Flying Circus - 4. The Mayor - Part I

Monday, 3 May 2027
Barcelona - Balearic Sea

Staring at the three-masted vessel, CJ whistled. “Daaamn… Grandpa Cap really knows how to plan a vacation!”

“Welcome!”

The greeting diverted his attention from the sailing yacht. The shoulder stripes identified the speaker as being in charge, and he assumed the others standing on the pier were the rest of the crew. Young and fit, they looked great in maritime whites; the golden threads in their epaulets shimmering in the morning sun.

“Glenn Hollis. Captain of the Flying Circus.” She scanned the group about to board her vessel while offering Brett a handshake. “Captain Davenport, we’re so very happy to have you and your family join us.”

Holding Brett’s other hand, Roosevelt tugged on the hem of Captain Hollis’ blouse. “You can’t be the captain. That’s Grandpa Cap. And you’re a girl.”

“Don’t be a turd, Roo! So what if she’s a girl?” Liebe managed to grin at the ship’s captain while berating her brother. “Girls can do anything boys can. And we usually do it better.”

CJ’s stern look killed Liebe’s smile. “Elizabeth Liston Abelló, do not call your brother names.” He took a step sideways and rapped on Roosevelt’s head. “And you, stop being stupid. We’re not raising you to be a sexist turd.” Glancing at Captain Hollis, CJ noticed her struggle to maintain a neutral expression. He winked at her.

“You’ll have to forgive my son and grandchildren. The politeness classes were a waste of money.” Brett’s grin and natural hair highlights sparkled in the sunshine. A week in the sunshine would turn his locks even more golden. “I’m looking forward to the coming week, Captain. Let me introduce you to the rest of my motley crew.”

Jefferson would not allow him to say another word. “Our dad was the captain when we went on the PP, and he let me drive it. Can I drive yours?”

Captain Hollis squatted and came to eye level with the kids. “Is the PP a sailboat too?”

“It’s an old forty-two-foot cat owned by family friends,” CJ explained. “We took the kids out a couple of times last month to make sure they wouldn’t get seasick.”

“If he’s Roo”—Captain Hollis pointed at the referenced twin—“then you must be Jeffer. I’ll make sure you and your brother get an opportunity to visit the bridge once we set sail. Let’s see if we can get you guys a chance to navigate.” Standing, she waved a hand in her crew’s direction. “Why don’t we finish introductions, and you guys can come aboard? Shoes aren’t allowed on the teak; please leave them in the basket at the top of the gangway. We’ll carry them inside when we take your luggage.”

“Hi, Captain Hollis, I’m César. About the luggage, please excuse the exorbitant number of bags. All of us are traveling on to other destinations…” He left unsaid an entire van was needed to carry their suitcases.

“Not a problem, Mr. Abelló. One thing I’d like to deal with now is the kids. Until I’m satisfied they’re as proficient swimming as we’ve been told—”

“What? You didn’t notice the gills?” CJ’s sarcasm was not appreciated by his father.

“Shut up, CJ. You were saying, Captain?”

Hollis did not miss a step. “I think I missed those, Mr. Mayor. Anyway, the three of them will have to wear life jackets while outside until I’m sure they won’t drown if they fall in the drink.”

“I’m good with that.” CJ nodded and noticed Owen doing the same. “I do have one request, though.”

“Already? How about we just leave you behind so you’re not a pain in our collective behinds the whole week?” Brett’s commentary was in keeping with his personality.

CJ dismissed him with a hand wave. “Hush, Grandpa Cap. Anyway, Captain Hollis, please call me CJ. I’ve never been much for titles.”

Nodding, she turned her attention to Owen and shook his hand. “We have a couple of Aussie crew members who’ve been discussing your winery the last couple of days. I’m sufficiently intrigued that I’ll be looking for them next time I visit Australia.”

“I’ll give you my brother’s contact information. If you make it to the Hunter Valley, stop by our place. Spencer will treat you right.”

“Thank you.” As each guest moved down the line, greeting the other crew members, Captain Hollis focused on the final two family members. “Lieutenant Peterson, Ms. Wilkinson, we’re happy to have you join us.”

“Like my brother, I’m not much for honorifics. It’s Ritch. I’m looking forward to the trip, Captain.”

“And I’m Lucy. Since Ritch and CJ are bombarded with their titles regularly, I’ve realized they prefer not to hear them during downtime.”

“Noted.” Hollis grinned at Lucy while tilting her head to signal the others. “I was watching you, and considering their antics, I’m surprised how calm you remained. Had it been my family, I’m not sure I could have stopped from laughing myself silly.”

“That? That was mild.” Lucy shrugged and smirked. “And anyway, I’ve been around them for so long I’m immune to most of it.”

“Definitely an interesting group. I’m pretty sure we’re going to have a good time with you on board.”

“Oh, yeah!” CJ reached for a champagne flute from the silver tray held by Kitt, the Australian woman introduced as one of the stewards. “If this is how the trip’s gonna go, I’m all in.”

“Lush!”

“Can I taste?” Liebe tilted her face, so she stared at her father while looking entirely innocent.

“One sip, and that’s it.” CJ handed the glass to his nodding daughter. “Just because we’re on vacation does not mean you get to drink willy-nilly. I’m sure Uncle Spencer will have you drunk the minute you land in Australia, but until then, even though we’re not at home, we follow Everhope rules.”

“Here, you go, Liebe.” Wyatt remembering and using the girl’s name hinted at the promised personal service. “I have sparkling grape juice for you and your brothers.” The man introduced as the second steward put a knee on the deck, holding a tray with three glasses. “What’s Everhope rules?”.

It was Owen who replied. “Everhope’s our house in Washington. House rules say the kids are allowed a small amount of wine with dinner and are sometimes offered a taste of anything else we may be enjoying. Generally, none is allowed outside the house.”

Wyatt stood and smirked. “And the uncle getting her drunk?”

Owen rolled his eyes. “My brother. I’m dropping the kids off in Australia after we get off the boat. CJ exaggerates, though. Spencer and I grew up sampling the family wines, and his kids and ours are being raised the same way.”

Ritch elbowed CJ to get his attention. “Has she learned how to puke and rally yet?”

“Shut up, bro. Don’t give her ideas. Bad enough Grandpa Cap sneaks her a snort now and then.”

“I do nothing of the sort.” Brett sounded outraged but turned to Wyatt, smiling. Lifting the sleeve of his polo shirt to show his EGA, he nodded at the ink on Wyatt’s forearm. “Since I’m a retired U.S. Marine, and you’re a retired Royal Marine, we’ll have to compare notes on what we went through during basic. Those stories are always fun.”

“I got some great ones from the Academy.” Ritch had previously shared a few hilarious episodes involving his group of friends.

Champagne in hand, the group followed the lead steward, Kim, as she gave them a tour of Flying Circus. Cabin assignments were simple: Brett and César would occupy the VIP stateroom with its king-sized bed and stand-alone tub in the head. CJ and Ritch would take the two queen masters, and the kids would have the two twin rooms. Liebe had her own, and the boys shared the other one.

Kim chatted about the yacht, each planned port of call, and what to expect at their destinations. When there was a nearly silent rumble of the engines, she grinned. “Sounds like the lines are coming off soon, and we’re about to move. You can watch us leave Barcelona if you head to the upper deck. I’ll join you in a few minutes with snacks to tide you over until lunch. Trenton will conduct your safety briefing before we cast off.”

Brett held her elbow for a moment. “The bags should all be labeled. If any cause confusion, just put them in our cabin.” He turned to look at César. “I need to use the head. Go up with the kids, and I’ll join you in a few.”

“Grandpa A, can you turn the spa on for us?” Jefferson and Roosevelt had been exploring the hot tub as the coastline receded, and the adults pointed at structures on land and vessels on the water.

The boys, their fathers, and uncle had shed their shirts and left them behind in the cabins. Since they could no longer be identified by the monogram on their polos, CJ and Owen had placed matching gold chains around their necks, each with a letter of the same precious metal. Jefferson had a J and Roosevelt an R.

“Not ’til we stop, kiddo. See how the water in there isn’t all the way to the top? If it was full, it would slosh all over the place.”

“Does anybody need a refill?” Kim held a Champagne bottle aloft as Wyatt and Kitt placed platters of food on the table in front of the wrap-around sofa. “The snacks I promised. We have ham, manchego cheese, fresh bread, black and green olives, fried octopus, oysters in the half shell, and fresh veggies.”

“I want slimies!” Jefferson’s hand was slapped away by CJ when he reached for an oyster shell.

“Get your slimy hands off the slimies. Is that how we’ve taught you to act? You don’t just reach for something without asking first.”

At that moment, Wyatt slid a different plate in front of the kids. “All that’s for the grownups. We have chicken fingers, potato crisps, and fruit for you, your brother, and your sister.”

Maybe it was being denied what he wanted to eat or his father slapping his hand away, but as it happened most of the time, the ensuing tantrum was unexpected. The only warning sign was Jefferson pouting before he lost it.

“NO! I WANT SLIMIES!” He smashed his hand on Wyatt’s platter, and pieces of chicken, fried potatoes, and fruit flew everywhere.

Owen placed a hand on the steward’s arm and shook his head when Wyatt bent to collect the scattered food. “Leave it for a moment.”

By then, Jefferson was crying, and Roosevelt rushed to hug him.

“Roo, step aside.” Devoid of emotion, CJ’s voice must have felt like an electric shock. Roosevelt disengaged from his brother and immediately moved away.

“Jeffer, what’s this all that about?” CJ stared at his son as the boy tried to control his sobbing.

Wiping snot away with the back of his hand, Jefferson replied in halting speech. “I don’t want stupid chicken. I want slimies.”

“Well, that sure as shit ain’t gonna happen now. Not after that display. First, you’ll look Wyatt in the eyes and apologize.” When the boy made no attempt to move, CJ prodded him. “Go on then. We’re waiting.”

Hesitantly, he looked at the steward who stood in the same spot, staring with his mouth wide open. It was not unusual for strangers to gawk when CJ or Owen disciplined one of their kids. Jefferson knew better than to wait too long to do as CJ instructed. “I’m sorry. I got upset.”

“Good.” CJ pointed at the food on the deck. “Now pick everything up and—” Before he could finish, Roosevelt was on his knees cleaning up his brother’s mess.

“What are you doing?” Owen’s question made the kid stare at him.

“Ceej said Jeffer had to clean the mess. I’m helping.”

“And why are you doing that?” Owen had to know the answer; their sons were being raised to support each other in everything.

“Because he’s my brother.” He grinned when Jefferson crawled on the deck and began collecting strewn food next to him.

CJ tried not to smile too much. He was annoyed with Jefferson but proud of Roosevelt. “Wyatt, could you please bring us a few more oysters?”

“They can eat them?” The steward sounded surprised.

“Yeah… Liebe wasn’t even two when we let her have raw ones. The pediatrician hammered us after, claiming she was too young. Damn doctor forced us to wait until the twins turned three and their immune system was supposedly strong enough to deal with potential pathogens.”

“Quarter word!”

“Shut up, Ritch.” CJ would, in time, cave and allow Jefferson to have an oyster, but in punishment, only one. Roosevelt and Liebe gorged themselves. “Ugh! The octopus reminds me of a Grateful Dead concert.” Once the kids had settled down and attacked the food, CJ had at last been able to dive into the spread.

“Say what?” Ritch appeared as confused as the others.

“It needs acid.” CJ punctuated his comment by reaching for a lime wedge.

“That was bad, bro. If it wasn’t for the substance reference, that would be a typical dad joke.”

“I’ve been practicing since Liebe was born.” CJ made a face when he bit into a manchego croquette dipped in the spicy mayonnaise. “She calls that heat? Anyone else think the food’s a bit bland?”

“We need hot sauce.” Liebe had developed what her fathers called a cast-iron stomach; she liked her food spicy, and it never bothered her.

The chief steward had walked in at that moment with a fresh bottle of Champagne and must have caught the tail end of the conversation. “You need hot sauce?”

Brett shrugged when CJ cast a questioning look in his direction. “You’re pickier than the rest of us. You handle it.”

“Talk about delegating.” Shaking his head, CJ stood. “Kitt, so far, I’m underwhelmed by the food. Not sure why the chef felt the need to prepare different items for the kids, considering we didn’t request anything of the sort. That was strike one. The octopus was insipid, and the spicy mayo’s bland.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll go tell the chef and see what we can do to make it up to you.”

“Nah… I think I better have a chat with her. We heard Wyatt mention you planned to serve dinner at eight-thirty; that won’t work either. Too late for the kids. We would probably not be done for a couple of hours, and I don’t want them eating and going right to bed.”

“I can ask Nina to come up. And we can always serve the kids early.”

“That would be unacceptable. This is a family trip, and the family will eat together. Anyway, I think I’d rather go downstairs. I want to check out the galley, and it might be better if I speak to her alone.”

“Okay, I’ll show you there. But I also have to notify the captain you’re dissatisfied.”

“You do that. I’ll find my way.”

As Kitt turned to go, Brett and Ritch stood.

“I’ll be back in a few.” CJ headed towards the interior with the two men following. He stopped when he realized he had a trailing entourage. “What are you guys doing?”

Brett responded for both. “You think we’re gonna miss you drilling the chef a new asshole?”

“GRANDPA CAP!”

“Oh, hush, Liebe. It’s not like you haven’t heard the word a million times. And I know you use it too, so don’t give me crap.”

César and Lucy encouraged the military men to stand down.

He sort of recalled where the galley was from the tour but also remembered it had three entry points. He was sure he could find it without much trouble and did. Its size surprised him again; although compact, the kitchen was well laid out, and it appeared easy to move around in. “Hello?”

Nina appeared surprised to see him standing in her domain. “Mr. Mayor. What can I do for you?”

Since her tone was frigid, and her expression warned everyone she was not in a good mood, CJ refrained from his usual request that people not use his title. A little intimidation never hurt anyone.

“Well, we're unhappy with what you sent up, and I want to discuss future meals. Needless to say, we were expecting better than a McDonald’s value meal for the kids.”

“I don’t know why. You Americans love fast food. And kids that young shouldn’t be eating raw seafood anyway.” Surly was a good description of the chef’s attitude.

“Fascinating.” CJ tried to do his best impersonation of Mr. Spock, tilting his head and cocking an eyebrow. “I came down to discuss food, and instead, I get social commentary and child-rearing advice. Are you also going to tell me I should change my children’s bedtime so you can serve meals later than they’re accustomed to?”

Maybe it was not the smartest thing to do around a woman with a sharp knife in her hand, but his annoyance grew with every word she uttered.

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated. I’m not some short-order cook you can berate at will.”

CJ was surprised. Aside from being somewhat flippant, he thought he was being respectful. If she was looking for combat, combat she would find.

“Prove it! When my fathers invited us on this trip, they promised pampering and five-star service. So far, I’ve not seen either from you.”

“How dare you insult me in my own kitchen?”

“You deserve it, Chef.” The Captain’s appearance visibly shocked both Nina and CJ. “I’m sorry things have not gone well so far, CJ. Kitt explained your concerns, and you’re correct; we’ve failed to provide the kind of experience we pride ourselves in offering.”

She may have failed to notice CJ’s small head bow when she whipped around to face her chef. “Nina, you’re being petulant. You’re here to ensure our guests’ enjoyment, not to chastise them in any manner or impose your ways on them.”

Captain Hollis once again addressed CJ. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll deal with this. You might want to rejoin your family and enjoy our departure.”

“That would be wonderful. Let me know if any issues remain. I may not be able to cook in a Michelin restaurant, but I can feed my family if I have to.”

“I’m back.” CJ returned to the upper deck to find Owen alone, staring over the railing. “What ya doin’?”

Owen tilted his head to the spot he had been looking at. “Watching the coastline recede. How’d it go? What’s she like?”

“Typical chef.”

“Obstinate diva?”

CJ chuckled. “You could say that. And her damn Russian accent kept reminding me of Domogarov in Mexico. I wonder how he’s doing.”

“You could ask the CIA to pass on a message.”

“Nah. It might endanger him. Anyway, the chef had her opinions about menus and timing; I gave her my thoughts. Before I could provide further guidance, the captain interrupted us.”

Owen’s eye roll made CJ grin. “Let me guess. She’s doing it your way.”

“Well, the captain said she would handle it, so I said I was fine with that and came back up. After offering to cook meals if the chef was unable or unwilling to.”

“Ouch! Geez, you’re such a wanker.”

“I think she’ll bust her ass for us. If she doesn’t, I’ll explain to the other crew members their tip could be reduced because of her. They might just make her walk the plank for that.”

“Asshole.”

“What did I miss?” CJ looked behind at the aft mast to see if that sail had been raised. It had not.

“The boys nearly threw a tantrum when they found out the sails went up automatically at the push of a button. They wanted to help pull the lines.”

At the bow, a twin stood near a deckhand each while their grandparents watched. “They look happy now. Where are Ritch and Lucy?”

“In their cabin.” Owen air quoted his subsequent words. “Freshening up. And the boys are happy because they were told they could help with the genoa. Although they did ask if that meant they would eat salami before lunch.” A boat’s sail sharing a name with the Italian city and eponymous cured meat was usually good for a giggle or two.

“It’s windy enough, and we’re sufficiently far from land. I wonder when they’ll finally raise them.”

“CEEJ! WE’RE GONNA SAIL!” Liebe’s shout made CJ turn to look at her.

“Guess that answers my question.” In a louder tone, he replied. “Keep an eye on the crew, Munchkin. Don’t let them screw it up.” With an arm around Owen’s waist, CJ found it hard to remain calm. Come on, Oz. Let’s join the kids. I’m kinda excited about watching those sails go up myself.”

Yard upon yard of white Kevlar slowly unfolded and climbed up the mast as if by magic. The sail fluttered as the wind caught it until, eventually, it locked in place with lines taut. Moments later, with the twins holding the rope in front of their assigned deckhand, they raised the genoa and watched it spread to overlap the main. Behind them, CJ noticed the third sail also rising when he peeked at Liebe.

A moment later, his lips curled into a smile. “Hear that?”

“What? The only thing I hear’s the wind.”

“That’s it, Oz. The captain turned the engines off. We’re sailing. Woo hoo!”

“You’re such a kid.” Owen accompanied the comment with a kiss.

As the wind fully caught all three sails, their speed and heeling increased. Holding on to the railing, CJ and Owen kept their footing. It was different on the lower deck. The twins had been unprepared, fallen on their behind, and slid to the side. Since they laughed and crawled toward their grandfathers before raising their hands and allowing themselves to drop again, CJ decided they were fine. They had turned the experience into a game.

In time, the boys tired. Since the deck crew was not particularly busy, Trenton Phipps, the boat’s engineer, offered to distract them for a bit. “Would you kids like to see the engine room?” While Liebe and the twins nodded, he spoke to the adults. “It’s small and cramped, but since we’re under sail, there won’t be machinery running.” He tilted his head in the twins’ direction. “Those two are quite inquisitive. They’ve been asking a lot of questions about how things work, so I think they’ll enjoy the tour.”

“We will. Lead the way.” Ritch managed to surprise Trenton when he stood and spoke, but not CJ. His brother had always been fascinated by mechanical contraptions of any type. Exploring a mega yacht’s engine would be another notch on his belt.

By the time they returned, both boys proudly showing grease stains on their hands, the sails were being lowered; the engine would be back online during meal service. “You can watch them come down, but then we have to get cleaned up for lunch.” Owen, along with the others, had replaced his walking shorts with a pair of swim trunks. With not much else to do while in transit, they had soaked up the sun while sipping from the never-empty champagne flutes.

Maybe the insipid tapas had been an accident, or perhaps his chastising had woken something in the chef. CJ thought lunch was outstanding. The fact the stewards kept a chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot close by may have had something to do with the enjoyable meal.

CJ touched Wyatt’s elbow to get his attention. “Hey, next time you’re in the galley, please let Nina know I thoroughly enjoyed the food. I’m looking forward to whatever else she decides to serve us.”

As the young man walked away, Ritch whistled. “Damn, bro. First you rip her a new one, and now you’re kissing her ass?” The last word made all three kids put their hands out. They had begun fining the adults a dollar for each grownup word they used. “Sorry, guys. No cash on me. Run a tab.” When the twins looked confused, Liebe explained what a tab was.

“The food was good, Ritch. It deserved praise. I’m quick to point out when people fuck up, but I try to be just as swift with praise when deserved.” His sons and daughter stared at him with outstretched hands. “Add it to Uncle Ritch’s tab. He’ll pay for me.”

“Hey!”