My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

20

Emmie’s flight still hadn’t arrived when I finally checked into the Four Seasons Hotel. But the roses had and the scent wafted through the ‘Royal Suite’ on the second floor. I hadn’t specifically requested such enormous and luxurious accommodations, but it was welcome just the same. Cramped quarters are not a good thing when one’s wife is one’s roommate. Still, I wondered why a suite with a large dining/conference room didn’t have a kitchen, only a pantry with fridge. Probably to encourage one to order room service from the restaurant. It also had a mini gym with treadmill (I get the hint, Angie), a study, living room, spacious bedroom (with a king sized bed) and a wide outside terrace, complete with fire pit and comfortable exterior furnishings, overlooking some of Georgetown.  I could only imagine what the bill would be.

I padded down to the elevator (shame on me) to take me down one flight to check out the Seasons Restaurant (breakfast and lunch), and sneak a look the Bourbon Steak Lounge restaurant (lunch and dinner. Both were open, and busy.

Deciding I should check out the coffee, I took a seat in the Seasons, near the windows. The storms had lessened, but it was still a dark dismal day.

“Coffee, black, no need of a menu,” I said to the server, probably a college student, who studied me for a moment.

“You’re Admiral Nelson, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Guilty.”

For a moment I thought he was going to ask me something else but he only said the coffee would be right up.

In minutes (yes, I counted four) I was surrounded by and introduced to the culinary staff on duty by the maitre’ d  who poured my coffee himself and suggested that I might try some of the ‘from scratch’ pastries.

The temptation was irresistible, knowing how much Emmie loved such things and the thought occurred to me that I might test some of them out. That’s what I told myself, at least.

Before the pastry tray was wheeled over some of my fellow diners converged upon me, introducing themselves exchanging pleasantries.

“How long will you be staying in D.C.?” an aged woman with her husband, at least I thought he was her husband, asked.

“Until the wedding for sure, then my wife and I will return to Santa Barbara.”

The couple and the crowd looked around for her.

“Her flight hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Oh dear. Admiral, we’ll be having dinner at the Bourbon Street Lounge around 6:00 tonight, if you both would care to join us? Our treat. Not every day we get to chat with the world’s most famous scientist and his wife.”

“I’m hardly the most famous, but thank you for the compliment. I’m afraid we’ll have to decline your kind invitation. I’m sure Emily will be far too tired to accept any invitation out tonight.”

“Yes, of course. I wasn’t thinking. By the way, has the wedding date been set yet?”

“No, it will be up to the mother-in-law, according to their custom in such matters.”

“Ronald Nelson says,” a well-tailored man said, “that it’s a ray gun wedding.”

“Ronald ‘Hawthorne,’"I corrected, " doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I said, “what do you want? A medical exam to prove the bride’s purity?”

“As if our doctors could even tell with the alien anatomy.”

‘Oh shut up’s’ and ‘Go bother someone else’ swirled around the man in a show of support for Melody.

“Not everyone,” one of her supporters said, “agrees with the notion that mixing with the aliens is a bad idea. Senator Baker-Chase, Admiral," he introduced himself, "from Rhode Island. I think the president is correct to make friends with the aliens instead of as enemies…but…is it a love match, or a political ploy? No one’s quite sure.”

“I’ve met the bride,” I said, “and I certainly know the groom, and it’s a love match if I’ve ever seen one.”

I thanked my lucky stars that my server interrupted by pushing the pastry tray to my table and poured out a new cup of hot coffee as mine was no doubt cold now.

The crowd took the hint and said their goodbyes and most of them included their  ‘best wishes’ to the happy couple. Some, however, just shook their heads as they resumed their seats.

I was just about to reach for a honey glazed square of what looked like Baklava when my cell phone rang. It was from Emmie.

“Excuse me, I must take this call,” I told my server. “Can you just take the whole tray up to my room? And the coffee?”

“Right away, Admiral.”

I hurried toward an empty chair in the lobby for a little privacy.

“Well?” was the first thing I asked.

“We’re making our descent,” she said. “Thought I’d call you before they make us turn our phones off. We had a headwind. I know Angie or Drew were going to keep track and let you know when I’d land, but I talked them into coming with me. They’ll be staying at the Navy Lodge with Jiggs.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll get a cab and pick you up.”

“That won’t be necessary. Joe called, Lee’s sending a limo. Oh, Harry, I can hardly wait to kiss and hug my red headed cuddle bear…I have to hang up now, darling. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I said and let her end the call, hurrying to the elevator.

The server was just leaving my suite  when I got there. I handed him a $10 as a tip.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied and left, probably wondering if I was going to eat every last delicacy on the cart.

I downed more coffee, one Bismark, and a couple of fancy pastries I didn’t have names for, before turning on the TV.

“….Our reporter in the field,” the news anchor said, “ found Melody and Mrs. Crane, escorted by a Naval officer, at the Humane Rescue Alliance & Medical Center this afternoon….”

Joe had a dog on a leash while Melody carried a small pet caddy. Two agents carrying boxes of supplies, accompanied the party.

“Did you adopt those or are they dinner?” someone on the sidewalk asked.

Joe was ready to tear into him but Melody opened her pet caddy and picked up the black adult cat, breed unknown. It was missing an eye.

“….They are a surprise for Lee. He likes cats and dogs. There is even a cat aboard Seaview….”

“…Why not choose a  normal cat, and a kittene at that?” Agnes asked.

“Because the ‘normal’ ones have a better chance of adoption. These rescued animals do not. It is what Lee would prefer.”

“And the dog? What kind is it?”

“Breed unknown,” Joe said, "but part English Bulldog at least. About four years old. Gets along well with the cat. Was abandoned by a previous owner, and found it looking for food in someone’s garbage…I wish we could find them and prosecute to the fullest extent of the law. ”

“Do you have names for them, Ma’am?” another person asked.

“Win-ston for the dog…what is wrong?” Melody asked, confused, as some snickered. “The staff told me many Bulldogs are called Win-ston.”

“It’s a joke, you stupid girl,” a man said.

“I do not understand...”she began to tear, looking at Mrs. C. and Joe as if she’d been betrayed.

“Winston Churchill,” Mrs. C. said, “had some of the same facial features…that’s all they meant. It’s not an insult. Just a little humorous and….”

She was interrupted by the flagged presidential limo pulling in behind their car. Lee, in a nice suit, hopped out before the agent with him could open the door.

“Sweetheart,” he kissed Melody, “Mom, what’s all this?”

“I got you a surprise," Melody said. "A cat and a dog.”

Lee bent down to pet the dog who wagged its tail furiously.

“What’s your name, buddy?”

“Win-ston,” Melody said. “But you can change it. I was unaware it was a bad name,” she whined as Mrs. C. squirmed.

“I’m sorry, Lee," Mrs. C. said, "it seemed amusing at the time.”

“Bad name? It’s a great name for a great dog. Named after one of the finest men of the twentieth century. I think he’d be proud.”

“Then you are not angry?” Melody asked.

“Not in the least. And what do we have here?” he rose and stroked the cat in her arms.

“She is called ‘Kitty’, but that is only a temporary name.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with ‘Kitty’, is there Missy,” he said to the cat as it purred. “That’s it. How about Missy?”

“Good name, Mr. President,” one of the crowd said, “but it will probably end up as Kitty, like most cats.”

Lee grinned along with the gentle laughter by the crowd, then helped Melody put the cat back into the carrier.

“We’re holding up traffic," he said, "I still have a few more meetings, Sweetheart. But I'll be home soon.”

“Any date for the wedding?” the reporter asked.

“My mother is arriving today or tonight,” Melody said. “She will decide. It is cust-o-mary.”

With that she waved, got into the sedan with Mrs. Crane, Joe, the agents and latest and furry members of the family. Soon they were on their way, the presidential vehicle following, but turning at the intersection.

“In other First Family news," the reporter said, "there was a slight confrontation at the Four Seasons, where Admiral Nelson is staying, by a few of his fellow guests against the wedding. But the general consensus by most guests was approval. We’ve also heard that Mrs. Nelson’s flight arrived a few minutes ago and will be joining her husband shortly. And now in other news….”

I turned off the TV, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, gave myself a second shave, plucked out one of the roses and am now going to go down to the lobby to await my own bride at long last.