The Maltese Incident

by Russell Moran

  “Are you flirting with me, Ms. Johnson?”

  “Yes, I thought you’d never notice. Please call me Meg.”

  Oh my God. She admitted that she was flirting with me. I glanced at a bulkhead where a defibrillator hung, figuring my heart might need it.

  “I hope I didn’t upset your husband or boyfriend or whoever that guy is who’s constantly at your side.”

  “He’s Phil Jackson, my aide. He looks older, but he just graduated from college. Oh, and I’m not married. You picked a cute way to coax that information out of me.”

  I said nothing; I just stared into her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Harry, I don’t know why I had to share that information. I’m embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed, Meg. Maybe you shared that information because you didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable talking to you.”

  “Why would you feel uncomfortable talking to me, Harry?”

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Sure, Harry. What’s your secret?”

  “Well, with my loud mouth and my Navy-trained ‘command presence,’ few people ever spot my little secret—I’m shy as hell.” I felt like a little boy kneeling in the booth for my first confession. “Bless me father for I have sinned…”

  “I actually spotted that in you, Harry. I even noticed you blush, which I find charming. Now that you’ve told me your secret, do you still feel shy?”

  I took a sip of water and mumbled something inane which I really can’t recall. All I noticed was the scent of her perfume.

  She moved closer to me to pick some lint off my shirt. I think she just used that as an excuse to come closer. The perfume and the warmth of her body almost made me pass out.

  “Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?” I stammered, barely able to catch my breath.

  “I forget,” Meg said as she took a deep breath. “Oh, yeah. I want to talk to you about breaking our group down into committees.”

  “I was really hoping that you wanted a business meeting.”

  “Wise guy,” Meg said with a laugh. “Let’s take care of business.”

  I just smiled, reached over, and whisked some hair from her forehead. She grabbed my hand in both of hers and held it against her face, never once taking her eyes off mine. I was no longer feeling shy. Meg cleared her throat, as if to announce that she was changing the subject. As she spoke she continued to hold my hand.

  “Here’s what I recommend,” Meg said. “Randy is definitely the boss, but I can tell that he looks to you for leadership. He’s a great guy, but he’d be the first to tell you that he’s not a hands-on manager. Back at the office, he relied on me and a few other key executives. So, it’s obvious that you’re the boss, and the big boss thinks so too. I suggest that you appoint four committees. It will be Randy’s decision, of course, but he’ll do just about anything that you recommend. I think that the committees should include: First, a lookout committee. We should have recorded notes and photos of anything that a lookout sees; second, a physical plant committee, which means anything involving the ship. You will head that committee, of course; third, a good and welfare committee, which will tend to the various needs of those aboard; and last but not least, a food committee. It’s important that we should have a separate committee addressed to each issue. You will serve as member ex officio of each committee, and you’ll combine or create new committees as needed. So, what do you think? Hey, Harry, did you hear anything I said?”

  “Yeah, something about committees—I think.”

  I was beginning to feel like I was in the fourth grade when a pretty girl sat at the desk next to me.

  Meg laughed. “Yes, it was about committees. We can go over it later.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention because I can’t take my eyes off you,” I said. “I think that you’re beautiful, and I also think that your perfume is driving me insane.” Forget what I said about my shyness.

  “You really are a charming guy, Harry. I had heard that about you, but now that I’m talking to you in person I can see how that’s an accurate description—charming.”

  I glanced over at the bulkhead to make sure the defibrillator was still there.

  “How’s this for an idea, Meg? Randy and I dropped that ‘dinner with the captain’ tradition because of the incident, so how about we replace it this evening with Meg and Harry have dinner? We can talk about committees and stuff.”

  “Don’t I get a formal invitation?” Meg teased.

  “Here’s your formal invitation.” I leaned forward and kissed her.

  “In that case, I graciously accept,” Meg said, letting out a deep breath.

  My secret—that I’m shy—was becoming a secret even to me. For some reason I don’t feel shy around Meg Johnson.

  Chapter Two

  I’m too old to think in terms of “the man of my dreams.” Hell, I’m the operations vice president of one of the most successful firms on Wall Street. I have an MBA from Harvard and I’ve carved out a great career for myself, unencumbered by a partner. Until this weird incident the ship went through, I was happy and contented with my life.

  Bullshit. I’m not too old to think about the man of my dreams, and I’m far from being contented with my life. I’m only 35, and I have to admit that I’m in pretty good shape. So, if I’m 35, why do I feel like an adolescent school girl? I’ve had boyfriends before, but I was feeling different around this guy.

  Everybody aboard likes Captain Harry. They like his quick sense of humor and a demeanor that is just plain friendly. He’s tall, over 6 feet, crazy handsome, with wavy black hair, a slightly crooked nose, and a devilish twinkle in his sky-blue eyes. Yes, everybody likes him, and so do I—a lot.

  I’ve had my eye on him since we first came aboard. He stood at the foot of the stairway that led up to the ship and greeted every passenger as if they were old friends. As I walked up him, he looked at me and winked. We shook hands, and I noticed that he held onto mine a few moments longer than you would expect from a casual handshake.

  “Hi, I’m Meghan Johnson, Vice President of Operations.”

  Why the hell did I say that, as if he’s supposed to give a damn about my title? The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that I said that to put him in his place, to let him know that I’m a hot-shit executive, and I’m not here to play games.

  “Nice dress,” he said, smiling. I don’t think he caught my title, or if he did, I don’t think he cared. Suddenly I lost all interest in trying to impress him with my executive position. He liked my dress. At the time, that was the only important thing.

  I looked at his left hand. No wedding ring. That really didn’t mean anything. Some men who are on the prowl leave their wedding ring home. But the band always leaves a mark on the ring finger, especially on a man who obviously spends a lot of time outdoors, which results in a drop- dead gorgeous suntan. Where was I? Oh, yes, I came close to asking him to hold his left hand out, so I could examine it more closely. What the hell am I doing? I thought. I finally realized that I was spending an inappropriate amount of time with him. So, I just told him that it was a pleasure to meet him and continued up the stairs. When I got to the top I glanced down and stole another look at him. As if I wasn’t embarrassed enough, he looked back at me and winked again.

  As soon as I got to my room I dialed Randy Borg’s number and told him that, as operations VP, I’d like to see the resumes of the ship’s officers. He said that it was a job for the human resources department. I quickly reminded him that our HR manager wasn’t on the cruise, so I’d help fill in that role. Sometimes, when I want something, I can be completely full of shit. I went to his room immediately and he gave me the file full of resumes.

  “What’s the big rush, Meg?” Randy said.

  “You know me, Randy,” I said. “I like to keep all our ducks in a row.”

  Especially tall, handsome ones.

  Before I even got back to my room I flipped through the resumes till I got to Captain
Harry’s. “Marital status: single.”

  The day after the weird night/day incident, Harry called me “beautiful” in front of a room full of people. A day after that I asked Harry if we could meet to discuss some committee ideas I had. We met on the bridge. We talked about my committee ideas, but I really don’t recall what we said or concluded. All I remember was kissing Harry. I still remember it. I’ll never forget it.

  I decided to look at his personnel file in more detail, beyond just “marital status.” I saw that he was a widower, his wife having died of cancer. I then looked at his career background.

  Wow, I thought, in addition to being good-looking, Harry is one accomplished guy. Besides reading his file, I Googled his name and found a ton of articles about him. This was before our ship lost all communication ability including the Internet. Harry graduated from Annapolis and went on to a career in the Navy. At the young age of 36 he had his own command, a destroyer. Harry mustered out of the Navy with the rank of full captain. He won all sorts of medals for valor. He was 40 years old, which would make him 41 now, just six years older than me.

  Besides being impossibly handsome, Harry is just plain fun to be with. What I can’t get out of my mind is that I kissed him. And I want to kiss him more. I looked at my watch. It was one hour until we got together for dinner. I took a shower and put on a fresh dress. It’s a bit short and has a plunging neckline. Am I crazy acting like this? I thought. Yes, I’m crazy about him.

  ***

  Meg and I met in my private captain’s dining room. To celebrate the occasion, I wore my full dress uniform. Meg took my breath away, as she’s done before. She wore a dress that highlighted her gorgeous body. That, combined with her perfume, made me stumble over my words.

  “That’s a drice mess,” I said.

  “Do you mean a nice dress, Harry?”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  I’m lost at sea, having no idea what to do about it, and my mind has gone into 14-year-old love-struck boy mode. The entire ship looks to me for guidance and leadership, and all I can think about is the beautiful woman I’m with. She’s not just a babe, which she definitely is; she’s got a brain, a big brain. She also has proven leadership skills because of her job. Hey, she can help me to do my job.

  I’m good at coming up with rationalizations to make me feel better about what’s going through my mind. My real thoughts consisted of doing all kind of things that have nothing to do with committee assignments.

  ***

  Harry couldn’t have been more charming. He even wore his full-dress captain’s uniform. Dare I tell him that I’ve been doing research on him? Dare I congratulate him on a successful naval career and his war hero status? I’ve dated plenty of men who couldn’t stop talking about themselves. Harry is different. If you asked him about himself, he’d probably say, “Just call me Harry.”

  After dinner we walked outside onto the catwalk surrounding the bridge. The air was wondrously fresh, unlike the murkiness of the daytime, the kind of air that makes your lungs come alive.

  “We never did finish our discussion of my committee ideas,” I said. I put my hands on his chest just to let him know that I was half-kidding. The last thing I wanted to talk about was my committee plan.

  “So, what do you think, Harry?”

  “I think I’m crazy about you, Meg.”

  “What a coincidence,” I said. “I was about to say that I’m pretty crazy about you.”

  Things happen fast when you’re lost at sea.

  Chapter Three

  Three days later, Meg and I walked along the deck performing our agreed routine to visit the four lookouts at least once a day. We were spending more and more time together, and I began to imagine Meg as my unofficial executive officer. When she suggested that we inspect the lookout stations together I agreed immediately. If it meant being close to her, I’d agree to anything. Meg carried a clipboard to make our appearance together look official. She moved closer and grabbed my hand.

  “Last night was unbelievable, honey,” she said softly.

  “Well, if you don’t believe it we’ll have to do it again tonight.”

  “Sounds like a perfect idea, captain. I’ll take that as a direct order.”

  “I have a confession,” I said.

  “And what is it you want to confess?”

  “I love you, Meg.”

  “Oh my God, Harry. I love you too.”

  We hugged for what seemed like an eternity. Not a bad way to spend eternity.

  We continued walking and approached the first lookout station.

  “Hey, Harry, maybe we should do these lookout visits separately. We’re spending so much time together that people are starting to talk.”

  “So what if they talk? What are they going to say: ‘I wonder if Meg and Harry are an item?’ So what? Last I checked we’re both single. It’s not like we’re cheating on our spouses. Who cares if we’re together a lot? Hell, I don’t think we’re together enough.”

  Meg grabbed me by my shirt and led me behind a bulkhead on the main deck. She put her arms around my waist.

  “You’re right, Harry. We’re single. We’re not married to anybody, including each other. We make love because we’re in love, but we’re single. Does that all work for you, handsome?”

  “Are you proposing marriage to me, Meg? Isn’t the guy supposed to do that?”

  “I think you hit the tradition right on the head, Harry. So, what are you going to do about it?”

  “Will you marry me, Meg?”

  “Do you mean it, Harry? You’re such a wiseass I can’t tell when you’re kidding or not.”

  “Yes, I mean it, Meg. I love you. Marry me. That’s an order.”

  “I thought you’d never ask. The answer is yes.”

  Meg dropped her clipboard to the deck as we caressed.

  So just like that, Meg and I were engaged. Since the ship went through whatever it went through, our lives have been turned upside down. We’re lost, and I’m the captain, the guy who’s supposed to have the answers, but I don’t. I should feel horrible, but I don’t. So here I am, lost at sea, and I’ve never been happier. I’m going to marry a wonderful woman. We’ll make a great life together, wherever the hell we are.

  “But we need to think about a few things,” I said. “Number one, I don’t have an engagement ring to give you. Secondly, where the hell will we go on our honeymoon? And third, and this is a big one, who will officiate at our wedding? I’m the captain, so I can marry people, but that’s other people, not myself.”

  “I have the perfect solution, Harry. Forget the ring. You’re an expert sailor who knows how to tie a knot. String will do just fine—you can give me a new one every day. As far as a honeymoon, hey, we’re on a luxury cruise ship. And about who will officiate, I’ve got just the person. You know that short redhead, Maureen O’Malley? She’s a part time village clerk where she lives on Long Island. She’s as official as you can get on this ship.”

  “So, let’s set a date,” I said. “We don’t need a few months to figure out a guest list and find a catering hall.”

  “Why don’t we ask Randy to make the announcement at our next meeting, and we’ll get married at the following one?” Meg suggested.

  My parents are proud of me and the stuff I’ve accomplished. My mother is always prattling on at their country club about “my Harry.” If they met Meg, they’d flip out. Sounds trite, but I wish they were here, wherever the hell ‘here’ is. If we ever figure out a way to get back to where we came from, I want to have a big wedding. I think Meg will want that too.

  ***

  “Captain Fenton, please. Captain Fenton to the bridge,” the first officer said. His voice was strained.

  Meg and I interrupted our wedding plans and went to the bridge. First Officer Jim Valente was on watch. He also served as one of the lookouts, so our inspection plans didn’t change.

  “What’s up, Jim? You sounded upset about something,” I said as we stepped onto the b
ridge.

  “Captain Harry, you won’t fucking believe this. Please pardon my language, Ms. Johnson. I felt a sudden movement of the ship. Did you feel it?”

  “Yes, I did but I thought it was a wave. So, what are you so concerned about?”

  “I looked at sonar and the bottom camera and saw the biggest fish I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a whale?” I asked. “We’ve seen a few of them recently.”

  “Well, even if it was a whale, the thing was gigantic. Here’s a photo I took while part of the thing was still under us.”

  “My God,” I said, “I’ve never seen anything so big, but its fins don’t look like any whale I’ve ever seen. It’s some kind of fish, not a whale—but what kind of goddam fish?”

  I showed the photo to Meg.

  “How close to us was that thing?” Meg asked.

  “I’d say no more than 50 feet,” Valente said.

  “What the hell was he looking for, a back scratch?” I wondered aloud.

  “Bridge, Lookout One. Bridge, Lookout One.”

  Meg was standing next to the microphone so she responded. “This is the bridge, go ahead Lookout One.” Meg has such an easy way to take command of a situation. Meg—my fiancée.

  “Check out the port side forward about 200 feet,” lookout one shouted.

  “Holy shit,” the three of us said in unison. We were looking at a dorsal fin protruding about 10 feet into the air.