Chapter 15
The Imperial
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 a 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 fine single malt."
"I don't want Mac to smell whiskey on my breath while we're in the car. I'll have a cocktail at the restaurant."
"That's considerate of you. But if you keep it up you'll make the rest of us men look bad."
When Frank stepped out from behind the bar, Harm saw that he wearing a classic gray business suit; something which had been in style for 100 years and would stay in style for 100 more.
Frank Burnett was tall and slender, and his gray hair made him look distinguished rather than old. Frank appeared every bit the business executive, and Harm could easily picture 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, your doctor handed you a bill. If you died, he buried you. 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. I have to admit it has 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 and 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 uncharted 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 I 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."
"Complications? You mean me."
Frank looked directly at Harm. "I never once thought of you as a complication or as 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 foolish thing for me to say."
"Water under the bridge." 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. When you were a boy, I wish that we'd been closer, but after the two of us came home from Vietnam things between us were much different."
"I would have never made it home without you. Honestly, I still have nightmares about that trip," Harm admitted.
"So do I, but my nightmare is coming home without you and having to face your mother."
"I'm glad that you were there with me. Now 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."
"What worries me is if I screw this up I'll lose Mac as a friend."
"It's the risk you run when friendship turns to romance."
"Right now I'm comfortable having Mac as my best friend, and as a sort-of significant other."
"You might be comfortable with the status quo, 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."
"You are entering into Daddy-Daughter privilege, Counselor." Despite his knowing that he had no control over the events that could bring Sarah MacKenzie into the family, Frank had begun to think of Mac as being his own daughter.
When Frank finished his Scotch, he got up from the sofa and set his empty glass on the bar just as Trish walked into the living room 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.
Trish smelled of Chanel No. 5. It was her trademark scent, which Harm recognized from the time he was a small boy. "You look beautiful, Mom."
"Thank you, both. I must say that the two 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 guest bathroom adjacent to the study.
As if on cue, Mac stepped into the living room wearing a bright red dress with spaghetti straps. The dress hugged her substantial curves, and its plunging neckline left nothing to the imagination.
Harm 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, tonight 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 had thought that was a boat," said Mac.
"You're not far off, dear," said Trish.
"Give me a hand, Harm," and the two men removed the custom fitted cover to reveal a 1967 Chrysler Imperial Crown Coupe, a 2 door hardtop in Persian White with red leather interior, which 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," Mac admitted.
"She's twenty feet from stem to stern, and two and one-half tons of American steel. Of the Big Three automakers, 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 on a Chrysler sales pitch," Trish pleaded.
Frank touched a button and the driver's seat automatically slid forward to allow entry to the back seat. "Climb in, Mac."
Once everyone had been seated, Frank cranked the engine. It fired immediately, giving a healthy V-8 rumble through the twin exhausts.
"440 cubic inches and 375 horse power. Out on the highway she can pass up anything...except a gas station!"
Trish groaned. "That gets funnier every time you tell it."
"How do you feel back there, Mac?" Frank asked.
"There's more room back here than in the front seat of my own car," said Mac noticing that even at 6-4, Harm had plenty of room. 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 115 degrees in the shade, but Harm was so comfortable in the backseat that he hardly said a word. Isn't that right, Harm?"
"Yes, I was quite comfortable," answered Harm, who had pouted during the entire trip.
"Everyone buckle up." After Frank had expertly backed the big car down the long driveway and out onto the private drive he looked over his shoulder. "Hang on, Mac."
"Frank, please don't," Trish begged.
Ignoring his wife, 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.
"The restaurant we are going to this evening was once a movie theater. Back then, admission was a dime. When my father was stationed at Camp Matthews I'd ride the bus downtown and spend the day walking around. It was wartime, so there were lots of sailors and Marines on the streets, and they all had pretty girls with them.
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. La Fontanne became their special place. So special that when the time came for Frank to propose to Trish, he reserved the restaurant's entire terrace.
When Trish accepted Frank's proposal the happy couple stepped back inside and Frank bought drinks for the house.
When Frank eased the big Imperial into the restaurant's parking lot, the valets approached immediately.
"Good evening Mr. Burnett," said a lanky young man.
"Good evening, Steve. Park her in a safe spot tonight." Frank stepped out of the car and handed over the keys, along with a $50 bill.
"Of course, sir."
The evening air was a bit chilly. Mac and Trish were both wearing wraps, but both were anxious to get inside the restaurant.
The moment that Sarah MacKenzie stepped into La Fontanne, she owned the room. The beautiful brunette in a red dress and wearing four inch red heels caught the eye of every man in the restaurant, as well as many of the women who envied Mac's incredible figure.
While the crowd was focused on Mac, Frank met with the maître d'.
Reservations for La Fontanne were mandatory weeks in advance, but the restaurant's owner was a member of the La Jolla Country Club, which meant that Frank could call a day or two ahead and be assured of being seated. Even so, it would be fifteen minutes before his favorite table would be ready.
When Frank 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 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. Strangely enough, it made her think back to how miserable her life had been when she was drinking.
Sarah MacKenzie passed the bottle of Jim Beam to her friend 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 and bounced over the curb; 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 while 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.
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 as the fire department use the "Jaws Of Life" to remove Eddie from the car. When they placed him on a backboard, no oxygen mask was attached to his face, and no efforts were made to treat him.
Eddie was pronounced dead at the scene.
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. "
Sarah was shocked. Eddie, her best friend was dead, but all anyone cared about was who would pay for the damages.
One of the paramedics examined Sarah. After pronouncing her uninjured but intoxicated, he got Sarah on her feet and handed her over to the county sheriff.
"I need to see some form of identification." Sarah removed her drivers license from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to the deputy. "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."
Sarah scribbled her name on the citation and the deputy handed Sarah her copy and returned her drivers license. "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. "You stupid little whore!" he screamed.
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 Sarah's Uncle Matt appeared with her in court.
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, a former Marine, agreed. He allowed Col. O'Hara to take Sarah to Red Rock Mesa for 90 days to dry out.
It had worked. When Sarah McKenzie returned to court three months later, she looking fit and healthy. She was also completely sober.
Sarah assured the judge that under her uncle's strict supervision she had detoxed and turned her life around. Not only had she had broken all ties with her father and with Yuma, she 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.
Everyone had finished their drink, while Mac's glass of tonic water remained untouched. "Are you alright, Sarah?" asked Trish.
"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.
"This is the best table in the house," said Frank, who insisted that Mac take the seat with the best view, which was next to his own.
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. "Ordering fish and fungus in one of the best steak houses in California should be a crime. What looks good to you, Mac? 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. She loved Frank's sense of humor. "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. "Red wine? 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 in any restaurant.
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 dessert, but Frank and Mac shared a slice of cheese cake.
As the ladies collected their wraps, Frank told Harm, "I've had a bit too much to drink. You'd better drive us home."
"Gladly." Over the years, Harm had driven his mother and 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. Sarah and I have no coats, and our shoes are not suitable for walking."
"Kill joy. Take us home, Harm," Frank said, and they waited for the valet to bring the car around.
Frank tipped the valet handsomely, and once everyone had buckled up, Harm pulled the big Imperial out of the parking lot and onto Pacific Highway.
Although massive, the Imperial 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.
"Did you have a nice time?"
"I did," Mac answered in monotone.
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 in a cool tone, and they didn't exchange another word during the remainder of the drive.
It was after midnight when Harm parked the Imperial in the garage; a feat which he imagined was like docking a Navy dirigible.
Harm and Mac thanked Frank and Trish for the wonderful evening.
"It was our pleasure," said Trish.
"Mac, It's well past my bedtime. I'm afraid I'll have to skip our morning walk," said Frank.
"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 which Harm couldn't ignore.
"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 café not far from-"
Mac cut him off. "Listen up, 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 more excuses. Do you read me?"
"Loud and clear."
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 quickly, turned off the light and then stared into the darkness.
Rabb, you're screwed.
[A/N] Mac's timeline is so convoluted that 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, but your mileage may vary. My thanks to csincisfan01 for her advice on dressing Mac and Trish.
