My
Journal
By Harriman
Nelson
20.3
I was
surprised I was actually enjoying myself at the bachelor party. The food was
good, and so was the 30 year old scotch, and I’d have to
have been dead not to appreciate the ‘show’.
That’s
really all I remember. The next thing I knew I was in one of the hotel's rooms, rubbing
a very large bump on the back of my aching head, my eyes blurry, bleeding from some scratches on my
face, my fuzzy brain trying to take in the cop reading me the Miranda Rights.
I had the right to remain silent, anything I said could be used against
me in a court of law, etc. etc. I, Harriman Horatio Nelson, former Admiral in
the U.S. Navy, Nobel Prize winner four times over, and head of the Nelson-Crane
Institute of Marine Research, was under arrest.
For attempted rape.
After I
was fingerprinted, and a mug shot made, and I was placed in a windowless cell, it
finally dawned on me even in my drunken stupor that this was not a practical joke conceived by Jiggs, or
Ron, or somebody.
My
head ached. My stomach heaved. And there was no waste basket. A potential weapon, I supposed they'd thought. There was, at
least a toilet. At least it wasn't as disgusting as the ones I'd seen on TV cop shows. No, the SBPD kept their incarceration
holding cells clean.
“Visitor
for you,” an armed guard said, unlocking the door to reveal Emily.
“Oh,
Harry,” she sobbed, “how could you?”
“I'm not sure I did. I
don’t remember. I don’t remember
anything.”
“You
don’t remember,” she said, like a rock. “How convenient.”
“God’s
truth, Emmie.”
“You
tried to rape one of the str…one of the dancers. Tore her blouse, and…and tried
to…oh, I can’t even say it. But she grabbed a lamp, hit you on the head. You
lost your balance and fell, knocking yourself out on the edge of the dresser.
And you're telling me you don't remember?”
"I
swear to God I don’t remember any of that. Emmie…Emmie...”
“That’s
enough for now, lady,” the guard said, re-entering the cell. “Quite a party you had for yourself,
Admiral. Booze, I understand, but drugs?”
“Drugs?
I don’t use drugs!”
“That’s
what they all say. Your son, Mr. Nelson’s hired a lawyer for you who'll be here shortly so you can get
to see the night court's judge for arraignment and possible bail. I
guess you’re going to cancel the wedding, then, Ms. Black?”
“I…I…”Emily
hesitated.
“Emmie,”
I gulped, “I swear I don’t remember anything. If I did such a horrible thing…I
understand if you never want to see me again. But…can you…can you forgive me if
I did? If there are drugs in my system, I sure as hell didn’t put them there.
As for the booze, yes, the way I feel, I know I got drunk. That’s no excuse. Oh
God, how can I ask you to forgive me if I can’t forgive myself….”
Silence.
I died
that moment. Knowing I’d probably never see her again.
“Officer,”
she said suddenly, “please call the Nelson-Crane Institute's security line and have them inform Captain Nelson-Crane
that the wedding’s
still on."
“Emmie?”
I said, grabbing her and sobbed in sheer relief on her shoulder. “Oh, Emmie,
Emmie.”
My interview with Ron's lawyer didn't last long, nor the
arraignment to which I plead 'not guilty'. My hearing was set for tomorrow for four p.m., or rather today now, technically.
Bail was set at a reasonable fifteen thousand, which Ron paid for in cash, so I supposed he'd hurried to the nearest ATM machine
to withdraw the funds without me having to wade through the paperwork and send someone home to get my checkbook.
The
exit was crowded with press, and as I faced an uncertain future, disgrace, and
even jail, I was never prouder of Emily and yes, even Ron.
But I had to wonder why hadn’t
Lee come to the station. Surely he must have known that I was in jail,
after all, Emmie knew before I even saw the gathered press. Had I disgraced myself so badly that Lee wanted
nothing more to do with me?
Oh
gawd. What a mess.
