against the doorway, "I know several jokes. Some of them quite humorous!"

Ginger brushed her lips against his cheek. "Here's a joke for you," she murmured huskily. "Knock knock."

The Professor squeezed his eyes shut as her lips reached his earlobe and sent a tingle of electricity down his spine. "Wh-who's there?"

"Kissimmee."

"K-Kissimmee who?"

"Kissimmee, you fool," Ginger whispered, and locked her mouth firmly onto his, winding her arms tightly around his neck.

The Skipper came hurrying across the clearing. He looked worried. "Has anyone seen Gilligan? I can't find him anywhere!"

Ginger broke away from the Professor and smiled with satisfaction at the glazed look in his eyes. "Mary Ann's missing too. Perhaps they're together."

The Skipper stood in front of the Supply Hut, trying to ignore the sight of Ginger and the Professor wrapped adoringly around each other. The Professor coughed politely. His hair was all messed up. "You don't seem that bothered about it," the Skipper accused.

"Why should I be?" Ginger shrugged. "They're both grown people." She turned back to the Professor. "Gilligan's no fun, anyway. Not like you boys."

The Skipper sighed. "It's all this mistletoe. It's too much for my Little Buddy. Maybe he went to his cave."

"He'll be fine," Ginger said, patting the Skipper's arm. "And so will Mary Ann. Besides, if they're together, who's to say we won't be interrupting anything? Hmm?"

The Skipper became flustered. "Gilligan isn't like that! Why, Gilligan was so dead set against kissing I had to tell him the mistletoe was for the Howells!" Too late, he clamped his mouth shut.

Ginger threw her head back and laughed throatily. "I don't think we have anything to worry about, Skipper. Gilligan and Mary Ann can look after themselves. Now- how about you come here and tell me who the mistletoe was really for?"

The Professor squirmed his way out of Ginger's clutches. With a sigh of surrender, the Skipper took his place, blushing to the roots of his greying blond hair as Ginger proceeded to paint his cheeks with lipstick.

After leaving the cliff, Gilligan and Mary Ann headed inland through lush tropical groves, past giant bamboo stalks that towered towards the heavens and made them feel tiny. A clearwater spring bubbled and trickled nearby and Gilligan stopped for a drink. "Have some," he said. "It's clean."

"Are you sure?" Mary Ann hunched down beside him. She scooped water into her cupped palms and for a moment she saw herself reflected, wisps of loosened hair falling around her face, before the water began to trickle through her fingers.

"Sure, I'm sure. Taste it, you'll see."

Mary Ann put her lips to the water and drank. "You're right," she agreed. "It's lovely!" Thirstier than she'd realised, she scooped more and more water until she'd drunk her fill, then Gilligan lent her his handkerchief to wipe the excess water from her chin.

They walked for a while along the banks of the stream. Gilligan found a stick and used it to turn over stones and leaves, watching small beetles scurry out from underneath.

"I hope you don't think I was too forward, before," said Mary Ann. "Asking you to kiss me."

Gilligan scratched the stick through the dirt. "No, it's okay. I guess I...well, I figured I would, eventually. You know. Kiss you."

"By choice?" Mary Ann teased. "Or because you had to?"

Gilligan gave another awkward shrug. "Maybe because I wanted to."

Mary Ann watched the end of the stick swish through the grass. "It was okay though, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was okay. It was nice. It was different."

"Different?"

"Different to kissing Ginger, I guess."

Mary Ann sighed. "That's because I'm not Ginger," she said. "I'm Mary Ann."

"And I'm glad you are," he replied, banging the stick against a tree. "Mary Ann, I mean."

Mary Ann linked her arm through his and smiled up at him. He looked pensive, unsure of himself, as though he were being torn in two different directions at once. "Shall we hang some more mistletoe, or is it too soon?" she ventured.

"If you want." Gilligan dug into his pocket and produced a crumpled sprig of something evergreen, tied with a blue checkered bow.

Mary Ann took it from him and slipped it onto a nearby branch, hooking the tip of a twig under the bow and wedging it into place. "There," she said, beaming. "Perfect."

"I definitely don't think the Howells come out this far," Gilligan said. "I don't even think Ginger comes out this far."

"Oh, Gilligan- can't I get you to stop talking about Ginger?"

"I'm sorry," he said, shyly.

"That's okay," she replied, "I know you don't mean it. Anyway, this one isn't for the Howells." She held out her hand and beckoned him over. He hesitated for just a moment, then he propped his stick against the tree and joined her under the mistletoe. For the second time that day, Mary Ann revelled in Gilligan's nearness. The red of his rugby shirt filled her vision and the warmth of him radiated through her. "I could get used to this," she smiled, walking her fingertips up his chest, "being the only two people in the world." Then everything went still and quiet, except for the beating of her heart, as Gilligan bent his head and pressed his lips awkwardly, but gently, to hers.

"Oh, dear, Thurston," Mrs. Howell clutched at her pearls. "Do you think perhaps we went a little overboard with the mistletoe? Those poor men can't seem to get away from her!"

Mr. Howell reclined further back in his lounge chair, sipping on a lavishly decorated cocktail as he watched Ginger chase the Skipper and the Professor around the clearing. "Well, I think it's splendid entertainment, Lovey. I'd say this even beats a night at the opera, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know about that," Mrs. Howell said, peering through her lorgnette.

"Hmm, maybe you're right. It's more like amateur dramatics evening at the local sanatorium."

"Well, I do I hope they're having fun. That's all I wanted. I didn't realise she'd turn into quite such a maneater!"

"Darling, that is some people's idea of fun," Mr. Howell drawled. "Besides, it's about time that Egghead let his socks down!"

"You're quite right, of course, Thurston. But I can't say I remember people chasing each other all around the room at the Country Club. Do you?"

"More's the pity." Mr. Howell guffawed loudly as Ginger caught the Skipper and planted a big, wet kiss in the center of his forehead. "I wouldn't have minded renewing my annual subscription."

"Professor, remind me to kill Gilligan when I see him," the Skipper panted, having run all the way around the back of the huts in order to avoid Ginger.

"What for?" the Professor gasped, equally breathless from having done the same thing.

"For not trying hard enough to convince me that mistletoe was a very bad idea!"

Gilligan and Mary Ann reached the lower slopes of the volcano. Mary Ann tugged on his shirt sleeve. "Gilligan? Would you mind awfully if we didn't go up there? My feet are beginning to ache."

"Do you want to sit down?"

She nodded. "A rest would be nice. And it's pretty here, too."

They found an old log in a small, sunny clearing and sat down. "Look," said Gilligan. "There's a butterfly. I think it's the Pussycat Swallowtail!"

They watched the butterfly whirl overhead, looping and twisting higher and higher until it was over the trees and gone.

"I don't know if it was the Pussycat Swallowtail." Gilligan tapped his fingers against his lips. "It wasn't really the right color."

"It doesn't matter what it was, it was beautiful," Mary Ann said.

They sat in silence, listening to the birds and the gentle whirr of insects. A bee flew past, and then another butterfly, but smaller and not quite as vivid.

"I bet they've noticed we're missing," Gilligan said after a while.

Mary Ann felt a pang of guilt. "Maybe we should have left a note."

"I thought about it." He looked at her almost apologetically. "I wasn't even going to tell you, until I realised you were trying to find me."

"You knew, and you waited all that time?"

He nodded. "I just wanted to get away. Not from you, though," he added swiftly.

Mary Ann reached across and placed her hand over his, stroking his bony knuckles with her thumb. He looked down, but he didn't pull away. "I missed you, even though you weren't gone long. I looked everywhere."

Gilligan studied his feet. His sneakers were filthy, caked with dried mud. "I know. I heard you calling."

She squeezed his hand, curling her fingers into his palm. "And the mistletoe, Gilligan. Why did you keep it with you, instead of hiding it away somewhere?"

"I don't know," he said, vaguely. "I guess I just felt like holding on to it. Maybe in case..."

"You needed it?" Mary Ann said, hesitantly finishing what he couldn't say himself.

Gilligan smiled shyly. "I've still got two left," he said, pulling them out. They were both as crumpled and bent as each other, their ribbons all knotted and creased. He stared at them, mournfully. "Maybe I shouldn't have kept them in my pocket."

"Oh, well," Mary Ann said. "They wouldn't have lasted forever anyway."

Gilligan turned them over in his hands. He thought about the sprig he'd made himself. He wondered if there were any leaves left on it at all, and whether anyone would ever kiss under it. Wordlessly, he held up a sprig and raised his eyebrow.

Mary Ann sighed, rubbing her heel. "I'd like to, Gilligan, but right now I'm too tired to stand up."

"Do we have to? The Professor just said 'when a man and a woman meet under mistletoe'. He didn't say they had to be on their feet." Gilligan reached for his stick, laid it across his lap and fastened the mistletoe to the end of it. Then he wedged the stick into the ground behind them, twisting it until the end was buried deep in the soft earth. "There," he said, dusting his hands together. "Now it's above us. Kind of. If we lean over a bit."

Mary Ann giggled. "Gilligan, you're a genius."

He smiled bashfully. "That's something I don't get called very often."

Mary Ann reached up and ran her hand along his collar, tugging him gently towards her. "Maybe it's something you'd hear if you spent more time with me," she smiled.

Gilligan parted his lips to say something but before he could answer, she kissed him. She cupped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close, and soon there were more butterflies than either of them could ever have imagined.