§ § § - February 12, 1983
They allowed their guests an hour to settle in and change their clothes; then Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie paid a call on John Cook, who beamed at them as he let them in. Despite his cheerful façade, Leslie could see now that Tattoo had been right about the sadness in his eyes; his smile never quite reached them. "Glad to see you," Cook said. "Come right in. Can I get you gentlemen anything? Or you, young lady?" He paused barely a second, squinting at Leslie. "You look like you're about my oldest granddaughter's age. How old are you?"
"I'll be eighteen in May," Leslie offered.
"I was right," Cook said heartily. "Sharon turns eighteen in July. So, anything? I found a wonderful pot of tea in here, but you have to know I can't possibly drink the whole thing myself. Please, I insist that you have some."
Leslie and Tattoo both declined, but Roarke took a cup, perhaps to appease his guest; it was a small thing. They took seats, and Roarke cleared his throat. "Judging from your letter and the way you phrased your request," he began, "you must have had a truly happy and thriving marriage."
"Oh, I loved my wife, Mr. Roarke," Cook said, nodding. "Always will. The years we had together were more than happy—they were a gift. Complete. Except…"
When he hesitated, Roarke prompted, "Except for what?"
"Well, there was one small thing left unfinished," Cook admitted, setting his cup aside as if he'd had his fill.
Tattoo leaned eagerly forward. "What's that?"
"Tomorrow night," Cook observed almost jovially, arising and wandering toward the raised dining area, "would have been our fortieth wedding anniversary." He stopped and turned to face them. "It's funny how little things get started. Now every year, she'd give me a white rosebud for my lapel; I'd give her an orchid corsage, and we'd go dancing." Roarke and Tattoo nodded; Tattoo looked solemn, and Roarke had an understanding smile. Leslie smiled too, but wistfully; she'd always wondered if such marriages were real, or just the fabrication of widows and widowers whose memories were being filtered through rose-colored glasses. Cook's expression shifted. "She really fought to stay alive for this anniversary, Mr. Roarke. Our…our ruby anniversary." He removed a small object from the breast pocket of his casual jacket. It was a gold ring set with a surprisingly large stone; he shifted it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger so that the ruby caught the light. "But she didn't make it. It was her final wish—and mine too—to have this one last dance together."
"Boss," Tattoo broke in then, "we can do it, can't we?"
He sounded so hopeful and pleading that even Leslie had to smile; Roarke regarded his assistant with a knowing look, and nodded. "Yes, Tattoo," he said quietly.
Tattoo beamed at Cook, who lifted only his eyes, staring at Roarke. "I can assure you, your fantasy will be fulfilled, Mr. Cook," Roarke went on.
Off Cook's skeptical look, Tattoo chimed in eagerly, "Tomorrow is the annual Fantasy Island Valentine's Ball."
Roarke smiled at him again. "That's right." Slowly he stood up, his gaze direct, his voice low and intense. "Plan to attend, Mr. Cook. You will have your last dance with your wife, tomorrow, at precisely midnight."
Cook's face reflected the war going on in him between skepticism and yearning. Tattoo urged, "You should trust the boss. It will happen. We promise."
John Cook smiled at last and said gently, "I'm looking forward to it. Thank you."
All the way back, Leslie couldn't erase the memory of that last expression from her mind; she kept seeing the desperate hope and loneliness in Cook's faded blue eyes. "I hope you can, Mr. Roarke, I really do. I think he misses his wife the way I miss my mother."
Roarke glanced back at her as they made their way toward the main house and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Would you like to be there when it happens?"
"Oh, you better believe it," she said, and he grinned.
"Then you will. For the moment, however, we need to attend to Miss Anthony; I'm sure she's growing impatient."
Adele Anthony was sitting in a club chair, looking ill at ease, huddled into herself a bit as if she were cold. Somehow Leslie was reminded of her first day on the island, the way she herself had hunched in one of those very chairs, feeling like a homeless person who'd managed to crash a very exclusive party. Adele returned their greetings with a murmured hello, glancing at them from under her closely cut curls, and waited till they had all been seated before even looking up properly.
"So," Roarke said, "I must say we are quite curious as to how you came to make this request, Miss Anthony."
Adele shrugged. "My brothers and sisters insisted upon giving me that fantasy, Mr. Roarke. I guess they think they owe me something for taking care of them all these years, but…but they didn't know what a busy man you are, so…I'll just come back later." She arose as if to leave. "Like in a year or two." Tattoo and Leslie traded an astonished glance.
"And disappoint your brothers and sisters?" countered Roarke.
"I'm sorry," Adele sighed, resuming her seat. "It's just that I feel so…so weird about—"
Tattoo broke in, "About being waited on by somebody else for a change?" Adele nodded sheepishly, meeting his gaze only with an effort.
Roarke smiled, arose and rounded the desk, leaning against the front of it while Leslie, in her usual chair, tucked one leg under her and rested one side of her head in her hand. Roarke studied Adele with a smile. "There is something more, isn't there?"
Reluctantly Adele conceded. "This is gonna sound dumb, but…I-I'd kinda like…" She stopped, let out a self-conscious chuckle, and finally concluded, "To be a queen."
Tattoo's eyes widened, and Leslie blurted out, "Wow!" before she could stop herself.
"A queen?" Tattoo exclaimed.
"I mean, if it's not too much bother," Adele said hastily.
"Oh, it's no bother at all," Roarke assured her. "Do you have any preference as to which country?"
Adele's eyes gleamed with a new eagerness, while Leslie bolted up out of her chair, hoping for something really exotic. "Well," Adele said, "I've always wondered what France would be like." Tattoo grinned broadly at that, although Leslie was a little disappointed; it seemed people always chose the predictable places, like France or England.
"France," Roarke agreed. "Splendid choice. Tattoo, will you get my bow and the arrow next to it?"
"Sure, boss," Tattoo said and crossed the room, departing by the hallway down to the kitchen; Leslie stood up and leaned on the corner of the desk with one hand, watching.
"Miss Anthony, will you come with me, please?" Roarke requested. "Leslie, if you like, you may come along." She was more than eager to do so; with the end of her school career finally in sight, she wanted to absorb as much of Roarke's business as she possibly could, insofar as he allowed her to do so.
Tattoo returned within thirty seconds, bearing the items Roarke had asked for. "Ah, thank you, Tattoo. This is a very special bow and arrow, Miss Anthony. Very rare, very… very unusual." Leslie could see why: the bow seemed to be made from silver and the arrow of gold. Adele Anthony was no less impressed.
"Oh, I used to take archery in high school," she exclaimed, eyes lighting with memory.
"Oh!" Roarke said and smiled. "Then do you think you could shoot the arrow out of that window over there?" He indicated the middle of the three shuttered windows on the southern side of the room that overlooked the side yard. The lower shutters stood open and the windowpane had been raised. Leslie shot Roarke a look; as far as she knew they hadn't been in those positions earlier that morning, but she did have to admit that she hadn't really been looking, either.
Adele peered at the window, then stared at Roarke. "Are you joking?"
"Oh, absolutely not," Roarke said firmly. "When you release the arrow, your fantasy will begin." Leslie caught Tattoo's eye; this was new to her, starting out a fantasy in this particular fashion. She wondered whether it had anything to do with the fact that it was the weekend just before Valentine's Day, and Cupid having a bow and arrow; then she decided it might just be a little too farfetched. But then again, you never knew with her guardian.
Tattoo had a little more aplomb than she did. "Go ahead, trust us," he urged, and both Roarke and Adele looked oddly at him. He cleared his throat and corrected, "I mean, trust the boss." At that Leslie couldn't help but grin.
Roarke gave him one fast, remonstrating look, then turned back to Adele and handed her the bow and arrow. He motioned Leslie to step aside along with him and Tattoo, and they all watched Adele raise the bow, take careful aim and draw it back, and then let fly. The arrow sailed across the room, a little higher than Adele had probably intended, and punched a hole in the windowpane, then vanished on the other side—at exactly the same second Adele herself disappeared.
For a moment no one moved or spoke, except for Roarke. "There," he said with satisfaction. "Leslie, if you'll see to the mail, please?"
"But Mr. Roarke, where'd she go?" Leslie protested, moving for the desk on automatic pilot as she spoke. "And what about the broken window?"
"What broken window?" Roarke asked, looking genuinely surprised.
"That one," Leslie said a little impatiently. "The one Adele Anthony shot the arrow through." She pointed behind her, then turned to follow her finger—and saw that the pane was intact and pristine. For a second or two she gaped, then rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. "Oh, never mind."
Roarke and Tattoo both laughed, and Tattoo approached the desk as well. "What about Leslie's first question?" he prompted. "Where did Miss Anthony go?"
"Ah, yes," Roarke said, taking the chair behind the desk and reaching for his date book. "She has gone to France, exactly as she requested."
"There's a little problem with that," Leslie remarked with sham delicacy. "France isn't a monarchy anymore. So what part of France's past did you send her to?"
Tattoo seemed to be stricken with an idea in the middle of her speech, and drew him-self up with horror as she finished. "Boss," he blurted, hard on the heels of Leslie's last word, "don't tell me you sent her back to the French Revolution. Please."
Roarke looked up with a serene expression. "Very well, I won't tell you."
Tattoo shared one aghast look with Leslie, then cried, "Boss! Don't you know what happened to Marie Antoinette?" When he had Roarke's full attention, he drew his index finger across his throat and made a skrrrrkkk noise. "Just in case you forgot."
"I didn't forget at all, Tattoo," Roarke said.
"I don't want to sound like an old nag or something," Leslie ventured, "but it doesn't seem very fair. I mean, think about it, Mr. Roarke." Her voice gained conviction and a little volume as she warmed to her subject. "She came here because her brothers and sisters gave her this vacation—she didn't come up with it on her own, you know. And then she almost left here because she thought you were too busy to bother with her silly little fantasy. So you go ahead and let her choose what she wants to be and what country she wants to go back to—and then you do that! That's not fair at all! She just wanted to have somebody else take the orders for a change. It wasn't even her idea in the first place!"
Roarke had settled back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, watching her. "Have you quite finished, Leslie Susan?" he inquired dryly.
"I've tried to make my point, yes," she fired back.
"I have to agree with her, boss," Tattoo spoke up. "You know Miss Anthony could get killed. After all, that's what happened to Marie Antoinette—and you're the one who's al-ways saying you can't change history."
Roarke got a look about him that Leslie wasn't sure she'd ever seen before. "The faith you two have in me is simply earth-shattering," he remarked with pure sarcasm. "Are you both so thoroughly convinced that I would allow a guest to perish in the course of his or her fantasy? Has neither of you grown to know me well enough by this time that you believe I would be so cavalier and unthinking?"
"Well, then, why'd you turn her into Marie Antoinette?" Tattoo persisted.
"Please don't say something like 'What's a fantasy without a little excitement?' or 'I can't change a fantasy once it starts'," Leslie warned. "That one's your favorite."
"It has nothing whatsoever to do with changing her fantasy," Roarke said a little severely. "And it so happens that I had a reason for sending her back to the French Revolution and allowing her to be Marie Antoinette for a weekend."
Tattoo and Leslie looked at each other, equally skeptical. "This'll be good," Tattoo remarked, folding his own arms over his chest.
The look Roarke shot him made Leslie secretly glad she hadn't been the one who said it. "Perhaps you two missed it, so allow me to refresh your memories. The young lady is shy, rarely—if ever—socializes, and works hard all day, every day, as a waitress. As you so astutely pointed out a moment ago, Leslie, she was even willing to defer her fantasy for a good year or more because she thought I was too busy."
"So?" Tattoo demanded.
"So," Roarke retorted, with a put-upon air that said he was extremely annoyed at having to have this conversation at all, "you will see that she isn't willing to take a stand. She has spent so much of her life doing for others, she no longer does anything for herself. In case you don't recall, she even introduced her own secret wish for her fantasy as 'dumb'."
"So what you mean is, she doesn't have any backbone," Leslie offered.
"I might not go quite that far, but yes, something akin to that. She is self-effacing to a literal fault; she can even be said to neglect her own well-being in favor of that of others. I felt she needed a challenge, something to wake her up, if you will. And, in clear and obvious contrast to the two of you, I feel she is very much up to that challenge."
"Isn't that kind of like a variation on that dopey old 'we have to get the shy one out of her shell' business?" Leslie asked, scowling. "I always hated that. I mean, you have no idea how much. I got that all the time before I came here, and it wasn't even my fault—you know it was because of—"
"We have been over that before, Leslie, and trust me, I haven't forgotten the smallest detail," Roarke assured her. "You may assume what you like; I certainly wouldn't presume to dictate to you what your opinion should be. But I believe that Miss Anthony will come to realize that she can do things for others without neglecting herself. Regardless of what the two of you may think, that is my rationale, and may I remind you both that in the end, this is my island; I am in charge; I make and enforce the rules; and I do what I feel is in the best interest of my guests. All my guests." This last, he delivered at Tattoo with a sharp look.
"Ours is not to question why," Leslie recited, robot-like. "Ours is but to do or die."
"Which is what happened to Marie Antoinette, and that's what might happen to Miss Anthony," Tattoo reiterated.
The stare Roarke was aiming at Tattoo became a glare. "Tattoo, you have rounds to make; I strongly suggest that you begin making them, lest you find yourself depending on your own innate talents to earn your living." Tattoo got his meaning, scowled, but nodded and pivoted on his heel, departing at a brisk pace. "As for you, Leslie Susan, I believe I have already asked you to attend to the latest batch of mail—or have you somehow magically disposed of it during the course of our conversation?"
"No, I don't have the power to do that," Leslie muttered, using both hands to scrape scattered envelopes across the desk toward her. "At least not yet." She felt Roarke's stare drilling her skull, but kept her head down and began sorting out mail. I know one thing—if he goes back to see how she's doing, I'm going with him, and I'm not taking no for an answer!
‡ ‡ ‡
The rest of Saturday passed without incident, even the luau. Adele Anthony, of course, was still mired in the French Revolution and wearing Marie Antoinette's crown; but John Cook didn't appear there either, and Leslie wondered if that meant he was in his bun-galow, wishing his wife were there and yearning for the promised dance that would occur the following evening. As she wandered down the buffet choosing items for her plate, she caught sight of Camille and Michiko sitting across the clearing, both with heads bent low over books. Astonished, she threaded her way through groups of vacationers to join them. "Hey, you guys, what're you doing here?" she asked.
They both looked up and broke into smiles at sight of her. "We didn't think you'd be here," Camille said and slapped the ground beside her a few times. "C'mon, sit down."
"What kind of fantasies are you having this weekend?" Michiko asked, then covered her mouth. "Forget I asked that. You'll be telling us on Monday anyway."
Leslie grinned. "It's okay. They're both magical. We have a time-travel one and a really romantic one. Don't know how they'll work out yet. So what're you doing here?"
"Homework," Camille grumbled. "We both have too many brothers and sisters at home to concentrate there, so we had to come over here."
"Oh, c'mon…there's only Reiko at your house, Michiko," Leslie said.
"No, Toki's around too. Came back from school for the weekend. I have to admit, I can't wait for a dorm room. I might actually be able to study properly then." Michiko sighed, then looked up. "I wish you were going too, Leslie. I always figured it could be fun to share a dorm room at the same college."
Leslie shrugged. "Mr. Roarke and I talked about it last summer, and I told him the only thing I really want to do is be part of his business. I love this place. I can't wait to graduate so I can be part of it full-time. I told him that it's really all I ever wanted to do al-most ever since I first came here." She thought for a few seconds while her friends watched. "I guess I really realized it the first time that weekend those two goons kidnapped Tattoo and Mr. Roarke needed some kind of assistance. I mean, I didn't know anything, and he still asked me to help him. And he appreciated it even though I couldn't do much. So I think that's when I knew what I wanted to do."
"I wish I was that certain," Camille said and blew out her breath. "I've thought and thought about it, but I just don't know. Nothing sounds really interesting. But my parents say I really ought to get a college degree, in case I ever need it. Mom keeps telling me nothing's guaranteed, I might have to support myself for years before I get married, and probably afterward too, y'know? All that junk. But what good's it gonna do me if I don't even know what I want to get a degree in? I'm not saying I don't want to work, I just don't know what really grabs me. Nothing gets me, see what I mean? Not enough that I want to spend my whole life doing it, or enough to make me sing and dance around the room because the alarm clock went off and, yippee-skip, I get to go to work today." She singsonged the last seven words in a mocking tone that made Michiko and Leslie laugh. "The rest of you seem to have it all worked out. Leslie, you're staying here and working with Mr. Roarke, and Michi-ko, you're planning on a stage career. And with that voice, it'd be a crime if you didn't make it on Broadway. Myeko knows what she wants, and so does Lauren. Crap, even Maureen said she knows she's inheriting her mother's catering business someday."
"Maybe you'll figure it out while you're in college," Leslie suggested. "Maybe some-thing you never even heard of right now will pop up when you hit college, and you'll think it sounds really cool and decide to go for that."
"Maybe," Camille said, but Leslie knew she was being humored and didn't press the issue. "All I know is, right now I'm feeling like I'm about to get launched off into outer space. The big, black, empty void."
"We still have three months before graduation," Michiko said, grinning at her. "Don't go crazy till you get down to the wire. So Leslie, are you on duty, or just hanging around?"
"Sort of both," Leslie said. "I've been mostly working on mail all day, and I love doing that, but that was all Mr. Roarke gave me to do, so I started getting bored. I volunteered for luau duty just to get out of the house. But our fantasizers aren't here, and most of the time nothing happens here anyway, so it's make-work."
"Mail was all you've been doing? How come?" Camille asked.
Leslie shrugged. "Tattoo and I disagreed with Mr. Roarke about one of the fantasies, and he got all offended and sent Tattoo out to do a ton of rounds, and stuck me with all the mail that's come in for the past week, practically. He didn't even go to check on the time-travel fantasy, and he always does that at least once." She shrugged. "Course, the weekend's not over yet. If he does go back, I'm making him take me with him."
"Good for you," Camille said and laughed. "Show him you're not just a mail clerk."
"Are you going with Mr. Roarke and Tattoo to that big Valentine's dance they're having tomorrow?" Michiko asked. "You said one of the fantasies is romantic, and I figured it had to involve the dance."
"Yeah, it does, actually," Leslie said. "I guess I'm going, but thank goodness I don't have to worry about getting a date, because I'll be 'on duty', like you said."
"I'm going with Steve," said Camille, referring to her boyfriend, Steve Matsumoto, whom she had been dating since shortly after the girls had begun their eleventh-grade year. "At least, I'm going if I can get all this stupid homework done. That's what I get for being out sick with a forty-eight-hour bug." She had been absent two days the past week of school, and had fallen behind in a few classes as a result.
"I guess maybe I better let you get back to it, then," Leslie said, rising. "You guys want something to eat while you're here? I can bring you back plates."
Michiko refused, but Camille admitted to being hungry and agreed readily. Leslie got a list of things she wanted, went off and filled a plate, and brought it back; she was just handing it to Camille when she caught the unmistakable flash of a white suit. At the same time Michiko sat up ramrod-straight. "Mr. Roarke!"
"Good evening, Michiko, Camille," Roarke greeted them and turned to Leslie. "How are things going here?"
"It's been quiet," Leslie said. "Same as always. I saw Camille and Michiko here and just sat down to talk with them for a while. Is something up?"
"Nothing at all," he said. "I merely wanted to thank you for finally clearing away the backlog of mail we had. Also, it's nearly nine o'clock, so I think it's time you came back to the house with me."
"Is it really that late?" exclaimed Michiko, leaping to her feet. "I'd better get home. I don't want my parents worrying about me."
Camille grinned wryly. "If my parents want me around, it'll be to babysit the four pests. Too much homework for that."
"Homework?" repeated Roarke, having bid Michiko good night and watched her hurry away in the direction of the nearest trail. "You're doing homework here? You surprise me; I would have thought the music and the chatter would be unbearably distracting."
"The music and chatter are nothing on a bunch of almost-four-year-old kids who keep wandering in asking you to play with them and wanting to see what you're doing, and asking why you're doing it," Camille noted.
Roarke chuckled. "Ah, I see. In that case, good luck, and if your parents call, I'll let them know where you are. Have a good evening."
"Thanks, Mr. Roarke. See you Monday, Leslie," Camille called, and Leslie waved at her as she followed Roarke down another trail.
"So did you have a good visit with your friends?" Roarke inquired after a few minutes.
Leslie rolled her eyes to herself; she should have known. "Yeah, we talked a little while. Not all that long, really. Mostly about school and college and so on." She cleared her throat. "Um…listen, Mr. Roarke…I know you're mad at me and Tattoo because we couldn't understand why you sent Adele Anthony back to the French Revolution and made her be Marie Antoinette. But I hope you're not so mad that you won't let me help you out tomorrow if you need somebody."
Roarke paused and peered at her over his shoulder. "Did you think that?" He laughed, to her surprise. "My suggestion is that you get as much sleep tonight as you can; you're going to be up early in the morning, after all, and there won't be much time for breakfast." He winked at her, and she grinned back and jogged to catch up with him.