My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
33
“Well,” Chip said as he
joined me on the front porch for coffee this morning, “no reports of food
poisoning from last night’s dinner.”
“Glad to hear it. I rather
enjoyed it. What about the men?”
“I’m not sure. You did give
it a thumbs up. Nobody would dare admit
to anything other. Though I’ll admit the Calamari was okay.”
“Just okay? I think Cookie
and Sharkey did a splendid job with both dishes. In fact, Cookie wants to
prepare them for Lee when he returns to Santa Barbara. And don’t say a word to
Lee about it. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Some surprise.”
“Chip,” I warned, “he
might
actually enjoy it, you know. ”
“ ‘Might’ being the
operative word. Speaking of might, I thought Lee was supposed to call you when
they reached Venice.”
“You saw the broadcast. He
had a busy night.”
“How about calling him this morning, then. It’s
1000 there now. He should be up and scrubbed, and all set for a day of
sightseeing and chowing down whatever Mrs. Piccadilly's planned.”
“I don’t want Lee to think
I’m checking on him.”
“But you’re not,”
Chip
smirked, “you’re just trying to find out what he had for dinner last night so I
can win the betting pool.”
“Very well,” I laughed.
“Have Sparks ring the hotel.”
It wasn’t long before
Sparks had reached their hotel room. I was surprised when he said he’d had
to put the call through on Commander Jackson’s laptop but that the connection was
bad.
“Huh?” Commander Jackson
asked,
yawning. I could tell that much from the screen bespeckeled with little digital
boxes.
“Lee?” was all I needed
to
say.
“Ah, give the guy a break,
will you, sir? We only got a couple hours sleep.”
“Why?” I asked, “what’s
wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,”
he said,
exasperated, as the image finally cleared.
Apparently we’d just woken Joe up, and could see Lee, still sound
asleep, his face in his pillow, one arm and leg dangling over the right side of
his bed.
“What the hell happened,
then?” Chip asked.
“You can’t tell me what
to
do, Chip. Not unless I’m aboard Seaview. In fact, I outrank you in the Navy by
two months.”
“All right, all right,”
I
said, “enough. Now, what happened? Why’d you get to bed late? Is Lee okay?”
“As well as he can be after
spending half the night in jail,” Joe yawned.
“Jail?” Chip and I asked,
aghast, as the entire Control Room crew turned toward us, their mouths agape.
“Yeah, jail,” Jackson said.
“How the heck were we to know the girl who invited herself to
sit with us at the restaurant was a hooker? Didn’t look like one. It's legal there, but not with third parties,
like a brothel, or using a pimp. Anyway, there
we were, having our Spaghetti & Meatballs, when this behemoth comes over and
demands cash from us. Payment for her
‘escort services’, and of course, one thing led to another....”
“One thing led to another," I
gulped, "
as in...fisticuffs?” I demanded, envisioning the still injured Lee in a full
blown fight. And in public. In a foreign country. Oh gawd, the implications
were horrendous.
“Not just then,” Joe said,
“though I could tell Lee was just itching to give the guy a right hook. But the
manager had already called the cops before it could come to that. Still, Lee and I and
the pimp were arrested for disturbing the peace. Mrs. Piccadilly, bless the old
cow, spent a good part of the rest of her evening trying to explain, with the
help of a phrase book, to the chief of police that we couldn’t possibly have
been expected to know that prostitution was legal in Italy and that the pimp
considered dinner with his girl a ‘job’. In any case, we didn’t get out of jail
till the wee hours, all charges dropped. By the way, we sure weren’t impressed
with the spaghetti. Sharkey’s is way better.”
“You said ‘not then’
regarding blows,” Chip interrupted.
“Let’s just say the pimp
may have a difficult time chewing for a while. Lee wasn’t charged for assault
though. Even if he hit him while we were being booked. Seems defending one’s
honor and that of his dinner companion, even if she was a hooker, kind of
softened a few hearts. And it turned out the pimp had been arrested before for
preying on innocent Americans who didn’t know any better. As for the girl,
well, she’d vanished. Would you believe that after all that, Lee felt sorry for
her getting into that kind of life.”
“Knowing Lee,” I said, “that’s
hardly surprising.”
“Well, what’s he going to
eat today?” Chip asked. “Ant to think I actually tried that squid ink rice! Just because
it’s the signature dish of Venice.”
“Oh, your poor tummy.”
“It’s not my stomach I’m
concerned about. It’s the betting pool for what Lee eats. Now wake Lee up and ask him what he’s
thinking about having for dinner tonight.”
"Isn't that cheating? Besides, we
might want to do a bit of exploring instead of joining the group for dinner."
“Will you just get him up?”
“Calm down, Chip,” I said.
“What’s on the itinerary after Venice?”
“We’ll be catching the
train to Bologna late this afternoon to get there early tonight. Frankly, a
town named for Bologna isn’t my idea of a gastronomic tour spot.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“Bologna is not named after the cold cut, quite the opposite. In fact the town
is considered the culinary capital of Italy.”
“Oh.”
Just then Lee began to
stir.
“Hey, bro, Seaview’s on
the
line...”
“Sea..view,” Lee mumbled,
smiling in his sleep, and snuffled back down into his pillow.
“Oh good grief,” Joe said,
left his seat and shook Lee’s shoulder. “Wakey, wakey, the warden wants to
speak with you,” then when there was no response, smacked him on the rump.
“Mmmf? Mmmf?” Lee turned,
blinking his eyes and yawning. “What’s that for? I was in the middle of such a nice
dream...finally convinced Harry to paint Seaview red...Corvette red...oh gawd
she was beautiful....”
“Well, you can ask him to paint
her for real. Again. He’s on the laptop.”
It took a moment for the
cobwebs to clear.
“Harry!” Lee exclaimed,
pleased, got out of bed and took Joe’s vacated chair.
“Morning, son.”
“Morning, Lee,” Chip added.
“What are you eating today?”
“Huh?
“I asked, what are you eating today?”
“How the hell should I
know?”
“But….”
“Will you shut up and just
let me see Seaview, listen to her...just let me soak her in awhile.”
“Help yourself,” Chip
sighed as he turned the videophone toward the control room and rolled his eyes
at me.
It was hard not to be
amused as Lee said nothing, apparently watching, just listening to the boat’s
everyday sights and noises.
“Oh baby,"we could her Lee whisper
to himself. Then after a few
moments, “Okay, Chip, turn the viewer back to you reprobates. Now, what was it
you wanted to know, again?”
“I lost my bet about what you
had for dinner last night. I was
expecting you to have something more Venitian than Spaghetti a la Hooker. I lost
five bucks to the betting pool on what you were having.”
“Betting pool?”
“Yeah. Most of the crew’s
in on it, not to mention that Cookie’s been trying to immerse us in your
culinary experiences.”
“In fact, lad,” I said,
“Chip
went to a great deal of trouble procuring all the squid Cookie needed for the
rice in squid ink. Chip sent divers out to harvest some squid passing by, and
Cookie and Sharkey prepared the dish, along with some Calamari.
“Why on earth would you
think I’d try that squid ink thing?”
“It’s a Venetian
specialty,” Chip said.
“Oh. Sorry. I um, suppose Joe
told you about what happened.”
“The edited version,” I
said, “but enough to know you were both blameless.”
“Well,” Chip said, “do
you
have any idea of what you’ll have tonight ?”
“No idea. Besides, I plan to go
off on my own a little when we get to Bologna. Then rejoin the group a couple days
later in Naples.”
“You didn’t tell me
anything about that!” Joe complained.
“I didn’t? Sorry. I decided
to go to Maranello to visit the Ferrari Lamborghini factory. It’s not far. I
can take a bus. They have tours and I might even get to test drive their latest
models.”
“But Lee,” Joe glared, “you
promised to go to the Egg Pasta Cooking Class with me. Bologna’s famous for
it, and you even get to eat your mistakes.”
“I didn’t even know about
the car factory until last night. Look,
I’ll go with you to the cheese and balsamic vinegar tours the group is going to in Modena to make up for it, okay?”
“And the Asindli Tower?”
“Okay, and the Asindli
Tower.”
“What’s that?” Chip
asked.
“One of Bologna’s leaning
towers,” Lee said. “Three hundred and eighteen ft. high, four hundred
and ninety eight very narrow,
claustrophobic steps up to the top. And I bet I can beat you on a race to the
top, Joe.”
“The steps are too narrow for
both of us at the same time.”
“We’ll have one of the
guides time us. Just bring your camera. I never bothered with one for the tour
because I sure didn’t need one when I was blind. Now, I want to get pictures of
everything.”
“And what’s Bologna’s
signature dish?” Chip asked, “aside from Pasta a la Jackson?”
“Well,” Lee laughed, “would
you believe City Hall has a recipe for Tortellini all locked up? So I guess
I might try that, but no promises. Hard to believe they locked up a recipe for little pasta pieces
supposedly made in honor of Venus’ navel of all things, and stuffed with pork,
ham, Parmesan Cheese, something called mortatella, eggs, and nutmeg.”
“Yeech,” Joe said. “Nutmeg
in anything other than a Pumpkin Pie is just plain sacrilegious.”
“Actually,” I said, “it’s
quite good, though Cookie might find the preparation a bit of a challenge.”
Just then there was
a knock
at their door.
“Mrs. Piccadilly?” Joe
greeted her.
“I'm sorry to disturb you but
you
missed breakfast and you’re too late to make the trip to San Marcos. Here,” she
said, handing them some pastries. “To hold you over till lunch. Simple pastries
with a custard filling, very common breakfast here. And before you fuss, you’re
supposed to gain weight on a culinary tour, not lose it. You can’t hide the
fact that you’re thinner than when we started this whole thing, Captain.”
Lee accepted the pastry and
the scolding with a sheepish grin. With his tousled hair, and in pajamas, he
looked, at least to me, all of ten years old. Except for his dark
face stubble, that is.
“Oh, is that Seaview?” she
asked as she caught sight of the laptop. “Admiral Nelson, good norming. Or is
there something nautical I’m supposed to say instead?”
“Good morning’s fine Mrs.
Piccadilly.”
“Now, don’t you worry about
your boys. No doubt you heard about last night. We’ll take especially good care
of them to prevent any such thing from happening again. And it wasn’t their fault.
The girl wasn’t wearing anything provocative. Nobody would have known what she
was if her pimp hadn’t gotten greedy. And she never propositioned either of
them. I know that from what the waiters told the police later at the station. Well, I have
to hurry or
the bus will leave without me. Busy day ahead. Admiral, nice seeing you,” she
added and left.
“I’d appreciate it, Lee,
if you’d
call me after your excursion to play with the cars.”
“Ah gee, Dad, ” Lee
smirked.
“And be good!”
“Fat chance,” Joe said and
ended the call.
I couldn’t help laughing.
Chip soon joined in as well as the crew.
It was so good to see and
hear him so...alive...in great spirits, and of course, as usual, trouble magnet.
Some things just never change.
