Chapter 15
Remembering back to the week he'd spent at SERE Class, Harm took a "Hollywood" shower: an especially long shower which wasted a considerable amount of water- a sin for any navy man. After he'd shaved, Harm put on the same black suit he'd worn to the country club; this time with a gray shirt and black silk tie. Mac had insisted that he wear the black suit this evening, and he was not going to risk disappointing her.
After buffing his shoes, Harm went into the living room where Frank was behind the bar and pouring a Scotch.
"How about a little 18 year old Macallan to kick off the evening?"
"None for me, thank you," Harm answered.
"You're not one to pass up a good single malt."
"I'll have a cocktail at the restaurant. I don't want Mac to smell whiskey on my breath while we're in the car."
"That's considerate of you. Keep it up and you'll make the rest of us men look bad."
Frank stepped out from behind the bar wearing a classic gray business suit; something which had been in style for 100 years and would stay in style for 100 more. Frank was tall and slender, and his gray hair made him look distinguished rather than old. He appeared every bit the executive, and Harm pictured him inside the Chrysler boardroom.
"How was your nap?" Harm asked.
"I was just dozing off when your mother came in and began quizzing me about my visit to the doctor. She always thinks I'm hiding something from her about my health."
"Are you?" Harm asked point blank.
"Now you're sounding like a lawyer." Frank sat down on the sofa and took a sip of his Scotch. "My health could be better, but I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."
"That's good to hear."
"I could have been dead from Rheumatic fever when I was nine, but Burnett's are survivors. My grandfather came to California at the turn of the century. Back in those days medical knowledge was so poor that if you lived, you got a doctor bill. If you died, you got buried. I keep telling your mother not to worry because I'm still getting a bill."
Harm chuckled. Frank had a dry sense of humor and he didn't mind making a joke at his own expense. "It's lucky that you and mom are able to communicate so openly."
"Your mother does most of the talking, and I do all of the listening. It's worked remarkably well." Frank took another sip of his Scotch and studied his stepson's face. "What's bothering you, Harm?"
"Mac and I are having trouble communicating. I'm on pins and needles when I'm around her. Tomorrow morning we're going to have a serious talk about our relationship. I'm nervous."
"Mac is a tough lady, but your mother is no pushover, and I manage to get my point across every now and then."
Harm took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "The problem is that I don't know what point I'm trying to get across."
"When it comes to relationships, there's only one thing a woman wants to be assured of. Do you love Mac?"
"I do."
"Have you told her?"
"When we were alone at the gliderport."
"Then you've made your point. All you have to do now is to move forward."
"I wish it was that easy. My relationships with Diane and Annie never progressed this far. I'm sailing into unchartered waters, and at flank speed."
"Have you spoken with your mother? She could offer insight into a woman's mind."
"Mom's solution is for me to propose to Mac- tonight, if possible."
Frank laughed. "A marriage proposal will clear the air in any relationship. Should I call the jeweler so that we can swing by and pick up a ring on the way to the restaurant?"
Harm shook his head. "I can't move that fast. Not even if Mac wanted to."
"When your mother and I were dating, she was anxious for the two of us to speed up our own relationship. Your father proposing on their second date was a tough act to follow."
"But the two of you waited."
"We didn't have a choice, what with the navy, the legal issues, and a plethora of complications."
"You mean her baggage...me."
Frank looked directly at Harm. "I never once thought of you as being your mother's baggage. When I married Trish, I was excited that in addition to having a beautiful wife, I was gaining a wonderful son."
Harm dropped his head. "I'm sorry, Frank. That was a stupid thing for me to say."
"Water under the bridge, Harm." Frank waved his hand to show that it was forgotten, but it had been painful to hear.
"How did you put up with me?"
"You weren't a problem. You were a straight-A student, never in trouble with the law, and you were always respectful. You still are. I wish that we'd been closer when you were a boy, but after we came home from Vietnam, things improved."
"I still have nightmares about that trip," Harm admitted.
"So do I, but my nightmare is my coming home without you, and having to face your mother."
"I'm glad that you were there with me. And I'm glad we're having this conversation."
These are the father son talks that I missed out on..through my own pigheadedness.
"Harm, I don't claim to be an expert in these matters, but you need to show Mac that there is light at the end of your relationship tunnel. If you can't do that, then you're playing her for a fool, and Mac is no fool."
"If I screw this up, I'll lose Mac as a friend."
"It's the risk you run when friendship turns to romance."
"I'm comfortable having her as my best friend, and as a sort-of significant other."
"You might be comfortable, but Mac's not going to put up with it for much longer," Frank scolded.
"So this is what the two of you talk about on your morning walks."
Frank finished his Scotch. "Daddy-Daughter privilege, Counselor." Frank had begun to think of Mac as a daughter, despite knowing that he had no control over the events that could bring her into the family.
Frank got up from the sofa and set his empty glass on the bar just as Trish walked into the living room. She was wearing a knee length, deep blue cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline. The dress was elegant and sophisticated, and it was the perfect match for her heavy diamond tennis bracelet.
"Sweetheart, you are a vision," said Frank.
"You look beautiful, Mom." Trish smelled of Chanel No. 5. It was her trademark scent, which Harm recognized from the time he was a small boy.
"Thank you both. I must say that both of you look quite handsome this evening."
Harm looked at his watch. "What's keeping Mac?"
"I'm sure that she's struggling to get ready in what passes for a bathroom in your old bedroom," said Trish.
"Sink, shower and a toilet. I never had a problem with it," said Harm, who was now using the larger bathroom adjacent to the study.
As if on cue, Mac stepped into the living room. She was wearing a bright red dress with spaghetti straps which hugged her substantial curves, and its plunging neckline left nothing to the imagination.
It was Harm's favorite dress, and he was nearly breathless. "Mac, you look stunning."
"You look quite nice yourself, Harm."
There was no kiss, or any sign of affection. Mac was simply polite, and Harm's mind was racing trying to think of what he'd done now?
"Let's get the show on the road," Frank announced.
"Would you like me to drive?" asked Harm.
"No thank you. Tonight we'll be taking the Imperial."
"Oh, dear God," moaned Trish.
Frank looked at Mac. "I'll bet that a youngster like yourself has never ridden a real car. Well, you're in for a treat."
Frank lead the group into the third bay of the three car garage where something enormous sat parked and carefully covered.
"I thought that was a boat," said Mac.
"You're not far off, dear," said Trish.
"Give me a hand with the cover, Harm," and the two men removed the custom fitted cover to reveal a 1967 Chrysler Imperial Crown Coupe. The 2 door hardtop was Persian White with red leather interior, and it looked factory new.
"When the Chrysler Turbine Car project concluded, I decided it was time to step up and enjoy my new VP status. This was my idea of a bosses car," Frank said with pride.
"It certainly is impressive," said Mac.
"She's twenty feet from stem to stern, and two and one-half tons of American steel. Of the Big Three, Chrysler was known as the engineering company. 'Excellence Without Equal,' the Imperial was a better designed car than the Lincoln or the Cadillac."
"Please, Frank, don't get started," Trish pleaded.
"Climb in, Mac." Frank touched a button and the driver's seat automatically slid forward to allow entry to the back seat. In the meantime, Harm had climbed in on the passenger side. Even at 6-4, he had plenty of room in the back seat.
After Trish sat down, Frank cranked the engine, which fired immediately, giving a healthy V-8 rumble through twin exhausts.
"440 cubic inches, with 375 horse power. Out on the highway she can pass anything...except a gas station!"
"That gets funnier every time you tell it," Trish groaned.
"How do you feel back there, Mac?"
"There's more room back here than in the front seat of my own car." Mac pointed to a large knob between the twin rear bucket seats. "What does this dial control?"
"Dual air conditioners. One up front, and a second for the rear. When we drove to the Grand Canyon, it was 110 degrees, but Harm was so comfortable in the backseat that he hardly said a word. Isn't that right, Harm?"
"Yes, I was quite comfortable," when in fact Harm had pouted during the entire trip.
"Everyone buckle up," and Frank expertly backed the big car down the long driveway and out onto the private drive.
Frank looked over his shoulder. "Hang on, Mac."
"Frank, please don't," Trish begged, but Frank dropped the Imperial into drive, floored the accelerator, and left a trail of rubber on the street.
Traffic on I-5 south going into San Diego was heavy, but Frank piloted the big Chrysler expertly and they reached downtown in good time.
As they cruised along Pacific Highway, Frank gave Mac a quick overview of the area. "When my father was stationed at Camp Matthews, I'd take the bus and spend the day downtown. It was wartime, so there were lots of sailors and Marines on the streets, and they all had pretty girls with them. The restaurant we are going to was a movie theater back then, and admission was a dime."
The La Fontanne Restaurant, with its Florentine-Italianate architectural style, was in located in the Gaslamp District; a 16 square block area downtown, which was adjacent to San Diego Bay. Once an area of urban decay, the Gaslamp had been revitalized to include many fine restaurants, as well as several entertainment and night life venues.
The old theater had been converted into a restaurant in 1970 and had remained popular ever since. With a maximum seating of just 120, it was expensive and exclusive. Frank had brought Trish to La Fontanne on their first dinner date, and she was overwhelmed by the luxurious trappings; hereto unknown to the wife of a junior officer. When the time came for Frank to propose, he reserved the restaurant's entire terrace. When Trish accepted, the happy couple stepped back inside and the other patrons applauded.
La Fontanne had been their special place ever since.
Frank eased the big Imperial into the restaurant's parking lot and valets approached immediately.
"Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Burnett," said a lanky young man.
"Good evening, Steve." Frank stepped out and handed over the keys. "Park her in a safe spot tonight."
"Of course, sir."
Mac and Trish were wearing wraps, but the evening air was a bit chilly, and both were anxious to get inside.
The moment that Sarah MacKenzie stepped into La Fontanne, she owned the room. The beautiful brunette wearing a red dress, and with four inch red heels, caught the eye of every man in the restaurant, as well as many of the women who envied Mac's figure.
Frank met with the maitre d'. Reservations were mandatory weeks in advance, but the restaurant's owner was a member of the La Jolla Country Club, so Frank could call a day or two ahead and be assured of being seated.
Even so, it would be several minutes before Frank's favorite table would be ready. When he suggested they wait in the bar, Trish gave a sideways glance.
Mac quickly spoke up. "Please, lets go to the bar and relax before dinner."
The bar was crowded, but the group of four were seated quickly. Frank and Harm each ordered Martini's, while Trish asked for a Gimlet. Mac ordered her usual tonic water with a twist.
Mac didn't mind being with people who were drinking. Seeing others drink didn't make her want to start drinking again. It made her think back to how miserable her life had been when she was drinking.
It was graduation night, and Sarah passed the bottle of Jim Beam to Eddie while he raced his car along Quechran Road. They were on their way to a party and as they approached the intersection with Winterhaven Drive, Eddie drifted across the double yellow line.
The car ran the off the road, bounced over the curb, and barely avoiding going into the Yuma Main Irrigation Canal.
When they came to a stop, the pair broke into hysterical laughter. "A miss is as good as a mile, Sarah." Eddie took a big swing of bourbon and then placed the bottle between his legs.
"Hey, pass it over here." Sarah made a grab for the bottle and Eddie, now distracted, pulled onto the road and directly into the path of a fast moving delivery truck which slammed into the driver's side.
Despite the horrific impact, Sarah never heard a sound. She remembered crawling out of the passenger side door and when she regained her senses, Yuma Fire and Rescue were continuing their efforts to remove Eddie from the car.
One of the paramedics examined Sarah and pronounced her uninjured, but intoxicated.
The truck driver was giving his statement to a Yuma County Sheriff's deputy when a fire fighter discovered the bottle of bourbon on the floorboard of Eddie's car.
"God damned drunk!" the delivery driver shouted.
Sarah watched the fire department use the "Jaws Of Life" to remove Eddie from the car. They placed him on a backboard, but no oxygen mask was attached to his face, and no efforts were made to treat him.
The pickup truck driver was unfazed. "The truck is totaled, and you know damned well he didn't have insurance. My boss is going to be pissed. "
Eddie, Sarah's best friend, was dead, but all anyone cared about was who would pay for the damages.
The deputy got Sarah on her feet. "There's no law against a passenger being drunk inside of a vehicle, but the legal drinking age in the State of Arizona is 21. I'm citing you for ARS 4-244-9. A Minor In Possession of an intoxicating beverage."
"Do I have to go to court?"
"It's a Class 3 misdemeanor. A court appearance is mandatory. Sign here," and Sarah scribbled her name on the citation.
The deputy handed Sarah her copy. "Your friend has a broken neck. He died instantly, but you're going to live with this for the rest of your life. You are booked and released, Miss MacKenzie."
When Sarah returned home her father flew into a rage. Without Eddie, Sarah had no place to go, so she hid in her bedroom...with a bottle of vodka.
On the day Sarah was due to appear in court, Joe MacKenzie was drunk, so her Uncle Matt appeared with her.
It was the best thing that could have happened.
Sarah faced the judge disheveled, undernourished, and she was still drinking.
Colonel Matthew O'Hara explained that his niece's home life was dysfunctional. Sarah's father was an alcoholic and abusive, and her mother had abandoned her. Sarah not only needed to get out of the house, she needed to get out of Yuma. The judge agreed. He allowed Col. O'Hara to take Sarah to Red Rock Mesa for 90 days to dry out.
Sarah returned to court after three months looking healthy, and she was completely sober. Sarah assured the judge that under her uncle's strict supervision she had detoxed and turned her life around. She had broken all ties with her father, and with Yuma. Sarah had been accepted by the University of Minnesota and would begin classes in the Spring. Until then she would remain in Red Rock with her uncle.
"My Uncle Matt saved my life, Your Honor. I won't let him down."
"I feel that justice has been served, and a fresh start is warranted. But don't let me see you in my courtroom again, Miss MacKenzie," the judge admonished. "Case dismissed."
"Mac, our table is ready," Harm said for what was the second time.
"Are you alright, Sarah?" asked Trish. Everyone had finished their drink, while Mac's glass of tonic water remained nearly full.
"I'm sorry. I was lost in thought. It's just so wonderful being here with the three of you."
"It's our pleasure, dear," said Trish.
As they walked to the table, Harm whispered, "Are you all alright?"
"I'm fine," Mac snapped, and Harm backed off.
It was too cold to sit on the terrace, but their table was at a bay window which offered a wonderful view of San Diego Bay.
Frank insisted that Mac take the seat with the best view, and he sat next to her. "This is the best table in the house, Mac," and Frank ordered another martini.
Trish and Harm started their meal with lump crab cakes, while Frank and Mac started with Italian cured meats and cheese. Everyone ordered the wedge salad. For entrees, Harm requested Collezine Rigatoni with Pocini mushrooms and Heirloom Tomatoes, while Trish ordered salmon.
Frank shook his head. "Spawning fish, and pasta with fungus." He shifted his attention to Mac. "What looks good to you? And be sure it's something on the hoof."
"All of the steaks look good. What do you suggest?"
"Are you hungry?"
"Famished."
"Let's split a Bistecca alla Fiorentina, 'beefsteak Florentine style'. It's a 48 ounce seasoned T-bone served very rare, and accompanied by Tuscan beans. I can never get Harm or Trish to share it with me. Hell, the last time Harm ordered a steak it was cut so thin that it only had one side!"
Mac laughed aloud. "It sounds perfect."
"That's my girl." Frank ordered for the two of them, and then requested a bottle of red wine.
Trish turned her head. "Sweetheart, Harm and I are having fish and pasta, and Sarah won't be drinking."
"The wine won't go to waste," Frank insisted.
The meal was amazing; one of the finest Mac had eaten.
Frank was jovial, and Trish made a point of keeping the conversation light. Harm was his usual reserved self.
Just like the country club, Harm didn't feel comfortable here. He would rather be sitting in the "dirty shirt" wardroom of a carrier and swapping lies with the other pilots. Worse still, Mac was giving him the cold shoulder. Not enough that Frank and Trish would notice, but it was clear that she was upset with him.
Trish and Harm passed on desert, but Frank and Mac shared a slice of cheese cake, with Mac eating most of it.
As the ladies collected their wraps, Frank told Harm, "You'd better drive."
"Gladly." Harm had driven Frank home more than once.
When they stepped outside, the cool sea air was invigorating. "What do you say that we all go dancing?" Frank suggested.
"Sweetheart, Sarah and I are not dressed for dancing," Trish said.
"Then let's take a walk out on the pier."
"It's chilly, and we have no coats."
"Kill joy. Take us home, Harm," and they waited for the valet to bring the car around.
Once everyone had buckled up, Harm pulled the big Imperial out of the parking lot and onto Pacific Highway. Although massive, it handled surprisingly well, and thanks to its low gearing and the huge V-8, it had considerable power.
Harm raced up the ramp and once he'd merged onto Interstate 5 north, he looked over at Mac, who was seated beside him. "Did you have a nice time?"
"I did."
After more silence, Harm pointed out the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot, where male "Hollywood Marines" went through boot camp.
"You should keep your eyes on the road," Mac advised, and they didn't exchange another word during the drive.
It was midnight when they arrived home. After Harm parked the Imperial in the garage, a feat not unlike docking a Navy dirigible, he and Mac thanked Frank and Trish for the wonderful evening.
"It's well past my bedtime. I'm afraid I'll have to skip our morning walk," Frank told Mac.
"That's quite alright. I plan to sleep in. Harm and I have a busy day planned for tomorrow...don't we?" There was an edge to Mac's voice.
"Yes, we'll be quite busy."
After saying goodnight to Frank and Trish, Harm and Mac were alone in the hallway.
"What time do we leave in the morning?" Mac asked.
"0930, unless you want to stop for breakfast. There's a great cafe not far from-"
Mac cut him off. "Listen, Mister. I'm fed up with your delay tactics. We will eat our breakfast here and then proceed directly to the area designated for our talk. No stopovers, and no excuses."
There was no goodnight kiss. Mac spun around, walked into the guestroom, and shut the door behind her.
Harm went into the study and unfolded to sofa bed. He undressed, turned off the light and then stared into the darkness.
Rabb, you're screwed.
[A/N] Mac's timeline is so convoluted it's obvious that the show's writers failed to prepare a detailed biography of Sarah MacKenzie. I'm left trying to make the pieces of Mac's life fit together, while staying as close to canon as possible. I think I'm making it work. Your mileage may vary. My thanks to csincisfan01 for her advice on dressing Mac and Trish.