My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

14

In all truth, I’d rather not talk to Lee at all about his behavior at Sharkey’s. Avoid the confrontation.

But I really, I was too anxious to ignore it. Not so much about what he might say, but what I might say.

The sub pen's dry dock was busy with the noise of work crews working on Seaview. She looked even bigger out of the water and my neck hurt looking up at her, the catwalks that enveloped her making it hard for me to see who I wanted to see. Of course I could use a megaphone, but Lee beat me to it.

"Well?” he shouted down from one of the catwalks by an open compartment, sparks flying from some of the welding going on. But it was apparent he wasn’t going to come down to speak to me in private. At least the work crew with him scattered back into the boat’s open compartment and out of sight, leaving us in peace.

“You didn’t even say goodbye, son,” I shouted upwards.

“Sorry.”

“Lee, will you please come down from there? I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t see why. Not when you’re so chummy with Ron and after what he did to Ed.”

“Oh good grief,” I muttered and found the nearest ladder.

“Wait. I’ll come down,” he said, unwilling to risk me falling off the damn thing.

“Thank you,” I said and waited for him to stand on terra firma, or rather the cement deck, then, when he was facing me, I continued. “And just how many times have I forgiven you your indiscretions or mistakes? Lee, son, Ron’s been formally reprimanded, transferred out of the office, and he did apologize. In fact, he’s been trying to be a part of the ‘team’. He even suggested we get jet skis, to augment Seaview’s mobile equipment. It’s a good idea. Especially for those up close and personal types of errands we have to run. Not only can they be used for missions, they can also be utilized as recreational vehicles for staff for when we’re in port.”

“Jet skis,” Lee said coolly.

“In fact, after lunch, I put six on order. Signed for, sealed, and to be delivered. Four black, primarily for your little undercover excursions, one banana yellow, to match the flying sub and the lead diving suit, and red, for no particular reason except that you might like it. In fact, that’s what Ron and I were laughing about before lunch. He thought I might have to bribe you with red if you didn’t like the idea.”

“I see. Sorry I misunderstood about the joviality. Still….”

“Are you so antagonistic toward him that you can’t stand the idea that I might enjoy his company at times?”

“It’s not that….”

“Well, then, what is it?”

“Ever follow social media?”

“Heavens, no!”

“Seems he’s been complaining that it’s my fault that Seaview won’t be available as soon as expected for our clients. That I’m wasting time, money, and manpower above and beyond the actual repair work needed…but you know what irks me? He posted that after he knew about all those damaged nuts and bolts from the ballast tanks. Not a word about that. But no doubt he'll brag about the jet skis."

“I can’t very well tell him not what to say on social media unless it’s a classified matter. But…I will strongly suggest to him that he avoid discussing anything to do with the institute, will that satisfy you?”

“I guess, but I doubt he’ll listen to you. Jet ski’s huh? I don’t suppose you can scrap the yellow?”

“No, I think we’ll stick with the colors I’ve decided on.”

“All right, all right. Call me when they're delivered. You know, I’m pretty sure we'll need some training and operational licenses for them.”

“I’ll have Angie check with the Coast Guard. So, am I out of your woodshed, now, son?”

His sheepish grin was an affirmative.

I gave him a hug and we decided to go sailing tomorrow, weather and/or mood permitting, and reminded him that he was still under ‘visitation rights’ only regarding repairs to the sub.

And so I returned to my office, but couldn’t help wondering what else Ron might have said on social media, so I asked Angie to scout a bit. I didn’t like the idea of snooping. But she assured me, as she tuned my computer to one of the more  popular sites, that if someone shares their thoughts with the world, it wasn't spying.

Angie was thrilled with the idea of jet skis, did a bit of checking and quickly printed out various forms we’d need to fill out for the Coast Guard classes and operational licenses.

“You know, sir,” she said, “jet ski classes might be a good way to get Lee and Ron to work together without wanting to punch each other out.”

Ron won’t like that idea. I know Lee will despise it.

Too bad, boys. This is one argument neither of you will win.