My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
79
I really enjoyed my time at the picturesque Malahide Castle, and
Lee decided we’d have a bite at Gibney’s Pub, rent a sailboat, and rejoin the
group at the hotel for the ride to the National Wax Museum later in the
afternoon.
I decided not to talk about
you know what, and just let Lee enjoy the day. We took turns at the helm of the
small boat. It was refreshing to have a hand at it after so many years. It was
good to see Lee at one with the sea again, up close and personal, even if it
was just the Broadmeadow estuary we sailed.
Time passed too quickly and we were running late when we returned the
boat to the marina. So I called for a cab to take us directly to the Wax Museum,
though I was in desperate need of some ointment for my sunburn. Lee almost reneged
on our plans, but I got my way after I held a bottle of cold water against my
skin for much of the ride to the museum.
There wasn’t much fuss as we entered, and kept ourselves to the
rear of the tourists (including Mrs. Piccadilly’s group) watching a
presentation on the giant wall TV about how wax figures were made.
I’m not sure if I moaned, but Lee furrowed his brows and asked if
I was okay.
“I um...need to sit down.”
“Over here,” Lee led me to a bench by the lobby window.
“Is the gentleman all right?” one of the guards asked Lee,
approaching.
“I don’t think so,” Lee said. “He had too much sun. We’d better
go, Harry.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Looking at that casting...just...made me a
bit ill, that’s all.”
Lee returned his attention to the TV and the man who’s face was
encased in plaster with two straws up his nose.
“Ill, my ass, ” Lee slapped his forehead, “I should have realized!
That reminds you of the Cyborgs...”
“Admiral, Captain,” Mrs. Piccadilly whispered, breaking from the
group, along with Joe, and headed over. “Are you all right? I’m glad you made
it but if either of you aren’t feeling up to it...”
“I’m fine,” I said, “I was just overcome by the visuals.”
“I suppose it could be disturbing, ” she said hesitantly.
Just then the film stopped, and the group looked over at us.
“All right, now, wasn’t that interesting,” Mrs. P. told to them.
“There’s a guided tour,” she paused, checking her watch, “in about ten minutes,
so now’s a good time for any anyone to use the facilities or wander around. Be
back in time though or you’ll miss some of the action. Admiral,” she added
softly, “really, if you’d rather go back and rest…I’ll just let you boys sort it
out amongst yourselves. “Feel free to join us whenever you want. I’d better go
get some new postcards before the rush later.”
“I’d like to stay, Lee,” I said after she departed, “but let’s
explore the place on our own and at our
own pace.”
The museum was vast, and along with Joe, who insisted on
accompanying us, ( I’m sure he felt that Lee had his hands full), we rubbed
elbows, in a manner of speaking, with famous sports figures, world leaders,
historical figures, movie stars, and mythological creatures.
One could even make a music video (I’m not sure what they call
them now) of oneself with some famous singers. And Lee encouraged me to do so.
“I don’t think I dare try to sing with the Beach Boys,” I said as
we looked at a glass windowed recording studio.
“Well, there’s also the Beatles, Perry Como, Sinatra,” Lee read off a
list. “You like Sinatra, don’t you?”
In the end I humored him, and for a little cash, we were escorted to
a separate wing.
As the taped orchestration played, I crooned away, only having to
follow the lyrics on a page in my hand. And so ‘I Did it My Way’ while the wax
figure of ‘old blue eyes’ standing against the backdrop, smiled beside me
benevolently.
“Now,” I said after I’d finished and my DVD was being processed,
“your turn, Lee.”
“Me?”
“Fair exchange, son.”
“Okay, but you’ll regret it... Joe, you’re with me.”
“Huh?” Joe asked, startled, as Lee paid the fee, and dragged Joe
over to the studio containing.... Alvin and the Chipmunks.
Joe glared at Lee, aghast, as Lee breathed in a small bottle of
helium, and Joe was handed one as well.
“You owe me for this, bro,” Joe said and began to breathe in the
gas.
Soon the boys were singing their debut of ‘We Are Family’ in front
of the diorama of the famous animated critters. I had to sit down, clutching my
own newly minted DVD tightly against my chest, I was laughing so hard.
It wasn’t long before we rejoined the group which was
milling around, waiting for the tour bus to arrive to take them back to the
hotel.
Lee and Joe were slapping each other on their backs and arguing
over who had the better voice, though they both sounded alike to me, as
the helium hadn’t worn off yet.
“Hi Mrs. P.,” Lee squeaked.
“We’re chipmunks,” Joe explained, as he and Lee held up their
DVD’s.
“Of course,” she grinned, “just how long will these...effects,
last? It might be awkward ordering dinner.”
“Where are we going anyway?” Joe asked.
“The Pig’s Ear and...”she began but paused as Lee
and Joe fell into an uncontrollable and
squeaky fit of laughter.
“It boats traditional and modern Irish cuisine,” she continued, toward me, “just
the thing for our last night in Dublin. Now, will you boys be returning to the
hotel with us, or do you need a bit more time to settle down? Or go exploring
Dublin a bit more before supper?”
I looked at Lee. He was biting his lip, trying hard to stop
laughing, then he managed a breath and said, unfortunately still in squeaky
voice, “Actually, Mrs. P. I found a shop online that I wanted to take Harry
to.”
“Very well. The bus will depart the hotel at seven o' clock sharp. I do hope
you’ll join us.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Joe said, also in squeaky voice
causing the boys to fall into another fit of laughter.
“Captain,” I warned.
“It’s all right, Admiral,” Mrs. P. said. “I guess they'e just overcome with fun."
"I’ll
see they get
back to the hotel safely," I said, "I’m not sure about us going to that shop, however,
whatever it is.”
Joe pulled out a business card and handed it to me.
“The Celtic Croft...hmm. Perhaps a nice souvenir for Edith...”
“But Admiral, it’s a...” Mrs. P. began but was interrupted by the
honk of the arriving tour bus. “Well, happy shopping,” she said, almost
smirking as she gathered up her brood and boarded the bus.
It was a short drive by taxi to The Celtic Croft. Lee and Joe
tried not to talk, but couldn’t help giggling when they slipped up a few times. I
could only imagine what the driver had to have thought, though he’d said
nothing about his weird passengers.
As soon as we stopped, and I saw the window display I felt like
running.
“No. Absolutely not! Driver, take us to our hotel. It’s at….”
“Belay that. Humor me, Harry?” Lee aka Chipmunk said as he got out
and paid the driver, “I sang with Alvin and the Chipmunks for you.”
“Oh good grief,” I said, and obeyed.
It didn’t take too long to be properly fitted in our new garments
that Lee paid for with his own plastic. We returned to the hotel to rest a while before showering,
and changing into our new attire for dinner.
The lobby was crowded as we finally made our appearance to the
gasps and mutterings of the group as they couldn't help noticing our kilts.
Just then Mrs. P. emerged from the elevator with Mr. Thorndike,
boils still on his face and neck. He looked ghastly.
“Good evening, everyone. Mr. Thorndike will be joining us for
dinner and, remember, everyone, he’s not contagious.”
I was surprised when ‘Thorn’ approached Lee.
“I’d like to apologize, Captain. I still can’t say I believe in leprechauns,
but I won’t say that I don’t believe in them, either....”
Lee extended his hand, “Fair enough. And it’s Lee.”
“No hard feelings, ’Thorn’, ” I added, extending my hand as well,
“er...I mean....”
“You know,” he said, “I haven’t been called ‘Thorn’ since I was a
kid...fine by me.”
“Harriman,” I added.
“And here I thought you were the unapproachable Admiral 24/7.”
Just then the bus pulled up and Joe pulled Lee back and waved me on to board. But I did manage to hear them.
“What’s going on, Joe?” Lee was asking his friend.
“Well, what do you think? These may be Irish kilts, but the
tradition of wearing them and how to wear them is from Scotland.”
“What tradition?” Lee asked.
Joe whispered into his ear.
“You’re kidding!
“Well, if you don’t want to be a ‘real’ Nelson....”
“I’ll be right back,” Lee said and darted to the elevator as Joe took his seat across from me on
the bus.
Lee climbed aboard just a minute or so later, and sat beside me.
The bus began to pull away from the curb when Joe began to laugh.
“What?” Lee asked.
“Sucker! Gotcha’, bro., gotcha! It’s payback time!”
“What’s going on, boys?” I asked as Lee, furious, glared, then leaned
back against the seat, eyes closed, and
began to mutter a few choice words. Fortunately, they were in other languages I
doubted anyone aboard knew.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, Joe," Lee moaned. "Remind me to
shove him out a torpedo tube the next time he’s aboard Seaview, Harry. “That’s figuratively.
I’m not sure yet...so let’s not talk about it tonight, okay?”
“All right but…what the blazes is this all about?”
“I told him," Joe said, "that it took a real man to be a real Irishman or Scot.”
“I don’t understand at all,” Mrs. P. said.
“Oh boy,” Thorn began to laugh, “You’re not wearing anything under
that kilt, is that it, Lee?”
“Joe tricked me into it,” Lee replied. “And this wool is damned
uncomfortable….”
“Er, yes,” Mrs. P. said, “but it was very nice gesture on your
part, Captain. And I must say, Captain, Admiral, Joseph, you all look very
distinguished in your dress Irish kilts. You’ll do the Pig’s Ear honor.”
The busload of passengers applauded, though most were wearing huge
grins of amusement.
My heart ached for Lee’s embarrassment. But at least he didn’t
sound like a chipmunk any more.
