My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
42
“It’s not that bad, Chip,”
I said from my seat in the Wardroom as I took another bite of the Ravioli.
“Yeech.”
“Lee likes it.”
“Well, he’s not known for
his taste buds.”
“Admiral, Captain
Nelson-Crane’s calling,” Spark’s voice came over the PA. “On the monitor.”
We could see their room,
littered with, of all things, Chinese take-out! Jackson was lying on his bed,
his cast leg under a pillow, munching on wontons, and looking at the latest
Italian version of Playboy with his one good arm.
“Your hand,” I said before
Lee, seated in front of Joe’s laptop, could
say anything.
“Not a broken bone or digit
in sight, ” he said, holding up his right hand. I wasn’t the only person to
groan. His hand was a purple swollen mass graced by a large professional
looking bandage on the palm. “Looks worse than it is,” Lee said. “Honest. Ask
Doc. I had the factory nurse fax him the report.”
“And to think,” Chip said,
“that I only used to believe you got damaged on the job.”
“Yes,” I said, “he’s
trying
for the Guinness World Record for most accident prone tourist in recent
history.”
“Very funny, Harry,” Lee
said, without humor.
“I assume you’ve dined,
or
are about to?” I asked noting Joe and the white take out boxes.
“Yeah. We found a nice
little Chinese place.”
“While you’re on a culinary
tour in Italy,” Chip said, shaking his head, “I can’t believe this. Lee, you
sure you didn’t get brain damage when that tower fell on you?”
“Hey, even Italians like
Chinese.”
“Well, Lad,” I asked,
“what’s the verdict on the car? Can they fix it?”
“No problem with the
repairs.”
“What he’s trying to say,
and isn’t,” Joe leaned toward the laptop, “is that there’s no problem with
repairs because there won’t be any.”
“Lee, I told you to use my
AMEX!”
“There won’t be any
repairs,” Lee said, “because they took the car back and...well,” he hesitated,
embarrassed, “gave me a new one at no charge.”
“Yeah,” Joe said, laughing.
“The board of directors figured that repairs would be a waste of time. And
since the damage was an Act of God, as they put it, and because he defeated Ozno, and saved my life....”
“Joe,” Lee warned.
“Well, you did. Or at least tried to. But as I figure it, the
Almighty decided you still needed looking after, seeing how upset you got when
you thought I was dead, so he must have sent me back into my body to keep an
eye on you. Anyway, Admiral, the Ferrari and Lamborghini folks decided it would
be great PR to use Lee in some of their ads and commercials. When he’s halfway
presentable that is. Oh, and he got to save ‘Sophia’. They transferred it into
the new car while their nurse was checking Lee out.”
“So,” I sighed partly in
relief, partly in amusement, “what are your plans now? Your itinerary?”
“Still have to get her to
port,” Lee said, “and get her to the freighter. It'll take a day or two to get
there, if we don’t stop along the way too much. There’s a lot to see in this
country. The history, the landscape, the culture...”
“Just promise me you won’t
stop along the way to milk any cows.”
“Actually,” Joe said,
“we plan to take the coastal route and go to one of the vineyards that
lets you pick your own grapes and make your own wine...then you come back in a
few years to savor it… or try it right away as grape juice.”
“Hate to burst your bubble,
gents,” Chip said, “but it’s not harvest time, even in Italy.”
“Well at least we can enjoy
the wine and cheese sampling parties they have,” Lee said.
“Negative with the wine,”
I
said, “I doubt that Joe can be your designated driver in his condition.”
“They have a different DUI
level here,” Joe said.
“Doesn’t mean that you will
imbibe anything, Lee, is that understood? I won’t have you scare me to death
with the possibility of your driving drunk. And you’re still on some
medications, aren’t you?”
“Have I ever driven drunk,
Harry?” Lee asked.
“Well, no, but...”
“Case closed. So, what fine
Italian fare did Cookie prepare tonight?”
“Ravioli,” Chip whined,
“the canned kind.”
“What’s wrong with that?
I
sometimes eat it straight from the can.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why
Cookie chose it. Not because it’s good, but because you like it.”
“Because of me?” Lee asked,
genuinely moved.
“Yes, and seeing how you’re
in a Chinese mood tonight, we’ll probably have to endure canned Chow Mein
tomorrow!”
“I like canned Chow Mein.”
“That's the yankified version
of Chinese fried noodles. The real thing is a lot better and quite different.”
“Well, if Cookie wants to choose
it, he certainly has my blessing.”
Chip groaned.
“So, what color is your new
car?” I asked, changing the subject.
“The same," Lee said.
"Yeah," Joe said, "and they want him to wear tight black jeans
and a white ruffled shirt cut to his navel for some of the pictures.”
“And you agreed to it, Lee?”
Chip asked, aghast.
“Didn’t have much choice,
did I?” Lee said. “They didn’t say, but I got the feeling that the commercial
went with the getting the car... Chip? You are still patting Seaview, talking to
her, aren't you?”
“Yes, mother. And do I ever feel
stupid doing it. I'm sure the entire crew is laughing at me behind my back.”
“Have you had any problems
with the boat?”
“No.”
“Case closed. Just ignore any
laughter
and keep doing it.”
“Look, Lee. I’m in command
of Seaview right now and I won’t talk sweet nothings to her or pat her bulkhead
if I don’t want to. Unless,” Chip added dangerously, “you’d like
to order me to do so, as her captain.”
“You’re in command, Chip.
Do what you want. But remember this...she likes it. If you ignore her to much,
she’ll let you know,”
he said and turned off the laptop.
“Damn!” I said and glared
at Chip. “I wasn’t finished talking to him yet! Did you really have to goad him
on like that?”
“He has to make a decision
sometime...seemed like a good way to get him to decide.”
“Well, he decided not to
decide, didn’t he!” I said, pouting and resumed my meal, angry.
“White ruffled shirt cut to the
navel?” Chip pondered, "oh gawd, Ames will have a hissy fit. All that new fan
mail he'll have to put up with.”
“They said when Lee is
presentable. Looks to me he has a lot of hair to grow back over that patchwork
scalp. And all the bruises need to fade as well.”
“The Navy won’t be happy
about him posing like some kind of hotshot playboy," Chip said.
“The Navy has nothing to
say about it since he’s retired.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Same here, Chip, same here.”
As I prepared for bed later
I could just imagine what those publicity shots and commercials will be like. I also wondered
if I should purchase stock in the
company. No doubt there will be a dramatic increase in purchases by rich
Nelson-Crane wannabe’s who want to impress their girlfriends.
I also imagined the
female staff of NIMR's reaction. I don't think I should expect them to get too
much work done when the ads and commercials come out.
I had to stop thinking about all of
the 'what ifs'
and the 'probably ’s. After all, it’s possible Lee will come back to the
Reserves and can talk the company into letting him pose in uniform. Less sexy that way.
But, then again,
Lee’s a man of honor and he agreed to the original plans.
I’d better prepare Ames.
