This story takes place very early in the first season of Fantasy Island, and just before the fifth season of Bewitched. It could possibly explain where Darrin was during the first few episodes of the season, and why he looked so different when he returned.

I know the time frames of the two stories don't match up. They don't even come close. Perhaps you could just chalk it up to ... witchly manipulation.

" ... And you just COULDN'T resist using ... " Darrin Stephens put his thumb and forefinger to his nose and pushed it from side to side. " ... COULD YOU?" He was definitely furious with his wife.

"Darrin." Samantha Stephens replied as calmly as she could. "How many times do I have to tell you. I DID NOT use my powers. I did it all by myself. The mortal way. Whether you believe me or not, there ARE some things that I can do without using witchcraft."

"Right! You did it the mortal way! And I'm going to be on Laugh-In next week! Come on, Sam! Fess up! You couldn't resist using a little ... witchly manipulation, could you?"

Sam gave her husband the deer-in-the-headlights look. "W-e-l-l ... "

"I KNEW it! You DID twitch! Why can't you JUST ONCE do things in the normal way? Why can't you JUST ONCE act like a normal mortal human being? JUST ONCE!" He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you are going?" She asked.

"OUT!" He slammed the door hard enough to rattle the picture window beside it.

"But I didn't ... " Sam said dejectedly to the empty air. " ... do anything wrong."

Seconds later, there was a loud thrumming sound, almost like a fast speed harp arpeggio, and Endora, Samantha's witch mother was standing beside her daughter. "Of course you didn't do anything wrong, my darling. Don't let Dobbin intimidate you, Samantha. I'll just ... " She raised her hands high above her head.

"It's DARRIN Mother. And don't you DARE do anything to him."

"Oh very well." Endora lowered her arms. "I won't do anything to Derwood." Under her breath, she added. " ... This time."

Outside in the driveway, Darrin fumbled with the keys to his car. "Once. Just once. I would like to have a nice normal marriage. With a nice normal wife. And nice normal in-laws." He raised his eyes to the sky. "Is that too much to ask?"

The reality around him began to ripple and quiver, and for a few minutes, he felt as though he was spinning through a huge gray-yellow-green cloud.

The noise of the engine brought Darrin out of his fog. Gradually, he became aware that he was no longer sitting in his car. He looked out of the window. That wasn't his lawn. In fact, it wasn't a lawn at all. It was water! Lots of water! In every direction! And he wasn't on the water, he was several thousand feet above the water!

"Well, I see y'all finally woke up." The man sitting next to him said. The man had sandy red hair and hazel blue eyes and a huge smile. "I thought you were going to sleep through the entire flight. You were asleep when I came on board and you've been asleep ever since we took off."

"Flight? Took off? What are you talking about? Are you telling me we're on an airplane?"

"My, you sure are confused, aren't you? Must be because you just woke up. We're not exactly on an airplane. It's more like a seaplane."

"If I might ask, where are we headed?"

"Why, Fantasy Island, of course." He extended his hand. "By the way, my name is James Carter. I'm a peanut farmer from Georgia."

"Darrin Stephens." He took the proffered hand. "Advertising associate. New York." He said, still trying to figure what had happened. One minute he was sitting in his car on Morning Glory Circle, and the next minute he was on a plane headed for someplace called Fantasy Island. There was only one explanation ... ENDORA!

" ... And my fantasy is to be President of the United States. I guess that's what you'd call a real fantasy, isn't it? I mean, who'd ever elect a peanut farmer from Plains to the White House? I suppose this fantasy is as close as I'll ever get to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue." Carter was saying. "And what's your fantasy?"

"My fantasy? I'm not exactly sure I have a fantasy. If I did, strange as it seems, I guess it would be to have a mortal... I mean a normal ... marriage."

"And what's so strange about that?"

"You don't know my situation. It's very complicated. You see, my mother in law is a witch. So is my wife's whole family."

James nodded. "I know what you're sayin'. My in laws ain't exactly the easiest persons in the world to get along with either."

"No. You don't understand. My wife really is a ... I mean I'm married to a ... Oh, never mind." He took a long breath. "As I said before, it's a very strange relationship."

Samantha stared out the window. Darrin's car was still in the driveway, but Darrin was nowhere in sight. "Mother! What did you do to Darrin?"

"I didn't do anything to Dudley." Endora said with as much innocence as she could muster. Which wasn't much. "What's the problem? Is he a burro? Serves him right for being so muleheaded."

"No, he's not a donkey. In fact, he's not anything at all. He's gone. He just disappeared. He walked to his car, opened the door, and got in. And ... POOF! ... He vanished. He isn't in the car and he isn't anywhere else I can see. Now then, Mother. Where IS he?"

"I haven't the faintest clue where Dodger is. I didn't do anything to him ... Or with him." Endora put two fingers of her right hand in a 'V' on either side of her nose. "Witches honor. I wanted to, but you stopped me before I had a chance."

"And just what were you going to do to him ... before I stopped you, that is?"

"I was going to give him his fondest wish. I was going to show him exactly what he would have had if he did have a normal marriage to a mortal wife." A wicked gleam came into the older witch's eyes. "But since he's no longer here to annoy us, what do you say we pop over to Paris and drop in on Maurice? While we're there, we could also do a little shopping at this season's fashion shows. I hear Oleg has some absolutely gorgeous creations in his collection."

"MOTHER!"

"Oh very well, Samantha. You do realize that you are becoming a regular party pooper, don't you? But then, what else can you expect, since you're married to Dingbat. Oh well. Ta. Ta. My darling. I'm off to have lunch with your father in gay Par-ie." Endora dramatically raised her arms over her head and, amid the sound of the harp arpeggio ... disappeared.

"The Plane! The Plane!" Tatoo cried from the tower of the Main House. He had only been at this job for a few months, and he knew there was much he had yet to learn. It mystified him as to why he had to climb to the top of the house and ring the large bell whenever the seaplane was bringing passengers to the island. He knew it had something to do with tradition, but he couldn't quite grasp the significance of it. Perhaps if he asked Mr. Roarke to explain it to him one more time. Of course, there was so much about this mysterious island ... and his equally mysterious employer ... that Tatoo did not know. And there were some things he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

He shrugged his shoulders and started down the stairs. Maybe it would all come to him in due time. Right now, the seaplane had just touched down in the harbor, and Mr. Roarke was waiting impatiently for him on the front porch.

The plane was several hours late due to a particularly violent storm that suddenly came up over open water with nearly typhoon force winds. Fortunately, the storm missed Fantasy Island entirely. The plane, however was thrown off course and buffeted rather badly. The pilot had to make an emergency landing in Hawaii for additional fuel and minor repairs. That meant that instead of arriving at 3:15 PM, it finally docked at 9:45 PM. Roarke had sent the band and the hostesses home hours ago. There were only a small handful of essential workers on hand to greet the plane.

Two men were on the plane. One, a redhead, walked up to Roarke and shook his hand vigorously. "Hi, there." He said smiling. "My name is James Carter. I understand you're goin' to make me the President." Suddenly, Carter was aware of what he had just done. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roarke. I guess I'm just a tad anxious to get this whole shebang started." Sheepishly, he went back to the plane.

"Who is that other man?" Tatoo asked, pointing to Darrin. "I thought there was only supposed to be one person on this flight."

"You are correct, Tatoo. Originally, Mr. Carter was to be the only passenger. Darrin Stephens was a last minute addition." < In more ways than one. > "His is an exceptional request, therefore I made an exception for him."

Roarke motioned to the two men standing before him. "My dear guests. I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island. I apologize for any inconvenience on the flight. Let me assure you that I will do everything I can to see that the rest of your stay is everything you wished for."

"To tell the truth, Mr. Roarke, I don't understand anything that has happened all day." Darrin Stephens said to the proprietor of the island. "From what Mr. Carter said, the only way to get to Fantasy Island is by either writing to you personally and requesting a fantasy, or booking a trip through a specialized travel agency. I didn't do either of those things. One minute I'm in my car. In my driveway. On Long Island. The next thing I know I'm on a plane headed here. I have no idea how I got there, or what I'm doing here."

"I am not too certain about the technicalities of how you got here either." Roarke replied. "Suffice it to say that you did wish for a fantasy, and since you are here, it's up to me to grant you that fantasy. As I recall, your desire is to have a normal relationship with a mortal wife and family."

"You're right. That's been one of my fondest wishes ever since I found out the truth about my whole convoluted situation. But how could you know about that?"

Roarke smiled enigmatically. "I know many things about you, Mr. Stephens. For instance, I know that your wife, Samantha is a true witch, as is her entire family. I also know that your mother in law, Endora is not exactly thrilled with you as a son in law. Her father, Maurice is none too happy about it either."

"That could very well be the understatement of the year. They both would be ecstatic if Sam and I were to break up, and over the years, either one or both of them have done everything in their power to make that happen. Believe me Mr. Roarke, between Endora and Maurice, you're talking about a tremendous amount of power."

"Do you still wish to have your fantasy fulfilled?"

Darrin smiled broadly. "Definitely. That's all I've ever wanted. I've had it up to here ... " He put his hand well above the top of his head. " ... with the whole witchcraft and magic thing. A normal marriage would seem like pure heaven."

"Very well, then. It is done. It is late, and I am going to assume that you would like to get a good night's sleep. Tatoo will take you to your bungalow. Your fantasy will begin when you wake up tomorrow morning."

"Wake up, sleepy head." The voice purred as a finger trace lazy circles around his left ear.

"M-m-m-m. That feels good." Darrin said dreamily. "I'll give you all day to stop that."

"I'd love to, darling, but if I did that, you'd be late for the office. It wouldn't do for the president and CEO of Stephens Advertising to be late, would it?" She said seductively.

"President? CEO? Stephens Advertising?" Darrin repeated, opening his eyes wide. The woman lying beside him was not blonde haired, green eyed Samantha, but a brown eyed, dark haired beauty named ...

"SHEILA!" He cried, scooting almost to the edge of the bed. "What are you doing here?"

"Who else would be here?" Sheila replied. "Really, Darrin. I know you drank much too much at the Elverson's party last night, but I didn't realize that you'd be so hung over that you'd forget your own wife. Of course that fall you took when you tried to get into the limousine didn't help matters either. I still say we should have taken you to the Emergency room. How tacky can you get? Tripping over the curb like that. It's just a good thing no one else saw it. I'd never have been able to live it down." She stroked his cheek. "Maybe you suffered a concussion. That could be the reason you're so confused this morning."

"Bit I didn't ... " He tried to sit up, but when he did, the room began to spin ever so slightly. < But then again, maybe I did. > He put his hand on his forehead and sure enough, there was a slight lump above his left eye. Darrin was positive he had struck his head on the corner of the bathroom sink as he bent over to pick up his razor from the floor yesterday morning. Right now, yesterday seemed like a very long time ago.

He looked around the room. The bedroom was huge. Much bigger than he remembered it. The furnishings were different than he remembered, too. All sleek and modern and neo-oriental. The bed was definitely king sized. No, not king size. Much larger than that. Probably custom made. He got up and padded to the huge picture window that took up nearly one whole wall. "Oh my stars! ... " < Why did I say that? That's one of Sam's phrases. > He stared out at what could only be described as a panoramic view of Central Park and downtown Manhattan. From at least thirty five stories up. This was clearly NOT Morning Glory Circle!

"I know what you mean." Sheila said, putting her arms loosely around Darrin's waist. "The view from up here is breath-taking, isn't it? That's' one of the reasons we bought the penthouse in the first place. I know prices for condos on Central Park West are a little bit on the high side, but it was worth the money, wasn't it?"

< Penthouse? Central Park West? A little bit high? That's like saying that a blast furnace is a little bit hot. Exorbitant is more like it. >

"Now come away from there and get dressed. The maid should be here any minute now with our breakfast. I wouldn't want her to find you in nothing but your pajama bottoms. Even though she is nothing but a servant, that view is reserved for me alone." She began toying with his fine chest hair enticingly. "And I must say, it's a mighty handsome view at that."

Darrin pushed her away.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"Everything's wrong. I'm not your darling. And you're not my wife."

"Oh, no. Don't tell me we have to go through that syndrome all over again. I should have known. Every time you go on a drunken binge, you start believing that you are married to what's-her-name. Sally? ... Sandy? ... whatever. ... Or maybe it was that fall you took. That might have given you a slight case of amnesia. Maybe that's why you're acting the way you are."

"I do NOT have amnesia. My wife's name IS Samantha. And I AM married to her. We've been married for six years and we have a three year old daughter named Tabitha."

"No you are NOT married to her. You are married to me. Don't you remember? You proposed to ME six years ago in Nassau and we were married two months later. Salina is nothing more than a figment of your imagination. So is Tamara, or whatever you call your imaginary daughter. They're strictly make believe. Didn't that high priced psychiatrist that Daddy sent you to straighten everything out? You invented them because the stress of the takeover of the Endora Conglomerate was too much to handle at the time. According to Dr. Frazier, Salsa and Tabasco represent a simpler life you thought you could have had. Take it from me. You don't need a simpler life. You're doing great right where you are."

"Humor me. Maybe I do have a touch of amnesia. What kind of a life DO we have? And where am I that I'm doing so great?"

"Oh, Darrin." Sheila rolled her eyes. "Okay. Here goes. The Reader's Digest version. We've been married six years. We have no children, and I don't plan on having any. You wouldn't want me to ruin this gorgeous figure by getting pregnant, would you? Then there are dirty diapers, spit ups, nannies, and PTA meetings. Definitely not my concept of the ideal lifestyle.

You are the president and CEO of Stephens Advertising. It's a wholly owned subsidiary of Summers Enterprises Incorporated. After Daddy took over McMann and Tate ... which didn't require much taking over, by the way. Larry Tate is a spineless jellyfish after all ... He gave you the agency as a wedding present. Tate now works for you in some menial position you created for him.

We're members of the Country Club, the Junior League, and one of the major sponsors of the Symphony. As well as the Directors of the Summers Foundation.

I'm on the Executive Committee of the Women's Alliance, and the Hospital Institute Auxiliary ... and chairman of the Guggenheim Docents.

You're a member of the governing body of the Better Business Bureau, the Mayor's Business Advisory Staff, and past president of the Times Square Association.

All through Daddy's influence I might add. Everyone respects the Colonel. His every word is law. And since he has no sons, you are his heir apparent."

She tightened her hold on his chest. "I tell you what, darling. Why don't you play hooky? We can take the corporate jet to the beach house in Nassau and recreate our honeymoon. That should put you in the proper frame of mind. A weekend in the Bahamas and you'll forget all about Sedalia and Topanga."

"I ... I'd love to ... " Darrin managed to squirm out of Sheila's embrace. " ... But I ... I can't ... I ... I've got a lot of business to do. Yes. That's it ... I ... I have a business to run. I am the president after all." He quickly headed for the bathroom.

Darrin rode the private elevator to the 59th floor of the Summers Building. According to the directory in the lobby, this was where the offices of Stephens Advertising were located. Also, according to the directory, it was just two floors below the penthouse offices of Summers Enterprises Inc.

The elevator doors opened and Darrin exited. He stood for a moment and gasped. While the offices at McMann and Tate were spacious, this office was huge. It took up the whole floor. There must have been thirty or more large office partitions, and from each of them came the sound of telephones and typewriters efficiently carrying out the day's business.

Before he could take more than a few steps, a woman was by his side. "Good morning, Mr. Stephens." She said, gently guiding him toward the rear of the office. She was dressed in a smartly tailored navy blue power suit and her slightly graying hair was pulled behind her head in a tight bun. On her feet were sensible black heels. She wore brown tortoise shell glasses, and had a clipboard in her hand. Evidently, she must be his executive secretary.

"I trust you had a good time at the Everson's party last night." The woman was obviously attempting to make conversation. Darren did not feel he had to answer it. Besides. He didn't remember anything about the party, so he didn't know whether he had a good time or not.

"There's been change in your schedule." The woman consulted her clipboard. "The Marshall presentation has been moved to 9:15. At 10:30 Mrs. Clive-Peterson is coming in to go over the material for the Debutante Cotillion. At 11:45, you are having lunch with Wilton Reginald of Happy Skin Cosmetics to discuss the ad campaign for his new facial creme. At 1 you're going to have to take Dan London on a tour of the office. You know he's playing an advertising executive in a new TV series this fall, and he wants to ... how did his PR people put it ... soak up some atmosphere.

I realize that it's crowding things a bit. Mr. Tate was supposed to take care of Mrs. Clive- Peterson and Mr. London, but he called in sick ... again." She put her fist ... thumb extended ... to her lips and tipped it up. "At 2:30, you have ... "

Somehow, Darrin could not imagine Larry Tate as a lush. He rarely had more than a few drinks, and was never drunk enough that he missed work. Apparently, in this reality Larry's drinking was a common occurrence.

They were in front of an elegant dark oak paneled office. The polished brass plaque on the door proclaimed 'Darrin Stephens - President'. Like everything else at Stephens Advertising, his office was immense, and it was furnished with every luxurious modern convenience known to man.

The Marshall presentation was a bore. There was nothing for Darrin to do. The others in the meeting, obviously junior associates, handled it extremely well, and they got the contract with only minor changes to the original proposal.

Armella Clive-Peterson rambled on and on about the Cotillion ... Who would be there ...What they would be wearing ... A detailed accounting of the behind the scenes gossip ... Etc ... Etc ... Etc ... Ad nausium. Darrin got the impression she could have cared less about the advertising campaign for the Ball.

Wilton Reginald was ... well, to put it ... delicately ... a little too passionate about his line of feminine products ... if Darrin read him correctly. From the way he looked and acted, he gave the impression that he frequently used quite a few of them on himself. Darrin was very glad to bid him goodbye.

Dan London, the actor, was Arrogance Personified. He professed to know everything about everything and did not hesitate to say so. He was much more interested in impressing the ladies with his good looks than learning about the operations of the agency. After a few minutes, Darrin was able to hand him off to a junior associate for the remainder of the tour.

No sooner had London been taken care of than Colonel H. B. Summers came striding through the office like an emperor inspecting his troops. He was a retired Marine Corps Colonel, and he carried himself as though he was still in uniform. He strode into Darrin's office without waiting to be announced. Instinctively, Darrin rose to greet his father in law. He somehow resisted the urge to snap to attention and salute.

"Sit down, Darrin." The Colonel boomed. "This is just an informal meeting. I heard you had a slight accident last night and I came to make sure you weren't seriously hurt. You did go to the emergency room, didn't you?"

"Well, no, Sir. It was just a little ... "

"No excuses, Boy! Can't have the husband of my only daughter suffering an injury and going without proper medical care." He took Darrin's arm and practically dragged him to the door. "My limousine is waiting at the curb. We'll head straight to Sloane-Kettering and have that taken care of immediately. The Chief of Staff there is a personal friend of mine. I'll see to it that he treats you personally."

"But I ... " Darrin protested as the Colonel escorted him to the elevator.

"We'll have you all patched up and in tip top shape by 1600. That's 4 PM civilian time, you know. You won't miss one exiting moment of it. I guarantee."

"Four PM? Miss a moment of what?"

"Why, the cocktail party for the Ambassador, of course. My house. 1900 hours. Black tie. Be there." It was definitely an order.

Four hours later, the Colonel returned Darrin to the Summers building. At the Colonel's insistence, the doctors had run every test imaginable on him. EEG's. EKG's. CBC's. MRI's. X-rays. Sonograms. Vision. Balance. Even psychiatric. That was in addition to a complete physical exam. Everything was done with absolutely the highest priority possible. Can't have the son in law of Colonel Henry "Bulldog" Summers waiting for anything. Even if it's only for a few minutes.

The diagnosis? He had a two centimeter sinister temporal superficial subcutaneous traumatic contusion with minimal hematoma. In plain words, a small bump on the left side of his forehead. If they would have asked him, he could have told them that right from the start without having to go through all that rigmarole. They gave him two aspirins and an ice pack and released him. Darrin happened to get a quick look at the bill before the Colonel snatched it and headed for the Admitting Office to pay it. $15,393.68. It didn't cost that much when he had his appendix out three years ago. And he was in the hospital for three days.

As he stepped off the elevator, his secretary was at his side once again. He had discovered her name was Evelyn Woodrow by surreptitiously glancing at her nameplate as he walked by her desk one time. "Mr. Stephens. Here is your revised schedule." Evelyn said as she followed him back to his office. "I took the liberty of moving your 1:45 to 5:30 and rescheduling your 3:15 to 9:15 tomorrow. And your 9:15 tomorrow is now 10:45 Monday. That is, unless you want to give up your golf game with Congressman Boyle at noon tomorrow. But that would mean rescheduling your ... "

Darren held up his hands in frustration. "Do whatever you have to do. Why can't Larry handle some of these things?"

Evelyn shook her head slowly. "You know as well as I do that Larry Tate is an alcoholic. He's been one ever since the Colonel bought him out. You gave him that fancy title of Vice President of Customer Satisfaction, but everyone knows he's nothing more than a highly paid gofer. His main job is to schmooze the B list accounts. Right now, he couldn't handle the ad campaign for a riot without screwing it up. The only reason you keep him on is that he used to be your boss and you feel sorry for him."

"I see." < Somehow, nothing in this reality was the way it should be. >

"Excuse me, Sir." Tatoo said. "There's someone here to see you."

Endora brushed the little man aside and strode into Roarke's office. "WHERE IS HE?" She demanded.

"Where is who?"

"Doldrum, of course. Samantha's husband. And don't tell me he isn't here. I tracked him to Fantasy Island myself. Now. I repeat. WHERE IS HE?"

"You must mean Darrin Stephens." Roarke replied. "Yes, he is here, but at the moment, he's in the middle of his fantasy."

"And just what kind of a fantasy could Dodo possibly want?"

"Endora. You know that fantasies are strictly the province of the client. I cannot reveal anything about them to outsiders without the permission of the participants."

"I am NOT an outsider! I am his mother in law! Can't you at least give me a little hint?"

"A hint." Roarke thought for a moment. "Very well ... Although it goes against my better judgement ... but only for you. He wants a normal marriage and a mortal family."

"Oh dear." All the anger and wrath suddenly left Endora's voice. "So he's getting what he wanted after all. That's what I was about to do to him when Samantha stopped me. You don't suppose I might have accidentally done something ... "

Roarke mulled it over. "It's quite possible that between your interrupted spell and the storm we had yesterday, you could have somehow triggered the events that led to his being here. Stranger things have been known to happen when magic is involved."

"Well, don't just stand there, zap him out of his fantasy."

Roarke closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "Endora. You know I cannot do that. You know that except in a dire emergency, once a fantasy has begun, it must continue until it reaches its logical conclusion."

"But this IS a dire emergency! I HAVE to return Dillweed to Samantha immediately. If I don't, she is going to forbid me to ever see my granddaughter again."

"I'm sorry, but that does not constitute a dire emergency."

"It does as far as I am concerned." She raised her hands above her head. "If you won't end this fantasy, I will." She brought them down forcibly. Nothing happened. Not even an arpeggio.

Roarke shook his head. "You should know by now that you have no powers as long as you are on Fantasy Island, Endora. Your form of magic has no effect here. The only thing you can do is pop in and out. Anything else is null and void."

"Fine! If that's all I can do, I'll just pop over into his fantasy and bring him out myself." She raised her hands over her head once again.

"You can't do that either. Fantasies are off limits to everyone except the parties involved. There can be no interference."

"We'll see about that!" She declared, lowering her arms. "I've grown much stronger since the last time we met." She locked her gaze with his.

For uncounted long minutes, both of them were frozen in an undeclared contest of wills. Beads of sweat broke out on Roarke's forehead, and Endora's lips were clenched and white, even under her lipstick. They could have been two statues. Except for the rise and fall of their breathing, neither of them moved, or even blinked. It was virtually impossible to tell if either of them had any advantage, if only temporarily. Finally, Endora turned away. She looked as if all the energy had been drained out of her. Roarke did not look any better.

"You win, Roarke." She conceded. "I married the last man who was able to do that to me." She sighed heavily. "Never fear. I have no intention of marrying you. Or anyone else for that matter. Ever again. Maurice is definitely warlock enough for me. Fool around ... Definitely. Marry ... No."

"That's good to know." Roarke said with a mock sigh of relief.

"I suppose I'll just have to wait until Dumbo's dreary fantasy has played itself out. So, what can I do to amuse myself in the meantime?"

"If you want, I'll have Tatoo reserve a bungalow for you."

"You mean this might take more than twenty four hours?"

"It could take several days."

"Well if that's the case, tell Tatoo to make the arrangements. That is his name, isn't it? Tatoo? He must be the midget I encountered when I first arrived. Whatever happened to Arthur?"

"Arthur retired six months ago and went back to England. He recently bought a Fish and Chips restaurant just outside of London. It's doing quite well, and I hear he's planning to franchise it in America in the near future."

Tatoo comes very highly recommended, I might add. Regrettably, his former employer met with an unfortunate accident."

"Yeah, a double O seven accident." Tatoo said from the doorway. "By the way, I took the liberty of reserving Bungalow 28 for Mrs. ... Mrs. ... Ah ... What is your last name?"

"You couldn't pronounce it even if you tried. Just call me Endora."

"Mrs. Endora."

"No." She said, irritation creeping into her speech. "Just ... Endora. That is the only name you need to know."

" ... For Endora ... when she first arrived on Fantasy Island. I had a feeling she might be staying." Tatoo hurriedly left the room. He had no desire to incur the wrath of the woman in Roarke's office. To say that she gave him the willies would be woefully inadequate. Something about her frightened the small man clear down to his toes ... and he had only met her briefly.

"He's a good man, Roarke. I like him. Even if he is less than four feet tall. You made a wise choice in that one."

"Then you'll stay?"

"Oh, very well." Endora said, exasperated. "I might as well remain here until Dogwood's fantasy ends. I do want to make sure he gets back safely. Who knows? Maybe this fantasy might do him some good. Maybe he'll find out exactly what he wants out of his lackluster existence."

Her lips curved into a smile and her eyelids hooded. "I will see you later tonight, Roarke." She said barely above a whisper. "Eight o'clock. Dress appropriately. Wear something similar to what you wore the last time." She ran her fingers sensuously along the line of his jaw. "You looked so ... enchanting ... in that costume. It's a pity that it's no longer wearable." She kissed her fingers and touched them to Roarke's lips. "Until then, mi amante." She raised her arms and with an 'arpeggio', she was gone.

Roarke stood in the empty room. He slowly ran his hand down his cheek and touched the spot on his lips where Endora had put her fingers. He then placed a kiss on his own fingertips. A seductive smile crossed his face and there was a wickedly erotic gleam in his eyes. "I can hardly wait, mi querida."

Darrin browsed through the sports section of the New York Times as he waited for Sheila to finish dressing. He tugged at the collar of his tuxedo shirt. He hated tuxedos. 'Monkey Suits' was a good name for them. He felt like a trained chimpanzee in one of them.

The Yankees were playing a home game tonight. He and Larry Tate had season tickets in the second deck behind third base ... but that was in another life ... In his life with Samantha ... In this reality, he was expected to be at his father in law's mansion at 7 o'clock for the Ambassador's party. If this party was anything like all the other cocktail parties he had attended, it would be mind numbingly dull. The third inning would just about be starting at 7 o'clock. He wished he could be sitting with Larry at Yankee stadium eating hot dogs and drinking a beer instead of eating something unidentifiable spread on a stale cracker and topped with a pimento, and drinking some warm flat watery beverage in a fluted goblet.

The party lived up to his expectations. There must have been two hundred or more people there. If experience was any indicator, most of them did not know each other, or even exactly why it was they were partying. The only reason they were there in the first place was: (1) They owed the Colonel something; or (2) The Colonel wanted something from them; or (3) Like Sheila and Darrin, they were there strictly for show. To be seen at one of Colonel H. B. Summers' parties was the absolute pinnacle of the social season.

While Darrin stood in a corner nursing a tall Scotch and Soda, Sheila was busy making the rounds. She was obviously in her element here, bouncing from a City Councilman in one part of the room, to a senator in another, then moving on to a high profile business tycoon on the terrace. From there, she flitted from a society maven one moment, to an Admiral's wife the next, and then to hobnobbing with a Broadway star. All with the greatest of ease. Occasionally, she would drag Darrin to meet someone she felt was important or particularly entertaining. Darrin found all of them conceited, snobbish and incredibly boring.

He spotted Larry Tate in a corner. His employer ... his former employer, that is ... was sitting half sprawled on one of the many chairs that lined the room. It was evident that he was feeling little or no pain.

"Hi, Larry. What are you doing here?" Darrin asked as he sat down in a chair beside him.

"Don't you know, Darrin? I'm the token inebriated loser. I'm here to remind everyone what happens to anyone who refuses to kowtow to the great and all powerful Colonel Henry B ... do-it-my-way-or-live-to-regret-it ... Summers."

"Come on Larry." Darrin said, taking the nearly empty glass from his hand and placing it on a table. "I think you have had enough to drink."

"And I don't think I've had nearly enough to drink." He snatched another drink from a passing waiter. "I may be a gutless boozing wimp, but at least I don't go around with my nose so far up the Colonel's rear end that I can't breathe. You think you're so far above all us poor slobs that it isn't funny. You know what? You're not. Darrin Stephens. The corporate Wonder Boy. That's what everybody who doesn't know the truth thinks you are. Wonder Boy my left hind cheek." He emphasized his remark by patting his backside.

"If I'm a token, then so are you. That's exactly what you are. Nothing but a token. The only reason you got to be president of my company was because you married the Colonel's only daughter. You think you got all those blue chip international accounts on your own?" He emptied his drink in one gulp and grabbed another. "Get your head out of the sand and take a good look around you. Stephens Advertising is nothing but a front. The Colonel got those accounts for you. Ninety nine percent of them are companies he either owns outright or has a controlling interest in. The rest of your so called clients owe him a favor or money, and doing business with you is a way to pay him back." He waved his free hand widely.

"Larry. Come on. I think you better go home."

"Remember back when it was McMann and Tate? We didn't have much, but we worked our butts off ... honestly ... for everything we got. Nobody handed us anything on a silver platter. Another thing. We were friends back then. Now you don't even have the time of day for poor old pitiful Larry."

"Larry ... "

"You think I'm making this up, don't you? Do me a favor. Take a look at the in-depth organization charts for Summers Enterprises. The real ones, not the phony glossed up ones that are in the Summers prospectus that your office puts out every quarter."

Just then, two corporate security guards came and not too gently escorted a staggering and loudly complaining Larry Tate from the room. "Just remember what I told you!" He shouted as the guards practically shoved him into the hallway and dragged him toward the rear servant's entrance. "Check the charts! You'll see I'm telling the truth!"

"Don't pay any attention to him, Mr. Stephens." The chief of security said. "Everyone here knows that you

re an important part of the Summers organization. We're not sure how Tate got in here in the first place. He was not on the approved guest list. Whoever is responsible for this travesty will be dealt with. I'll see to it personally. It won't happen again. I guarantee."

"Yes, Darrin." Francine Summers assured her son in law. Darrin's impression of his mother in law was that she was made of plastic. She might as well have been. She certainly had enough plastic surgery to qualify. In an effort to ward off the ravages of time, every possible part of her anatomy had been nipped, tucked, suctioned, injected, peeled, bleached, and /or dyed. She wore layer upon layer of makeup to hide the scars and the telltale lines, but all that did was to call even more attention to them. She carried a filtered cigarette tucked into a long ebony and silver holder as if it were a scepter. "After all." She continued in a whiney voice that reminded Darrin of a squeaky bearing. "Tate is an insignificant nobody. Definitely not one of us. As I keep telling Sheila, what's the point of being on the top if you have to worry about all the little people at the bottom? Nothing matters except making money and having a good time. Relax. You deserve it. That's what I always say."

She held up her cigarette holder and waved it furiously. "Oh Armella Dah-ling! Wait until I tell you what I heard about ... " She scampered off to Mrs. Clive-Peterson's side, and the two of them walked away chattering like magpies.

At last, ten o'clock came and the agony was over. They could finally go home. It wasn't a moment too soon. One more encounter with a dull, conceited, self centered, arrogant, businessman, and Darrin would have gone stark staring out of his mind.

The party was torture enough, but then Sheila insisted on going to that awful alternative theater in the Village afterward. They stood out like two sore thumbs. They were in a tux and a gown while nearly everyone else was in ragged jeans and torn T-shirts. In addition, many of them were barefoot. It was also evident that some of them hadn't bathed recently either.

Darrin couldn't even follow half of what the actors were saying. There was no sound system in the 'theater', and naturally, there was no soundproofing as well. To make matters worse, they were in the basement of a restaurant, directly below the kitchen. Even the few words Darrin did manage to identify didn't make any sense. On top of everything else, all of the actors were buck naked.

Sheila on the other hand thought it was the next best thing to Shakespeare.

He dreaded the night. What if Sheila wanted to ... Not that he couldn't, mind you ... He was a healthy young virile male after all ... But he would be betraying Sam if he did ... But this was only a fantasy ... And he was married to Sheila in this version of reality ... So he was expected to ... But he didn't want too ...At least not with Sheila. Thankfully it turned out to be a questionable debate with himself. By the time he showered and got ready for bed, Sheila was already fast asleep.

To make matters worse, he got very little sleep. All he could think about was what Larry had said. Something about it rang very true.

As usual, Evelyn Woodrow was waiting for him at the elevator. "I take it the Colonel's party was a resounding success?"

Darrin smiled blankly. < Hemorrhoid surgery without anesthetic would have been more entertaining. >

"Your 3:15 from yesterday is waiting in the executive lounge. And he's not too happy about being moved around like that. He claims he had to cancel his health club visit to accommodate this change. He calmed down after I explained that you had to be rushed to the hospital yesterday, but I strongly suggest you see him right away.

We have another problem. This gentleman says he has an appointment at 9:15 too." She pointed out a distinguished man in the waiting area. "I tried to tell him that his appointment had been moved to 10:45 Monday, but he insisted ... "

It was Roarke.

"I'll see this man now." Darrin indicated Roarke.

"But what about Mr. Birmingham? You know he's a friend of the Colonel's, and the Colonel isn't going to be too happy about you snubbing one of his friends. Particularly for an outsider ... and a foreigner at that."

< Screw the Colonel. This is MY company, and I'll see whoever I please. WHENEVER I please. >

"I'm glad you could make the time to see me." Roarke said as they walked to the office. "I'm very anxious to see the layouts that you have for Fantasy Island."

"You can cut the snow job, Mr. Roarke." Darrin said as he closed the door. "You know as well as I do that there are no layouts for Fantasy Island. Before we go any further, I want some answers. First off, what is going on here?"

"Going on?"

"This whole mess ... Sheila ... The Colonel ... Everything that's happened in the past twenty four hours. What's this all about?"

"Why, this is your fantasy, of course."

"This is not my fantasy. This is more like a nightmare. MY fantasy was to have a normal marriage to a mortal Samantha."

"I realize that, Mr. Stephens. But you must understand. To fashion Samantha and Tabitha as mortals would have been an incredibly complex and arduous undertaking that could have required months or even years to accomplish. I had only a very short time, and therefore I had to improvise. The last mortal you were involved with was Sheila Summers. It was easier and much less time consuming to project what it would have been like had you married her."

"But I didn't marry Sheila Summers. I married Samantha."

"But you would have married Sheila if you had not met Samantha."

"But I DID meet Sam." He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Please, Mr. Roarke. Let's not nit pick over what would have been, or what could have been. Just end this fantasy right here and now. I don't want it any more."

"I cannot do that. Once a fantasy has begun, it must reach its logical conclusion."

"And what is that logical conclusion?" Darrin went to the picture window behind his desk and studied the unobstructed view of Battery Park and the Statue of Liberty.

"That, Mr. Stephens, is entirely up to you."

"What do you mean by that?"

When there was no answer, Darrin turned to face Roarke. The room was empty.

A huge smile lit Roarke's face when he entered the Main House and saw Endora sitting on the couch in his office. He gently pulled her to him and kissed her thoroughly. "What brings you here, Endora?" He asked. "Don't get me wrong, I am very happy to see you, of course, but after last night, I expected you would sleep well into the afternoon."

"Roarke!" Endora said, mock indignation glittering in her eyes. "Me? Sleep in? What do you take me for? Some old hag? I'll have you know that I'm in my prime! I'm only a little over a thousand years old, after all. I'm just hitting my stride!"

"You know I didn't mean it that way. I'm very well aware that you are in top form. You certainly proved it last night."

"Yes!" Endora smiled broadly as she remembered the events of the previous evening. "It was ... spectacular ... wasn't it? I haven't had that much fun in a long time. At least not since I was on Fantasy Island the last time. Again, I'm sorry about what happened to that outfit. I do hope it wasn't one of your favorites."

"Fortunately, it wasn't. I remembered what transpired the last time we were together, so I wore something that I could easily give up. I trust that dress was not one that you especially liked either."

"As a matter of fact, I was somewhat fond of ... that little frock. But it was well worth the sacrifice. I'd like to think that it gave its life for a worthy cause." She smiled sensuously as the events leading up to the demise of their garments came flooding into her mind.

"Just tell me one thing, Endora. Where did you learn to do ... " He waggled his eyebrows playfully. " ... that ... with a towel?"

"Why, Roarke ... " A mischievous look graced her eyes. "That is my secret, and I'll never tell."

A matching look came into Roarke's eyes. "Not even if I threaten you with another washtub full of raspberry jello?"

"OH! NO! Not the jello!" Endora put her hands to her face as she gave an exaggerated cry. "Anything but the jello!" She fell, laughing, into his arms. If anyone had passed the office at that moment, they would have seen the two of them clinging to each other, dissolved in boisterous mirth.

"Now, then about the damage to the bungalow." She said as their laughter finally subsided.

"Don't worry about a thing. I'll have the workmen in there first thing this afternoon." Roarke said between giggles. "By this time tomorrow, you will never know anything happened there."

"But I will know what happened there. And I won't forget last night for a very long time."

"Neither will I." He held her tenderly and kissed a happy tear from her cheek. "You know Endora, we really should do this more often."

She wiped a laugh tear from his face. "Perhaps we should, Roarke. I could make plans to visit Fantasy Island on a regular basis if you want."

"I think I'd like that. Perhaps the next time, I could arrange a suitable fantasy for you."

"Last night was fantasy enough. Thank you for the offer, though. Some day I may take you up on it." Her face became serious. "Speaking of fantasies. How is Dunderhead's fantasy coming along?"

"It's coming along very well. I believe he's almost ready to make his decision."

"And what life will Dumdum choose? It had better be Samantha."

"I thought you didn't like him."

"I actually have nothing against him as a person. It's just that I don't think he's the right man for my daughter. Personally, I had hoped she would choose a warlock for her mate. But Dimbulb makes her happy, so I guess I will have to tolerate him. Of course, I'd never let him know that."

"Endora. You know full well his name is Darrin. Why do you insist on calling him by all those ridiculous names?"

"Simple, Roarke." Endora smiled wickedly. "Because I can. And he is ... so cute when he is upset. Now. How much longer will this fantasy take? I want to get him back to Samantha as quickly as possible."

"I think it might be a good idea if you left Fantasy Island before Darrin's fantasy ends. If he were to see you here, it might just be enough to make him abandon whatever decision he had reached."

"You mean there's a possibility he might not want to return to his life with Samantha?" A not of panic crept into her voice. "You have to see to it that he chooses her. Samantha will be absolutely heartbroken if he doesn't come back to her. Not to mention that I might not be able to see my precious Tabitha for all eternity."

"Endora. You know that I cannot influence how a fantasy will end. The decision is up to Darrin."

"Then I guess the only thing I can do is to return to Long Island and wait there with Samantha."

"That might not be the best course of action either. Why don't you pop over to Paris? I hear Christian has a fabulous show planned."

"I was just there the other day. With Maurice. Bought out almost all of Oleg's line. But I could always go again. I do have to replace that dress from last night, you know." Endora touched her lips and blew him a kiss. "Until next time, mi corazon mas querido." She raised her hands above her head and with a loud 'arpeggio', she was gone.

"Hasta luego, mi querida." Roarke said softly as he 'caught' the kiss and brought it to his lips.

"MR.STEPHENS!" The executive secretary shouted. "You can't go in there! The Colonel is unavailable at this time! And you don't have an appointment either!"

"Then you had better make an appointment for me. Now. Because I'm going in to see the Colonel." Darrin opened the door to the executive suite.

Colonel Summers was lying on his stomach on a low padded table, clad only in a sheet across his more private parts. His body was still lean and tanned and hard. The same as it was when he was in the Corps. A tiny twenty-something Asian woman was walking barefoot up and down his back.

"I'm sorry sir." The secretary said almost trembling. "I tried to tell him you were occupied, but he ... "

"That's all right, Doralee. I'll handle it from here. Go back to your desk." As usual, it sounded more like an order than a statement. The secretary hurriedly left, and Darrin thought he glimpsed a look of terror plastering itself to her face.

"Come on over here, my boy. If you want to join me, Keiko will be finished in a few minutes. She'll be more than happy to run up and down your spine too. Won't you, Keiko?"

Keiko nodded timidly.

"I don't want a massage. I want to talk to you."

"Nonsense! Everyone needs a good massage every now and then. Nothing like it to take out the kinks. You can undress in my private bathroom. When she's finished with the two of us, we can do lunch. Then maybe play a round or two of golf. I have a standing tee time at the Country Club at 1400 ... 2 o'clock. If this is strictly about business, you can always make an appointment with Doralee. I'm sure she has something open sometime next week."

"No, Colonel. No massage. No lunch. No golf. No appointments. No next week. We talk. NOW!"

"You sound like this is important, my boy."

"It is."

"Oh, very well then." He flicked his wrist, and Keiko bowed and silently left. "Just give me a few minutes to get dressed." The Colonel wrapped the sheet around his waist and padded to the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed.

"Now then, what's so all fired important that you had to interrupt my session with Keiko?" He settled into his overstuffed leather chair behind his enormous ornate mahogany desk.

Suddenly, Darrin felt like he was a six year old trying to explain why he had shaved the dog with his father's new razor. His mouth was dry and the palms of his hands were not. He almost wished he hadn't come. Almost. "Well, Sir." He started, battling to keep his voice level ... or at least in the same octave. "I was going over the in-depth organization charts for Summers Enterprises, and I came across some interesting information."

"Which is ... "

"All of the companies on that chart are also clients of Stephens Advertising."

"Of course they are! You don't think I'd give my organization's business to an outside firm, do you?"

"No, Sir. I didn't think you would. It's just that those businesses are practically the only clients Stephens Advertising has. Even the so called B list companies are involved with Summers Enterprises in some way. For instance, Armella Clive-Peterson is the sister in law of Delton Pendergast, who runs the East Coast operations for Summers Oil. Summers Enterprises has the controlling interest in Shelly Foods Inc., which owns Marshall Supermarkets lock stock and pickle barrel. And it just so happens that you are one of the largest stockholders in Happy Face Cosmetics. Birmingham Steel provides all the steel products for your various projects. That's almost a third of their output. Just out of curiosity ... What's your connection to Dan London?"

"I put up the backing for the syndicate that is producing his TV show. Through one of my dummy companies, of course. I still don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is that I don't like to be spoon fed. I am perfectly capable of getting ... and keeping ... my own accounts. I did it for many years at McMann and Tate, and I can do it here as well."

"McMann and Tate was nothing but a two bit Mickey Mouse organization play acting at being successful. How would it look for my son in law to be involved in a company like that? I had planned to quietly bring it under the Summers umbrella and keep the name McMann and Tate, but Tate balked. He had the audacity to tell me where I could go and what I could do with my proposal when I got there. In no uncertain terms yet! No one talks to me that way. I had no choice to initiate a hostile takeover. Under pressure, Tate folded like I knew he would. That's when I gave the company to you. Now look at it. As part of Summers Enterprises, you're on the Fortune 500 list."

"It's pretty impressive, I'll give you. But it's MY name on the door. I want it to be MY company. I want to be able to run it MY way."

"Of course you do." From the tone of his voice, Darrin half expected the Colonel to come over and pat him on the head ... or toss him a milkbone. "But why should you have to worry yourself with just one small piece of the pie when you can have all of it? You know that you are on the fast track to having all the marbles. I won't live forever, and when I am gone, everything will be yours. When that happens, you can do anything you damn well please with the company. Just like I do now. Until then, be a good ol' boy and don't rock the boat. You are entitled to every break I've given you so far."

"But I don't want any breaks. I want to earn everything I get, not have it handed to me on a silver platter."

"Darrin!" The Colonel suddenly became cold and hard. "You've heard the expression ... Don't look a gift horse in the mouth ... haven't you? I suggest you take it seriously." He stood up and headed to the bathroom. It was obvious that this meeting was over.

Darrin was in no mood to continue with the rest of the day. After informing Evelyn to cancel his afternoon appointments one more time, he headed for home. The Manhattan penthouse home.

"YOU did WHAT?" Sheila exploded. "I don't believe you talked to Daddy that way! What WERE you thinking? You ARE aware he can buy and sell you ten times over if you get on his bad side! Look what he did to Larry Tate! You DON'T want to end up like that, DO YOU? It could ruin EVERYTHING! You had better march yourself right back down there and do some SERIOUS groveling if you know what's good for you ... AND for our marriage! I swear! It this ever gets out, I won't be able to hold my head up anywhere! Don't you have any consideration for ME?"

"This isn't about you. It's about me. I have to be my own man. I can't spend my life in your father's shadow. It's too big and it's too cold in there."

"Darrin. Don't you realize what an honor it is to have the Colonel take you under his wing? There are people out there who would gladly kill for that privilege."

"Then let one of them have it. I don't want it. I never did."

"Think about what you're saying. You were a nothing before you married me. The Colonel built you from the ground up. Now look at where you are."

"That's another question. If I was such a nothing, why DID you marry me?"

"Don't you remember, darling, we were madly in love at the time."

"No, I don't remember. And while I might have been in love with you once upon a time, I'd be out of my mind to be in love with you now. I could never love the narrow minded, selfish, social climbing little snob you've become. Or maybe you were that way all along and I just couldn't see it. I don't know anymore." He grabbed his coat and headed for the door "And DON'T call me darling!"

"Where are you going?"

"OUT!"

< Come to think of it, that's the statement that got me into this mess in the first place. > Darrin mused as he rode down the elevator from the penthouse.

As luck would have it, there was a taxi waiting at the curb.

"Where to?" The driver said with a slight Hispanic accent.

He hadn't thought that far ahead. Perhaps after a leisurely lunch, he might be able to sort things out. "I don't know. Do you know of any good restaurants?"

He was pleasantly surprised when the cab pulled up in front of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. "You said you wanted to dine at a good restaurant, and Oscar's at the Waldorf is one of the best in New York." The driver said.

He handed the driver a twenty. "Keep the change."

The driver handed it back. "On the house, sir." He touched two fingers his forehead in a salute. That's when Darrin noticed that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Roarke.

"Roarke? Is that you?"

"Have a good lunch, sir."

Darrin turned around, and ran into her. Literally. He knocked her down, and her packages went tumbling all over the sidewalk.

"SAM!" He exclaimed as he helped her to her feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Excuse me, Sir." Samantha was thoroughly bewildered. "Do I know you?"

"It's me! Darrin!"

"I'm sorry. That name doesn't mean anything to me."

"You're right. I guess it doesn't mean much to you." < At least not yet. > In his joy at seeing her, he had forgotten that in this reality they didn't know each other. "Trust me ... I'm your ... That is, I am a very important part of your life ... Or at least I will be." < As soon as I can figure out how to get Sheila out of my life, that is. >

"You're not making any sense, you know."

"I know. But it will all make sense ... and soon." < I hope. > "Just be patient and trust me."

"I know it sounds crazy, but I do believe you. Somehow I have the feeling I can trust you."

"Enough to let me take you to lunch to make up for knocking you down?"

"I love to, but I'm supposed to be meeting someone here and she's late. It's my Aunt Clara, and poor dear, she's easily confused. If I'm not waiting outside the hotel when she gets here, there's no telling what she might do."

< Like turning herself into an elephant or a cow. > Darrin remembered several of the situations Aunt Clara had gotten herself into. "I take it Aunt Clara is an older lady?"

"Yes. She's quite elderly, in fact." < You have no idea how elderly. >

"I seem to recall reading somewhere that this is actually the second Waldorf Astoria. The original one was torn down in 1930 to make way for the Empire State building. You don't think she might have gone there by mistake, do you?"

"Knowing Aunt Clara, anything is possible."

"Then why don't we check that out?" He saw that the taxi he had arrived in was still parked at the curb. "Take us to the Empire State Building, Mr. Roarke." He told the driver.

"Quien es Senor Roarke?" The driver asked. When he turned around, It wasn't Roarke at all. This man was chubby and round faced with slicked back hair and an enormous mustache.

"Where's the driver of this cab?" Darin asked. The driver only stared at him, confused. "Donde esta ... el driver ... de this taxi?" He asked in half remembered high school Spanish, punctuated with numerous hand gestures.

"Es mi taxi. Mi nombre no es Roarke. Soy Ernesto Guerrero."

"What? ... Que?"

"He says this is his cab. And that his name isn't Roarke, it's Ernesto Guerrero." Sam informed him.

"You know Spanish? Maybe you can tell him to take us to the Empire State Building."

"Llevenos al Edificio Empire State." Samantha translated.

"Si, Senora."

"Esta Senorita, por favor."

"I am ... mucho siento ... very sorry ... to hearing that ... You two making ... un pareja buena ... a beautiful couple." Ernesto said in very broken English. "You should be ... casado ... marry." There was a huge smile on his face as he pulled to the curb in front of the Empire State Building.

Sure enough, Aunt Clara was impatiently waiting there. She had indeed come here thinking that this was where the Waldorf should be. When it wasn't, she became thoroughly disoriented, almost to the point of incomprehension. Between Samantha and Darrin, they eventually managed to calm the befuddled witch down before she did something ... truly embarrassing. When Darrin suggested that she join them for lunch, Clara readily accepted.

After lunch, Aunt Clara went back to ... wherever ... and / or ... whenever ... Aunt Clara went back to.

Darrin and Samantha spent the rest of the afternoon talking. Getting to know each other. < All over again. > It was difficult for Darrin to refrain from mentioning anything about their relationship. He had to keep reminding himself that in this fantasy, they had never met before this afternoon. When they finally left, it was all Darrin could do not to take Samantha in his arms and kiss her passionately. He settled for a chaste hug and a covert kiss on the back of her hair.

"Okay, Darrin." Sheila demanded as soon as Darrin walked in the door. "Who is she?"

"Who is who?"

"The woman. That's who!"

"Woman?"

"Don't play dumb with me. I have a witness. Buffy St. John was coming out of the Empire State Building when she spotted you ... and that ... that blonde ... going into the restaurant across the street. She watched the whole revolting thing from a corner table. She told me how the two of you tried to use that weird old lady to try to lend some kind of legitimacy to your clandestine meeting. According to her, the two of you spent the entire afternoon there, holding hands and talking like some sappy teenagers. She said that the two of you were very close together at the end. How disgusting! It's a good thing none of Daddy's people were there. That would have been the absolute end of everything."

"Sheila. I can explain. It wasn't ... "

"Don't bother. You know very well that Buffy St. John is the biggest gossip in three states. By this time tomorrow everyone who is anyone will know all about your tawdry little affair. Why don't you just put up a billboard on Times Square? Or take out a full page ad in the Times? 'Darrin Stephens is screwing some bimbo'.

Don't get me wrong, Darrin. I don't mind you having a little plaything on the side. After all, everyone has someone secreted somewhere. You could at least have had the good sense to be discrete about it. But No! You had to flaunt her in public! And in front of Buffy St. John of all people! I'll never live it down!"

"You've got this all wrong. I didn't do ... WAIT A MINUTE! Tawdry affair? ... Bimbo? ... Plaything on the side? ... Everyone has someone? ... " He stammered. " Just how do you know ... Don't tell me you ... How could you? ... Who is he?"

"His name is not important. Marco Something-or-other. He's just some delivery boy who lives in the Village. He wants to be an actor."

"And that's why you dragged me to that obnoxious play the other evening, wasn't it? To see him! I'll bet you he really can act ... and deliver, too."

"Oh, Darrin. You're such a prude. Don't give me that double standards bullshit. It's okay for you to do it, but it's not okay for me. Well, take a good look around you. This is the sixties. The NINETEEN sixties. Open marriages. Free love. Woodstock. Get it while you can. It's the only way to live."

"Not for me it isn't! If I had any doubts about where this fantasy was headed, I don't have them now! This is the final straw! I'm out of here!" He opened the door and stomped out.

... And walked into Roarke's office. He stared at the door that only seconds ago had opened into the penthouse condo on the thirty fifth floor of a Manhattan highrise. He opened it again and cautiously peeked inside. This time, there was a closet full of office supplies.

"Well, Mr. Stephens. I see you have made a decision." Roarke said.

"Decision?"

"Yes. Since you are here once more, it is evident that your fantasy has ended and you have made a choice concerning your life."

"I have, Mr. Roarke. I certainly have." He breathed a deep sigh. "You've heard the expression ... The grass always looks greener on the other side ... ? Well, I just found out that the grass is really the greenest at 1164 Morning Glory Circle. And if it's all the same to you, that's where I'm headed back to.

Mortal marriage may be a lovely fantasy, but as far as reality goes, give me Samantha ... and Tabitha, and the whole crazy, caldron stirring, spell casting, popping-in-and-out-of -our-lives, off the wall family that goes with her ... any day of the week. I love her more than you could possibly imagine. And I love all of them, too. In their own way, of course. But if you so much as breathe a word of that to Endora ... "

"Do not worry. I will not say anything to your mother in law." < We have much better things to talk about, anyway. >

"There's only one thing wrong. I don't know how to get back to Morning Glory Circle. I can't go back the way I came. Mainly because I don't know how I came here in the first place."

"Do not be concerned. I have made all the arrangements for your return. The seaplane is waiting at the dock. When you arrive on the mainland, you have been booked on a direct flight to Kennedy."

He buckled his seat belt and waited for the seaplane to head out into the harbor. He glanced at his companion.

"Well, Mr. Stephens." His companion said. "How was your fantasy?"

"It was a nightmare. But I learned a lot from it. You remember the line from the movie... There's no place like home ... Well, it's absolutely true." He thought for a moment. "And how was your fantasy, Mr. Carter?"

"It was a disaster. I knew what I wanted to do ... What I had to do for the country, but nobody took me serious. I tried acting all sophisticated and classy, but it didn't do me any good. Nobody would even listen to what I had to say.

I served two terms in the Georgia state senate, but that's a whole 'nother ballgame than the one they play in Washington DC. I guess I'll just go back to my peanut farm and forget the whole thing. Still, it's hard to give up a dream like that."

"Maybe you don't have to. You said you were putting on an act the whole time. That could have been the reason no one took you seriously. Another thing. For some reason, you don't look like a James. Do you have a nickname?"

"Jimmy. Practically everybody in Plains calls me Jimmy. I thought James Carter would be a lot more elegant for an important person like the President than just plain Jimmy."

But you aren't a James. You're a Jimmy. And I, for one think you'd make a good President. You're bright and personable. It takes a lot of brains and skill to run a successful business. And it takes much the same knowledge to run a country."

Jimmy's face brightened. "You got a point there, Darrin. Maybe I'll try my hand at running the state first before I tackle the White House. The race for Governor is next year and there are those who have suggested that I make a run for it. I think I might just take them up on that."

Darrin handed him his business card. It read ... Darrin Stephens. Associate. McMann And Tate ... "That's the spirit. If you need a first rate advertising firm to handle the publicity, just give me a call."

The drone of the engines lulled him into a sleepy condition. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Tatoo watched as the seaplane taxied into the harbor and began its run for takeoff. "I have a question, Mr. Roarke. Maybe it's my imagination, but Darrin Stephens doesn't look the same as when he arrived at Fantasy Island. In fact, he looks altogether different. Like he's another person entirely."

"You are correct, Tatoo." Roarke replied. "Darrin Stephens is indeed a totally different person that the one who arrived on Fantasy Island several days ago. His fantasy has changed him completely. Mentally. Emotionally. And physically as well."

"Don't you think everyone will think that it's very strange?"

"I doubt it. For those who love and care for him, they will see him as they have always seen him. As a loving husband and father. And as a good friend and dependable employee. For everyone else, it will not make that much of a difference."

"Wake up, sleepyhead." The voice purred as a finger traced lazy circles around his right ear.

"M-m-m-m that feels good. You have all day to stop that." Darrin said dreamily.

"I'd love to, sweetheart, but if I did, you'd be late for the office."

Darrin snapped his eyes open. "SAM!" He grabbed the woman leaning over him and pulled her to him. "It really is you! I'm not dreaming! I'm home! I really am home!" He cried between planting ardent kisses on her cheeks.

"If you're going to react this way, maybe you should disappear more often." Samantha replied, returning her husband's passion kiss for kiss "By the way, where were you all this time? And how did you wind up back in bed this morning?"

"I was ... I went to ... Never mind where I was. You wouldn't believe me if I told you." < I'm not sure what happened anyway. > "What is important is that I am back, and I'm never going to leave again. Except maybe to go to work." He concluded his remarks with another round of passionate kisses.

"On second thought, forget the office. Why don't I call Larry and tell him I'm not coming in today. We can spend the rest of the day tracing lazy circles around each other's ears ... among other things."

On the roof, Endora gave a satisfied smile. Once the seaplane was safely outside the territorial limits of Fantasy Island, it only took a simple spell to zap Darrin back home and into his bed.

She raised her hands over her head. "Roarke, Darling. Be patient, mi querido. I'll be there in no time flat. Have the jello ready. Make it grape this time." She brought them down with a flourish and with a practically silent 'arpeggio' ... < No use disturbing the occupants of the room below. > ... The roof was bare.

"Mommy." A little voice called from the hallway. "Is it okay if I come in? I thought I heard Daddy's voice."

"Of course, Tabitha. You can come in." Darrin said as he slipped on his robe.

"Are you okay, Daddy?" Tabitha asked. "I'm glad you're back. I missed you while you were gone."

Darrin picked up the nearly four year old in his arms and held her tightly. "I'm all right, honey. In fact, I've never been more all right in all my life. And I missed the two of you so very much, too." He kissed his daughter loudly on the cheek.

"Guess what, Daddy." Tabitha smiled, flashing a gap toothed smile. "We've got a secret."

Darrin furrowed his brow. "Let me see." He furrowed it even more, as though he was in deep thought. Then he touched his finger to Tabitha's mouth. "You lost a tooth."

"No, silly!" Tabitha laughed. "That's not our secret!" She looked over at her mother who smiled and nodded.

"Then what is this big secret?"

"We're gonna have a baby!"

Spanish courtesy of Systran Babelfishe, an online translator. Blame them if it isn't accurate.