My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

8

The 'Salt' Committee was scheduled to meet in Washington’s Executive Building, just a hop, skip, and jump away from the West Wing of the White House, its nerve center.

I'd hailed a cab from the Navy Lodge. Most of the committee members had already arrived for our afternoon meeting. Beleaguered I’m sure, by the press. It was apparent they hadn’t expected my arrival as I paid my driver and headed toward the entrance.

“Admiral Nelson?” one of the reporters, whom I recognized from CNN, asked, pushing her way toward me through the police barricade, “what do you think about the feasibility of our giving the aliens some of one of our most valuable resources?”

“I’m not sure we will. That’s why we’re here to study and discuss what doing so  would mean to us.”

“Several of your colleagues have already said it would cause irreparable damage.”

“Some of my colleagues have jumped to conclusions. Let’s just wait and see what our studies will show, shall we? Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Is it true that President Nelson-Crane wants you in on the meetings to help convince the members to agree with his proposed trade agreement?”

“Not at all. He wants me study the situation along with my fellow experts. I think I do have some knowledge of oceanographic and atmospheric systems that might  be affected. And I’ll give him an honest evaluation without relying on opinions not based on facts. And this is a fact finding mission.”

“How convenient for Lee, Father,” the voice merged with the face of Ronald. “Running home to Daddy, or in this case, having Daddy help him get approval for this insane idea.”

The crowd gasped.

“And it seems to me,” I said, “that you, Ronald, as always, have a burr up your ass whenever Lee has proven his nettle, his wisdom, and his common sense without any help from anyone, including me.”

Many of the crowd applauded.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” I continued. “No matter what the committee discovers, I think we can all agree that Le…the president will advise congress to do what in the best interest for us. Even if it means discarding the harvesting idea and sending the aliens away without any trade agreement.”

“Yeah, sure, Pops," Ronald said.

“I've told you not to call  me that,” I said, fuming. “You’re no longer my son. Not in any way that matters. I might not be able to remove the stain on society that I engendered, but God help us if anyone takes your idiocy seriously, or trusts you to do anything worthwhile in your life.”

 He lunged forward, probably to punch my lights out, but police stopped him, and motioned me to move on and into the building.

I did so gladly. Without a backward look. I think I was panting by the time I entered the relative safety of the lobby.

“You all right, Admiral?” one of the inside civilian guards asked.

“Just a little winded…er, where’s the head?”

“Over there,” he pointed, apparently used to naval terms.

It took me awhile to calm down and I splashed water on my face repeatedly. Ronald! Here! Continuing to incite anger and distrust toward Lee. And calling me Pop, of all the nerve! 

“You okay, sir?” a young man asked, having turned from the urinal to wash his hands, “ I can call for a doctor.”

“Doctor? I’m fine.”

“But you’re red.”

“Am I?” I asked and studied myself in the mirror. “Oh. Just angry. It's my skin tone. My crew always ran for cover whenever they saw my face like this.”

“Your crew?”

“On my submarine. It usually means that I'm ready to chew out the captain. I did, too, on occasion,” I laughed. “Well, looks like my face is back to normal. Can you tell me where the Salt Committee is meeting?”

“Oh, you’re one of them? Gee, I can’t believe I've met somebody really important. My boss thinks he is, but not as important as you guys.”

“Better not let your boss hear you say that,” I chuckled, “it’ll be our secret.”

“Gee, thanks. Name’s Gaunt. John Gaunt. Oh, the steam press is over there…”

“I’m afraid I do look a bit rumpled.”

“Gaunt?” a familiar voice asked its owner entered. “What the devil’s taking you so long…Admiral Nelson?”

“Admiral Nelson? ‘The’ Admiral Nelson?” the boy asked, embarrassed, I think, for failing to recognize me. After all, there’d been news coverage of my comings and goings for as long as someone his age could remember.

“You idiot!” Sam Johnson said, “get back to the office and get those spreadsheets finished.”

“Wait, ” I said, “it’s my fault, I’m afraid, detaining him. I don’t suppose you can spare him for a few hours? I could really use an assistant at the meeting.”

“Assistant? He’s just a rotating intern. How can he be of any use to you? He’s certainly not to me, or anyone in my department.”

“Then it’s settled. He’ll assist me in the meetings. Come along, John.”

“Yes sir, Admiral Nelson!”

“I’m Harriman to my friends, Lad,” I said, patting him on the shoulder, leaving the boy's boss behind with his mouth open.

Rumpled or not, I took my place at the large conference table after being cleared by one of the marine guards stationed just outside. (It seemed Washington was over run with marines now.)

I motioned John to collect a couple of legal pads and pens from the counter and then to sit beside me.

“Are we all here?” I asked, not having a clue as to the identity of some of my colleagues.

“According to the roster,” Dr. Holmes (I recognized him straight off) said, “we’re still expecting Professor Gates. We didn’t expect you, however.”

“I was assigned by the president at the last minute. To head up these meetings.”

There were grumbles as I noticed most turned their heads sympathetically to one of the two women, who I supposed had been chosen by the group as head honcho, er, honchitte.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I said, “my orders were, and I quote, ‘to referee, if need be’. But I’m sure that won’t be a problem. I, like you, want to figure out if a trade agreement is or isn’t viable.”

“You’ll decide what your son wants you to decide,” a woman said. There were some hisses, and some applause. Swell, discord before we even got started.

“He also told me,” I continued, “that he wanted me in on these proceedings because he knew I would only report the facts as we discover them. Now, I believe we should start off with some introductions….”

And so it began. Sort of. There were theoretical discussions, but we needed to hear from the aliens to fill us in on the necessary details regarding how much, and how often, the sea salt was required.

By the time they arrived, escorted by armed marines and Secret Service agents, the committee had downed two carafe’s of coffee, and two boxes of bakery doughnuts. Thankfully the building had a no smoking policy or the room, or I was sure the room would have been filled with haze.

“Greetings,” I said, rising as the aliens entered the room. Greetings? What kind of hair brained welcome was that? “I’m Admiral Nelson. I’ll let my learned colleagues introduce themselves.”

“Thank you, Ad-mi-ral,” Melody said sweetly. “Lee…your pres-i-dent, thinks highly of all of you. We hope our request is poss-i-ble.”

I wondered if anyone  noticed how she’d said Lee’s name with a smile before correcting herself. I know I noticed the Lt.’s scowl. But then, maybe he always scowled.

It was a short visit. Melody explained with diagrams of their harvester, where, and how much of the sea ‘solution’ including the microorganisms that  to bring life back to their oceans.

But it was more than any of us had thought it would be.

“We’ll study your request,” I said. “It may be awhile before we have all the data we need. to come to a decision.”

“Yes,” the Lt. said. “We are a-ware of this.”

With that he rose and indicated Melody follow him out.

“I hope,” she said as she stopped by me, “that you will en-joy din-ner with us tonight, Ad-mir-al. Lee is in-tro-ducing us to…to…brown-ies.”

I noticed a lot of raised eyebrows at that her familiarity.

“And,” she continued, “we are serving…it does not translate well…”

“I’m sure we’ll enjoy whatever it is that doesn’t translate.”

She smiled and giggled.

Yes, I could see Lee’s attraction despite the protruding forehead and half bald skull.

If he was attracted to her, that was.

“Well, well, well,” Dr. Wainwright  said distanfully as she sipped her coffee once the aliens left, “the president hasn’t wasted any time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh come on, Nelson. He wants to add another conquest to his harem. I understand that when captain of the Seaview he had quite a few girlfriends and relationships, some serious.”

“He’s simply being polite to Melody, like he would be to any ambassador.”

“Even if she’s as ugly as hell?” one of the group said.

"And you be careful at dinner," another member added, "we don’t know if their food has anything in it that could be harmful to humans. Maybe that’s the whole idea. Take us out, what better way than to destroy our leader and his family.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“Perhaps you should have insisted Ronald be invited,” another member of the group laughed.

“I won’t even credit that with a response. Now, let’s get back to business and do some calculations….”

It was nearly 1800 when we adjourned and I asked John to call me a cab and told him I’d see him tomorrow at the next session that we’d all agreed on for 10 o' clock for tomorrow's meeting.

I was surprised when I reached the Navy Lodge to find Jiggs Starke waiting for me!

“What are you doing here?” I greeted him with a hug, surprised to see him in uniform. He’d been happily retired and I hadn’t thought the emergency call of all active and reserve military included too many retiree’s.

“Official business,” he said with a smirk, “your boy thought you could use some company. Afraid it will be a bit crowded…Jackson's here too, by presidential request. ”

“I'm glad. they're good friends. Lee could use one right now.”

“And he’s packing heat, so watch yourself. Oh, and we heard you could use these," he said extending my bar of stars in his hand, "so I stopped by the exchange for some."

"Thanks."

“Seems that CNN’s been interviewing your fellow committee members. Is the committee really split down the middle regarding harvesting our oceans for the aliens?”

 "Afraid so, for now, anyway. We still have a lot calculations to do."

“Oh, Admiral?” Jackson greeted me as he emerged from the bathroom, "good to see you, sir. I took the liberty of getting some pink stuff from the vending machine. Chewable form. You can take the pack with you. Just in case. And,” he added, pulling out what looked like a fat pen from his pocket, “this is an ‘Epi Pen’. Just shove it in anywhere if begin to suffer what looks like anaphylactic  or allergic reaction and….”

“Oh, good grief,” I said, and headed to the now cramped closet and dresser. “Er…Jiggs? What does one wear to this kind of White House dinner? Lee didn't specify.”

“Same as us,” he winked.

“You’re invited too? That’s great!” Then it struck me. “Not…not dress whites?”

“No, Lee has more sense than that. Doesn’t want to scare the aliens with three military men in attendance. But…I’m afraid you might not like the alternative.”

He nodded to Joe who pulled out one of the garment bags that Emmie had them bring. Joe unzipped it with a flourish.

“Oh gawd.”

“Sorry, old pal,” Jiggs said patting my shoulder. “Hope it fits. You’ve put on a few pounds.”

“He can always adjust the cummerbund,” Joe said hopefully of the white tux I’d worn at my wedding.

“She send along a blue handkerchief for the jacket. Didn’t think you’d want to go out and buy a blue carnation. After all, she said, what if flowers are considered an appetizer…she was joking, Harriman!”

“All right, all right. I suppose your tuxedos are black.”

Both nodded in agreement.

“If it makes you feel better, the president told us he’s wearing a white tux himself.”

I knew Lee wasn’t fond of white tuxedos. They reminded him too much of dress whites, (which were demandable uncomfortable).

And so, I luxuriated in the hot shower, washing events of day and visions of tonight away. We had a little time to kill, so I relaxed with a can of ginger ale, and the new blank pages in my journal. Until now.