Hello everyone! I'm flexing my writing muscles with something that I started a long time ago. There are multiple chapters to this that should be relatively easy to keep up with (if this experiment works and writing this story helps my creativity return!) I haven't forgotten about "Mary Ann Of The Mountain," but I'm not sure where I want to go with it right now. I needed to work on something simpler that would help me get back into writing.

This chapter is how Gilligan and Mary Ann meet, but all the characters will be involved beginning in the next chapter. I hope to explore them all in some capacity.

The young woman tried to cause as little ruckus as possible as she hauled her giant suitcase through the door of the hotel bar. The brilliant Hawaiian sky disappeared behind her as she submerged into the darker world of mood lighting and mediocre lounge acts. She fanned the smoky air from her face as the corner of her suitcase caught one leg of a gold easel, sending the poster leaning atop it tumbling to the ground.

A slightly older very dapper gentleman in a tweed blazer caught the poster, an advertisement for a singer that would be performing there later that afternoon, deftly in one hand before it hit the ground. "This dirty floor is no place for Miss Grant," he commented as he set the portrait of a stunning redhead back atop the easel, nonchalantly brushing some nonexistent dust from her two-dimensional cleavage.

The younger woman fought the urge to roll her eyes and smiled for his benefit. "Of course not."

"Do you need help with that?" he called as she continued past him, her suitcase banging chair and human legs as she went.

"I'm fine, thank you!" When she finally reached the bar, she hopped up on a stool next to a hunched skinny figure and pulled her suitcase in front of her to rest her swinging feet on. She proudly deposited her purse and straw hat on the bar and grinned at the curious bartender.

"I'm free," she told him. "Two weeks. I won this trip on the radio and I intend to savor every minute of it. No more corn, no more chickens, no more cow manure for two whole weeks. My aunt almost had a heart attack when I told her I was going to Hawaii by myself, but I told her to get over it because I'm a mature, grown-up, adult woman now." She smacked her hand down on the bar for emphasis and the bartender smiled kindly.

"Well, then what'll you have for your celebratory drink?"

"Shirley Temple, please. Extra cherries." The bartender smiled as the figure on the stool next to her giggled. She shot it a look from the corner of her eye. "I'm nineteen," she reluctantly confided in the bartender and he winked at her conspiratorially before moving away to make her drink.

She pointedly ignored the young man next to her until the bartender brought her drink over, garnished with a little bright blue paper umbrella. "Confidentially speaking," the bartender began, leaning on the bar toward her, "he's having the same thing."

The young man next to her sat up straight for the first time and gaped at the bartender. "Hey! You know I'm gonna be twenty-one in exactly one month, Steve! And I'm gonna come in that night and go crazy!" Before the young man sat an impressive Shirley Temple stacked exuberantly with extra-extra cherries and three umbrellas – blue, green, and yellow. "I might even have three Shirley Temples and a chocolate-covered hamburger!" His blue eyes dropped back to his drink as the bartender chuckled and wandered away.

She watched him concentrate on his drink for a moment before he lifted his head. Brown hair fell away from his eyes as he proudly produced a cherry stuck to the other end of his straw as if this were the greatest magic trick in the world. He peered sideways to see if the girl was watching him. She was, with raised eyebrows. Even she understood the rudimentary science behind his way of impressing the ladies. He smiled and the vacuum broke, sending the cherry back into his drink and some of his drink onto his red shirt.

She laughed and when he looked up from wiping off his shirt, her hand was extended to him. "Mary Ann Summers."

"Petty Officer First Class William Gilligan," he replied with what to him seemed a very gallant tip of his white sailor's hat. "Retired."

"Impressive."

"Not really." His shoulders slumped. "I'm just a first mate."

She smiled at him and his face scrunched up uncomfortably. "I meant that trick with the cherry."

"Oh, yeah?" He visibly brightened. "My buddy Skinny Mulligan can tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue. He's real proud of that, but I think it's kinda disgusting."

Mary Ann peered at him from the corner of her eye as she chewed on her straw. "So, tell me William, why did you retire so young?" She frowned playfully. "Kicked out?"

The sailor shrugged and smiled down at the bar. "Nah. My commanding officer and I were honorably discharged after I saved his life."

Mary Ann's eyes widened. "Really?" she breathed. "Wow. That's amazing."

"Not really. I just kinda pushed him out of the way of this depth charge that got loose on the deck. He was real mad until he realized he was almost run over."

"You're a hero," she decided.

"No, I'm not."

"Sure, you are! Steve!" Mary Ann beckoned the bartender over. "Did you know that William is a true-blue, bonafide Naval hero?"

"William?" Steve chuckled. "You mean Gilligan? This little rascal couldn't punch a hole in the wind with a fistful of hammers." Steve good-naturedly whipped the bar towel at Gilligan and wandered over to a new customer that appeared at the opposite end of the bar.

Mary Ann watched him go with disbelief before turning on Gilligan. "You never told him the story?"

Gilligan shrugged. "It never came up. The Skipper's my best friend; of course I pushed him out of the way. I'd push Steve. I'd push you. Well, you know what I mean." Mary Ann was quiet for a long moment and when he finally looked up from his drink, Gilligan saw her smiling brilliantly at him. "What?"

"That's real hero talk if I ever heard it."

Gilligan shifted uncomfortably on his stool and blushed a little, pulling his hat further down over his red ears. "The Skipper and I give tours of the island on this charter boat now. You should come."

"Oh, that sounds fun!"

"Yeah, come on the six o'clock tour. The sunset's real pretty from the deck."

"Gilligan!" Gilligan and Mary Ann both jumped and looked towards the door where a large man stood, backlit by the sunlight. He crossed his arms impatiently.

"Uh oh. That's the Skipper. I gotta go." Gilligan hopped off his stool and shoved his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill and tossed it onto the bar. "Here. Pay for yours too. Come down to the dock before six o'clock, okay? Our boat's the Minnow."

Mary Ann slid off her bar stool, trying to keep up with his rapid fire instructions. "Okay. I'll see you later."

Gilligan gave her a lopsided smile. "Great. It was nice to meet you."

"You, too." She took his outstretched hand.

"GILLIGAN!" They jumped apart and glanced at the captain in the doorway. He was squinting into the dark room and patrons near the door moved away from the bellowing sailor.

"I gotta go. Bye!" Gilligan turned and bolted, holding his hat to his head as he raced for the door, deftly sidestepping between tables and leaping over bags.

As he leapt up the two steps to the door, Gilligan's sneaker hooked the gold easel, sending Miss Grant tumbling toward the floor again. Gilligan peered up from the floor, shielding his eyes against the sun streaming in the open door. He squinted up at the Skipper and then at the scholarly-looking gentleman hovering over him holding Ginger's likeness.

Gilligan chanced a glance back toward the bar as the Skipper hauled him to his feet, secretly hoping that his new friend hadn't seen that tumble. He saw her watching him as he was pushed out the door and into the blinding sunlight and his insides tightened. She probably wouldn't show up now.