My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

91

“My mother,” Lee was muttering to himself as we took our seats in the Wardroom, “I can’t believe the president used my own mother in order to blackmail me. Invited her even before he called me!”

“Here you go, Skipper!” Cookie interrupted, carrying a warm plate to set before him. “Peanut Butter & Banana French Toast, with  Vermont Maple syrup. None of that artificial stuff, no siree. Not for you, sir. Oh yeah, there’s  also bacon inside ‘em.”

“Thanks, Cookie. I’m going to want seconds. No, I think I’ll want thirds, if you think you can handle it…”

“Kinda’ figured. No sweat, Skipper,” Cookie said and returned to the galley, huge smile on his face, completely ignoring me, assuming I'd help myself to some of the fare left on the sideboard.

“Call for you Skipper,” Sparks’ voice came over the PA, “from the Sec Nav.”

“Tell him to call back,” I told Lee as he got up to reach for the mike.

“Could be important,” he said.

“Not this important,” I said as I helped myself to a forkful of Lee's 'special'.

“I’m sorry Sparks,” Lee said into the mike, “can’t take the call now."

 “This is so good,” I barely managed to say with Maple Syrup dribbling down my chin, “ it ought to be illegal. You, uh, don't mind me having some of yours?”

"Help yourself. Besides, I'm used to sharing with Joe. Though this time, not because I don't have an appetite," he grinned.

Lee had just begun on his third helping, (I was on my second), when Sparks interrupted us again with a call from NIMR. A call that Lee did accept as the monitor clicked on.

 “About time you came to your senses, Lee, er…Captain,” Ames began,“when will you be here?”

“We’ve been delayed. Trip to Washington.”

“Shit!”

“What’s up, Drew? And what’s happened to my office?”

“These,” he indicated a short stack of folders on Lee's desk, “are inquiries regarding Seaview’s services. These,” he pointed to a bin overflowing with mail, “are personal letters with your special code waiting for you and only you to open.

“This file cabinet,” he continued, tapping on of the uprights next to the desk, “ contains  inquires from company’s desiring your endorsement of their products.

“And these,” he pointed to all of the file cabinets on the walls, in between the walls, and the banker’s boxes all about, “contain your fan mail.”

“Fan mail?”

“Even with the full staff of NIMR helping out, we’re having a hard time staying on top of things. And some, well, we’re just hard pressed to figure out what to do with, trash or let you take care of personally.”

“I don’t understand. Just send the generic thank you with my auto signature.”

“Even for something like this?” he held up a child’s crayon drawing of Seaview with Lee standing in the conning tower. “ ‘Dear Captain,’” Ames began to read, ’when I grow up I want to be just like you’, or,” he held up another with a younger looking crayon rendering of a castle with a princess standing next to Lee, and labeled ‘Captain Charming’.

“Then there was this email care of the general office, ‘Dear Captain. I want to command a submarine but my daddy says it’s not a job for a girl. But that if you think it’s okay, then he’ll let me think about joining the Navy, even if he still thinks I’ll never command a submarine. Jennifer, age 11.’ 

“You’ve got letters from kids, parents, the general public, applicants to the academy, everybody. It’s overwhelming. And just about all of them are marked ‘Personal’ so we have to go through them one by one instead of to the auto reply, junk mail or shredder. Oh, and some of them, like this,” he pulled something out a manila envelope, “really need to be forwarded to the cops.”

“Ohmygod.”

“Yeah,” Ames said as he waved the lady’s red and black lace thong. “She says she won’t charge you anything for her services. At least for the first time. There are more than a few like these. There are also letters from women who want you to either impregnate them or donate your sperm so they can have your babies.”

“Don’t even respond to those” Lee sighed, running a hand through his hair. Give the hooker’s mail to the cops to follow up on. The  baby letters can be tossed, no response.  As for the rest, well, looks like I have quite a job cut out for me.”

“That you do, Captain.”

“Whatever happened to calling me Lee?”

“Er…”

“My fault I’m afraid,” I said, “I sided with Jiggs that he needed to refer to you on a more professional basis in public.”

“This is hardly public. Call me Lee, Drew, whenever you contact me aboard Seaview or at work. Keep the protocol when we have visitors, but cut that down to a minimum. Forward that email about the girl whose daddy thinks a woman’s place is in the home…I think I want to take of that message personally.”

“Excuse me sir,” Sparks interrupted, “the Sec Nav’s on the line.…”

“Very well, take care, Drew. We have an incoming call. We’ll talk later.”

“Right,” Ames said and the image faded as the SecNav’s formed.

“Captain, I’ve called because I have a little Reserve job for you when  you’re in town. My boy, you are going to make commercial. A recruiting commercial. We have the script prepared, the setting all figured out. The Lincoln Memorial, the…”

“Wait…look, you have a lot of really fine Reservists who…”

“Who aren’t as popular or as famous as you. We’ll begin filming a day or so after the medal ceremony."

“Hold it. If you want me to do a recruiting commercial, I’ll write my own script and choose my own location. It’s that or nothing.”

“I can order you.”

“Yes, you can. But I can be every bit a bad actor as I am a good one.”

“Very well. By the way. Have you forgotten to shave or has Nelson relaxed NIMR’s dress code?” And with that the image dissolved.

“Is this notoriety ever going to end?” Lee sighed.

“Don’t worry, bro,” Joe said, “people have very short memories. After awhile they’ll forget all about you.”

“Yes but how long is that ‘awhile’ going to take?”

Indeed. How long?