7

My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

Soon after my call to Lee, I felt well enough to take his advice and go for a quick sail. In fact, it was invigorating and I decided to head to one of larger of the Channel Islands aka the Catalina Islands.

It wasn't too long before I pulled into one of the slips reserved for a sail up grill. It was a pleasant enough day as I jumped ship and found myself a table, protected from the sun by a beach umbrella. The Fried Clams and French Fries just sounded too good to refuse. I swear I could hear Lee and Doc complain about my heavy and greasy choice. I was simply glad that my previous tummy troubles had abated so I helped myself to extra fries, added by a cold beer.

Sated, I was about to pay my tab, when I heard a familiar (and unwelcome) voice.

“Harry? Harry?” Jessica called out, waving me down.

“Jessica,” I greeted her. I had to admit that she looked lovely in her yellow sundress, the kind with spaghetti straps, the bodice designed to show off her bust, though I couldn’t help thinking I would have liked to see a bit more cleavage. I might not like her, but I am 100% male.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I said, noting that she was wearing one of the ‘passenger paid’ wrist bands issued by the ferry.

“Oh, didn’t we tell you last night? No, I guess we forgot. We’re thinking about buying a boat! Ronny's checking them out right now, over there,” she said, pointing to a strip of slips containing boats for rent and sale. From day sailers to mega yachts, the variety of vessels could whet anyone's appetite for fun and/or prestige.

“Perhaps you can give us some pointers," Ron said.

I wanted to say ‘fat chance’, but in the end I spent time with them inspecting and discussing the pros and cons of sailboats, catamarans, various sized cabin cruisers, even some of the obese yachts that required a captain and several crew.

“Well, that was interesting," Ron said after we'd pretty much looked all of them over. "We'll have to think about which to choose. Like you said, Father, a boat is a hole one pours money into,” Ronald laughed, as we trod back to the grill. Me, for another ice cold beer, and they for a meal.

“Why haven’t you got a yacht, Harry?” Jessica asked, taking my arm.

"Too much time and trouble, and I can always borrow Lee's sailboat."

"It's hardly the kind of boat a multi millionaire should own. I mean, well, it's a junk heap. I saw it on the news once."

"Might not be the same one he has now. He's refurbished many a fixer upper, then donated them, along with his time, to various youth charities, teaching them teamwork and how to sail."

“The Boy Scout Skipper,” Ronald quipped.

“He must have a very kind heart,” Jessica said.

“Indeed,” I said, “something we’d ‘all’ do well to do emulate. Well, it's been nice meeting you, but I really need to get headed back to Santa Barbara before it gets dark. Oh, I can sail at night, but I don't like to.”

I waved to my new 'family' as I boarded the boat, and cast off. A little way out, I felt sick again. Maybe it was the fried clams. Seafood can be suspect depending where it's harvested and how it's prepared.

It wasn't quite sunset when I secured Lee’s wreck in her slip, reported my arrival to the marina's manager, and drove the short distance to the institute.

The press was at the gate, snapping pictures of the new and brightly illuminated sign.

“Admiral,” one of the reporters shouted as I rolled down my window to hand the guard my ID, “is the new logo of the Nelson-Crane Institute of Marine Research something to appease the captain since he's second place now? After all, you seemed to be enjoying your time with Hawthorne's last night, and today even helping them decide on the purchase of a boat….”

"Captain Nelson-Crane is not second place and the decision for adding 'Crane' to the institute was decided on long ago. Trust me, it was difficult getting him to agree to it but I'm glad to say he finally relented. Remember, he’s been my business partner and co-owner for some time now. We needed to wait on the sign's manufacture, and filing all the paperwork for the business name change.”

“Will Mr. Hawthorne, er, Mr. Nelson have a share in the business?”

I wanted to say ‘over my dead body’, but instead was oh, so ‘politically correct’, "there are no plans at this time. Now, if you’ll excuse me….”

“What kind of boat did you suggest Mr. Hawthorne purchase?” another reporter asked.

“I merely pointed out the advantages and disadvantages of the different kinds of craft. I’m afraid I had to leave before they came to any kind of decision, if they even did. Good day.”

And with that I drove through the gate, and left them (and the world) to think what they would.

Later, in my apartment 'above the shop', I took a slug of the pink stuff even though my stomach was feeling better, surprised that instead of an expose about my relationship with Ronald on the early evening news, the newscast was about Seaview.

“….Our sources have informed us that the submarine had been badly damaged and is limping to the nearest marine facility for emergency repairs. The sub's mission was to find and track a herd of migrating whales and apparently, some bull whales found her too alluring to ignore, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” one of his colleagues asked, smirk on her face, “what do you mean?”

“The whales thought Seaview was a female whale in heat. Apparently, such things have happened to Navy submarines at times. Severity of any damage depends on how many bulls and how big...” he stopped, realizing the double meaning and couldn’t help laughing.

“You know,” another reporter said, “it’s no secret that Captain Nelson-Crane has been repeatedly trying to talk Admiral Nelson into painting Seaview red, but why bother now that Seaview’s already considered a ‘scarlet lady’, at least by denizens of the deep.”

The reporters had a difficult time returning to other news as they and the studio crews were giggling and laughing.

I turned the TV off.

I toyed with the idea of contacting Seaview to find out just how badly she was damaged, and if there were any crew hurt or injured, but decided that Lee might have his hands full and wouldn’t appreciate my interference. So I did the next best thing. I called the SecNav for details as the nearest and probably only submarine shipyard along the west coast, was the San Diego Naval Base.

“You caught me just as I was leaving the office. Can't whatever it is wait?"

"I want news about Seaview."

"Crane hasn't contacted you?"

"Nelson-Crane. He was probably too busy to get in touch."

"Yes, of course. Well, I can tell you that Diego reports that the captain seems to think that the boat can make due with temporary repairs there before returning to NIMR for a complete refit in your dry dock."

"NCIMR," I corrected.

“You are picky, aren't you."

"Any casualties reported?”

“Well, no medical assistance has been requested."
“That’s a relief.”

“You know, Harriman, I’m not sure if I feel more sorry for the captain that his boat was so humiliated or that he’s bound to be too embarrassed to ask for a Corvette Red Seaview any more.”

“He’ll get over both,” I replied and said goodbye.

Yes, I knew he would. But it had to hurt.