TV or Not TV, That Is The Question


Author: Timer

Part 2: Mr. Addams I Presume?


Harm’s Loft
North of Union Station
0700 (local), Friday, July 20

As I drag myself kicking and screaming to consciousness, I hear an additional alarm going off. It’s my ‘Mac’ alarm. No god, don’t let anything happen to her. Take me instead.

I know bargaining with ‘the Big Guy’ doesn’t work but what can I say, I’m a lawyer and negotiation is in my blood.

Rolling over I’m finding nothing but empty space. Grrrrr. This could drive a man mad. That incredibly erotic dream was just a dream. Damn.

Stumbling into the shower I console myself by remembering how good it felt to hold her on the couch last night. Hold her and kiss her. And nuzzle her neck. She has a great neck, a world class neck. Moreover, wonder of wonders, I finally let her know that I want us to be much more than friends and partners.

OK, I’ll admit I came in the back door, obliquely, using a cheesy character in a old Scharwzenegger movie to do it (not exactly the direct line to the truth I usually pursue). But I did do it. And she didn’t run out the door screaming. Or slap me. Or laugh either.

That’s significant progress in my book.

Sure hope Mac’s reading the same book.


JAG Ops
0830 (local), Friday, July 20

Walking into the break room I hear Harriet exclaim “Really? That’s so exciting, ma’am!” She and Mac see me and both attempt blasé faces. Attempt, not achieve. Oh hell, what has Mac said? To Harriet the office newsletter of all people! I love her like a sister but she spreads gossip like Johnny spread apple seeds.

Trying to be nonchalant as I pour my coffee, I ask “what’s so exciting Harriet?”
“You two going to the Addams house tonight, sir! Gosh, everybody knows how exclusive their weekly cocktail gatherings are. Nobody but the cream of the new DC society gets invited.”

‘Everybody knows?’ ‘New DC society?’ Who’s ‘everybody’ and what happened to the ‘old DC society’, not that I knew them either.

“And you know this how, Harriet?”

“Well, sir, the Addams are mentioned in the society columns all the time. But it’s funny, I’ve never seen a picture of them. That’s kinda weird, most big society types like getting their picture in the paper,” she muses.

Oh, I think I know why they don’t like their picture taken.

“I’ll give you as full a report as I can, Harriet,” Mac says. “But you know it is an undercover mission, so your lips are sealed, right?”

Harriet’s head bobs like one of those silly dolls. I clamp my lips around a stir stick to hold the smile to a minimum. Yes, I think Mac has decided that this ‘op’ is bogus at best. Sure hope we’re both right.


Harm’s office
Later that afternoon

I sense her before I look up. I really do always know where she is, which is why I knew she wasn’t actually in my bed before I was fully conscious this morning. I’m gonna fix that situation soon. My bed, her bed, a new bed in a new place, I’m not particular about the details.

I look up. Man, she looks great in that uniform. Can’t wait to see her in a cocktail dress tonight.

“So Harm, are you ready to be my loving and attentive husband tonight?”

Slowly standing up, I give her my most open and sincere look. “Mac, I’ve been ready to be that for a long time. How ‘bout you? Are you ready to be my loving and attentive wife? Oh yeah, sexy too.”

Oh man, she was so not prepared for that. Good thing she had one hand on my door frame; she almost staggered. Maybe I should’ve tempered it a bit. I can see her processing and reprocessing my statement. Yep, she’s hit on the fact she qualified hers with “tonight” and I didn’t. Suck it up, Marine. I’m forcing you to deal with it, with me, with us.

Nope, she’s not biting. At least not right now. I watch her regroup.

“OK Harm.” Big, deep inhale. “How ‘bout you pick me up at 1800?”
“Sounds good. See you then.” I figure I better back off a little or Mac’s gonna make a ‘strategic retreat’ (Marines don’t turn tail and run, or so I’ve been told).


Mac’s apartment, Georgetown
1800 (local), Friday, July 20

I dressed carefully tonight. Truth to be told, I always dress carefully. Even if it’s just my favorite old jeans and a t-shirt. I’m a bit of a clothes horse. Not something I broadcast, but not something I’m ashamed of either. What’s wrong with wanting to look good? So it’s my charcoal Armani tonight with deep blue silk shirt and matching tie. (Hey, I don’t have many suits, so I splurge on the few I do buy. After all, I’m stuck in uniforms 90% of the time, I deserve really good civilian suits...at least that’s the rationalization I’m going with.)

Mac opens her door a millisecond after my knock.

Wow. I may have dressed carefully. She dressed to kill. Good god, does she have any idea how she looks? Of course she does, I answer myself. But does she realize that every man, and I’d bet quite a few women, who sees her tonight is gonna want to have their way with her? I sure do. I’m frantically trying to think up reasons we can ignore this assignment and spend the rest of the night (hell, the whole weekend) in her bed.

“Hey Harm, you look nice. New suit?”

How can she be so casually picking up her purse when she’s just reduced me to a puddle begging for favors? Need to redirect my mind.

“Yeah Mac. Longer jacket, four button, no vents are the style this year. And look at this,” I open my jacket for her, “see how the pleats on the pants become the belt loops? Pretty neat, eh?”

OK, I might have overdone that judging from the strange look she’s giving me. “So, you ready?” I offer her my arm, she slips hers in it and away we go.


The Addams Manse
McLean, VA
1830 (local), Friday, July 20

“Wow Mac, nice house, eh?” House? Too big to be called a house, not quite big enough to be called a castle. I guess that’s why the term ‘mansion’ came into being.

Giving me one of her patented ‘Mac’ looks, she presses the doorbell.

We both jump a bit at the sound. That is no ordinary doorbell. Sounds more like the bells of Notre Dame.

The massive door slowly creaks open. Jeez, you’d think people who can afford this kind of house could afford some oil for the irritatingly squeaky hinges.

Holy shit! Is that Mr. Addams? God, I hope not. I’m 6’4” and looking seriously upward at this guy. He must be at least 6’9” and .... gray. His face is shades of gray. And he’s in a tux. The biggest tux I’ve ever seen (and last year’s style I note, notched lapels are so out this year).

He’s simply standing there, looking at us. Guess I better say something. I swallow. “Good evening. I’m Don Parker and this is my wife, Kay. We were asked to drop by for cocktails with the Addams tonight.”

He merely steps back, gestures with his arm for us to enter. Maybe he’s mute? That would go well with the hunchback I’m now convinced is hiding somewhere on the third floor, ringing the doorbell.

He lumbers down the hall and we follow. What else can we do? He stops at an archway, turns and does that arm-beckoning thing again. Mac and I peer around the edge of the archway into an enormous room (hall? ballroom?) filled with people.

“Urrghhh,” rumbles out of the giant.

“Thank you.” Not exactly brilliant, but at least polite given I have no idea what he was saying.

I drape my arm around Mac’s shoulders and turn my mouth to her ear. “Dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee” I pipe the classic opening notes of the Twilight Zone theme.

“Harm, what are you doing?” She’s looking at me suspiciously.

“Maac...Twilight Zone?” Hey, she has to admit that butler was way past normal.

“Yes, Harm, it usually is twilight this time of night.” She’s on the verge of getting pissed, I can tell. She also doesn’t have a clue how truly bizarre this is. And judging from the looks of the gentleman coming towards us, it’s gonna get a lot more bizarre real fast.

He’s dressed in a chalk pinstripe black suit, double breasted, notched lapels (way too wide for this season), has a haircut that looks like someone put a small bowl on his head and followed the rim, a mustache and is smoking a cigar. He fairly oozes a kind of oily goodwill.

“You must be the Parker’s,” he’s pumping my hand in a handshake I’ll be hard put to not to want to wipe off once he’s done. “Don, right? And your beautiful wife Kay! My, aren’t you the lucky man?” He’s done with me and has taken Mac’s hand. Oh god, he’s not really gonna kiss the back of her hand, is he? Yes he is! Yes he does! Good thing she had that Marine discipline going full bore or the guy’d be roadkill.
“Mr. Addams, thank you for inviting us to your lovely home.” I’m gonna fall back on courtesy and hope to get out of what looks like an utterly peculiar event without major repercussions.

“My pleasure, Don. You don’t mind me calling you Don, do you? Please, call me Gomez.” He waves his cigar and waggles his eyebrows. OK, I know I waggle my eyebrows too, but mine don’t cause a breeze when I do it.

“Come, I must introduce you to my wife. My Tisha.” He’s wrapped his arm around a woman so thin and so pale I’m not totally convinced she’s alive. Well, she is standing up, so she must be alive, at least a little bit. She has long too black hair (I thought goth had run its course, guess not in this house) and is wearing a full length black dress that fits like a glove. Wait, it’s more than full length. What’s with the little V’s of fabric that spread out from the bottom? That’s not a train, it’s a corral. How does she walk in that thing? On the other hand, given I’m still not totally convinced she’s alive, maybe she doesn’t need to be able to walk.

“Oh Gomez,” she speaks, she must be alive. “Are these the Parkers? I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you. We have so much in common.” She extends her hand to me. What? Is she expecting me to kiss it? No way! I settle for clasping it with both hands and giving a little nod while wondering ‘what the hell do we have in common and what did Webb once again not tell us about this op?’

“Now, now, my Tisha,” Gomez’ reproach is most gentle as he briefly rubs his cheek against her neck.

Jeez, I think, that’s a pretty audacious move to make in front of a couple they just met, not to mention in this crowd. Guess he’s a pretty audacious guy. Yeah, right Rabb. The guy’s name is Gomez Addams, he calls his wife ‘my Tisha’ and has a butler who’s 6’9” and gray. What was your first clue?

“Plenty of time to talk business with the Parkers later, mon chere. Let’s have a little fun first.”

That had to be the worst fake French accent I’ve ever heard.

“You’re so right, darling.” Tisha strokes his face; I think I’m gonna gag. She turns to us. “Why don’t you two mingle for a while. I bet there are people here you know. If not, I’m positive there are people here you’d like to know.”

Her smile would give a gingerbread man cavities.

“I’m sure. Yes, maybe we’ll catch up with you later.” Surprisingly, my mouth is still able to form words.

Mac and I wander through the cavernous room, stopping by the buffet. “Harm,” Mac says with trepidation.

“What?” I snap back to her from my hopefully unobtrusive scanning of the room and its population.

“I don’t recognize anything on this buffet.”

Her voice sounds a little shaky, so I turn my attention to the ... ‘food’? Woah, I don’t recognize anything either, but I think I detect some movement in the bowl of whatever. Yep, whatever it is, it’s moving. I think we should be too.

“Mac, I think we should stay away from the food and drink here. This crowd looks like it may indulge in recreational substances we’d rather avoid.”

“Damn, and here all day long I’ve been looking forward to crab puffs, caviar, oysters, shrimp, steak tartar, brie cheese...,” my Marine looks so wistful I just have to give her a hug.

Pulling her into my embrace I whisper in her ear, “Mac, I’ll give you all that and more.”

Boy, these bold statements have been just popping out lately, haven’t they?

“Harm, is this you testing my ability to pretend to be your wife?”

“No Mac, this is me telling you I want to give you all you want to have.” I think my heart stops while I wait for her response.

“Oh. OK.”

What the hell does that mean?

Reluctantly releasing her from my embrace, I steer her by the elbow around the room. We pause and examine various pieces of artwork. We engage in light, but decidedly strange, conversation with a few people.

“Mac, have you noticed that almost everyone here is dressed in black and white?”

She looks around the room. “I don’t know Harm, I see an awful lot of shades of gray.”

“My point exactly!”

Her look says she gets no such point.

“Harm, rather than focusing on the fashion show, maybe you might notice the guys strategically placed around the perimeter of the room. The one’s who look like they have bulges under their left arm. You know, just where you might have a holster.”

“Yeah, I noticed them Mac, but really, I think the more important thing is everybody dressed in black and white.”
“And gray.”

“Exactly. Glad you’re finally getting it, Mac.”

“Jeez Harm, think you could get in character here? There are guys with guns standing around.”

“This Addams guy’s such a cartoon I’m having a hard time, Mac.”

“Think of it as a part you’re playing. Hell, Harm, I’ve seen you play a part in the courtroom a thousand times.”

“But that’s easy. Important things are on the line then.”

“And national security and our lives aren’t important??”

Well, when you put it like that.

“There’s more to it than that, Mac. It’s like they don’t know Halloween is in October. This month is about fireworks and picnics.”

“Harm, Webb’s file said they’re from South America. The 4th of July is an American holiday. When is the Day of the Dead? Maybe they’re celebrating that.”

“Mac, this isn’t a day for them; this is a lifestyle!”

I see Gomez and Tisha (why doesn’t he just call her Morticia? He’s not fooling me with that ‘my Tisha’ nonsense) approaching us. Gee, she really can walk in that dress. Well, not really walk. More like mince.

“Don, Kay. Won’t you join my Tisha and me in my study? I have a special friend I’d like you to meet.”

“Lead the way Gomez. I’m sure any special friend of yours must be very special indeed.” No lie there.

We follow Gomez and Tisha out of the room (pretty slow going given she can barely make 5 inches a step), down the hallway and turn into a kinda alcove where an older gentleman is sitting behind a desk. He’s wearing a uniform that looks police-like, but he’s strumming a guitar. He’s also dressed in black, white and gray. I just know what’s coming.

“Andy, my good man!” Gomez enthusiastically greets the uniformed man. “How are you tonight?”

“Weelll Mr. Addams, can’t say I have any complaints tonight.”
“Andy here is the chief of my security team.” Gomez beams with pride.

Yeah, and some crack security team it must be. What with no video monitors, no evidence of audio communication (Mac may think I didn’t pay enough attention to the gun-toting goons but I did) and the chief of it all noodling around on a guitar.

“Don and Kay Parker, Andy. They’re gonna be good friends of ours.”

Andy nods pleasantly. “Nice to meet ya.”

Gomez leads us past the alcove as Andy resumes strumming his guitar.

“He was sheriff for years in the little town I grew up in. His nickname was ‘the griffin’” Gomez confides. “Body of a lion, head of an eagle and wings to swoop down on his prey.”

“I thought you grew up in South America.”

“I did.”

OK, then why does Andy sound like he’s from Kentucky? No matter, I know why. Mac elbows me. I shoot her a look. She’s still not getting this but I’m about to lose it. The next character I meet’s gonna get as good as they give.

We enter what Gomez calls his study. I’d call it a library fit for a small town. Floor to ceiling shelves filled with beautiful leather-bound books line the walls. Not one but two fireplaces grace opposite ends of the room. Long oak tables with comfortable chairs occupy the center while wing-backed chairs grouped in inviting conversation arrangements flank the fireplaces. A beautiful bar, fully equipped and stocked so it seems, completes the decor. Well, I thought it did until I turned around. The most gigantic desk I’ve ever seen dominates the other end of the room.

This is a study like the QE2 is a dingy.

“Oh, looks like Chester isn’t here yet,” Gomez states as he leads Tisha to a wing chair. Watching that woman sit down is like watching a praying mantis fold itself in half. Creepy.

“What’ll you have Don, Kay?” Gomez asks with interest from behind the bar.

‘Chester’? The ‘special friend’ is named Chester? That’s it. I’m all in for this game now.

“Dry martini, shaken, not stirred, please.” I say without a trace of amusement.

“Coming right up!” Gomez replies. You gotta give it to him, he’s nothing if not enthusiastic about this strange persona he’s adopted.

Fortunately, looks can not kill and I survive Mac’s thermonuclear gaze. “Nothing, thanks Gomez.”
I turn as I hear a door open behind me. How can that be? The only door to the room is in front of me. Well, except for that one that is cleverly built to look like all the rest of the bookcases.

In walks a slightly rotund bald man in what looks to be a Franciscan Friars habit. Full length black robe. Unless I miss my guess, this will be Brother Chester.

“Chester, my good man!” It seems that Gomez knows no one but good men. “Come meet two new friends.”

As Chester walks across the room Gomez expounds upon their relationship. “Brother Chester is a Franciscan monk who has served the spiritual needs of the small village I grew up in for some 40 years now. He’s been a close friend and advisor to my family for as many. In fact, I grew up thinking of him more as...”

“An Uncle?” I can’t help myself. Uncle Chester. OK. If Gomez offers me a cigar out of that humidor on his desk I’m gonna accept just to see if a disembodied hand gives it to me.

“Brother Chester,” I reach for a handshake. “Parker, Don Parker.” I intone in my best 007 imitation.

I hear Mac’s little choking gasp. Well, at least she didn’t miss that one.

“Honey,” Mac’s voice belies the grip she has on my arm. It may look innocent but I’m sure there’ll be bruises in the morning. I have a feeling I should pay attention to her right now.

“Yes dear?”

How can she look loving and like she wants to slap me upside my head at the same time? Guess they teach that at Parris Island.

“You know we promised the widow Clay we’d stop by tonight, and she goes to bed early.”

The widow Clay? Oh right, Spider Webb.

“Yes, dear.” I turn to Gomez and Tisha. “I’m so sorry to cut this evening short, but my wife is right. We do have other obligations tonight.”

“And they sound like important ones. Good to know you have the moral rectitude I’ve heard about you. Looking in on elderly widows is a most righteous task.” Gomez is so pumped up I’m dodging his wildly waving cigar brandishing hand.

“Tell you what,” he continues. “If you’re not busy tomorrow afternoon, why don’t you come on by. My Tisha and I are having a small gathering of friends. Much smaller than this giant crowd. Just a couple dozen for swimming and barbecue. Nothing fancy.”
Mac and I silently consult for a moment. “That sounds wonderful, Gomez. I rarely pass up an opportunity to admire my wife in a bikini.”

Oops. Based on the increased pressure of her hand I’m gonna be paying for that comment with bruises too.

Gomez’ eyebrows start near hurricane-force winds. “I’d think not, my man. I must admit, I’m looking forward to it myself. Drop by ‘round noon.”

And with that he steps away, the butler materializes (how can a guy that big sneak around?) and we’re shown to the door.

“Thank you,” I say to the looming gray presence.

“Urrgghh.”


Inside Harm’s Lexus
En route to Mac’s apartment
2000 hours (local), Friday, July 20

“Mac, those folks are creepy.”

“Well Harm, they’re criminals who traffic internationally in military secrets, what'd’ya expect, Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver?”

Hey, she has watched some classic TV! Gotta leverage this to get her to see my point.

“Actually Mac, I always thought the Cleavers were creepy too. I mean, even in the 50’s you had to be out of touch with reality as we know it to clean the house wearing a pearl necklace. And that whole Beaver nickname thing. What was that all about? Even if they didn’t know how most people use it...”

OK, I’ve racked up enough Mac disapproving glares for one night...

”well, at least most boys. Anyway, beyond that, why would they nickname their son after an animal known for its buck teeth? Jeez, you’d think they were trying to give the kid a major inferiority complex. ‘Course, Jerry Mathers did kinda look like a beaver what with his chubby cheeks and teeth and all...” drifting off seeing Mac’s look.

Hey, what can I say? The truth sometimes hurts.

“Maac,” I’ve got to get through to her on this. ‘National Security’ and all. “The guy calls himself Gomez Addams, calls his wife ‘my Tisha’ and has an Uncle Chester as a longtime family advisor? Didn’t you ever see reruns of the Addams Family? Or either of the movies? Read a New Yorker magazine? They’re part of our cultural landscape!”

“Harm, you’ve got to let go of this Nickelodeon sitcom rerun fantasy you’re stuck in.”

“Hey, it’s not a fantasy!”

“OK, fixation, whatever.”

“Maac, I’m not the one walking around impersonating the Addams Family. It’s their fixation, not mine.”

We both retreat into self-righteous pouts. I need to think about something else for a minute. Let myself cool off a bit before I re-approach Mac.

Hhmm, June and Ward Cleaver. What’s a name like Ward? Robin was Batman’s ward. Mattie is my ward. What’s with naming someone ‘Ward’? Solid evidence that Cleaver name-cruelty goes back at least two generations.

“Mac, have you ever thought about why Ward Cleaver was named ‘Ward’?”

“Harm, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll drive safely and stay quiet until you silently drop me off at my apartment. And I pray that by tomorrow morning when we brief the Admiral and Webb you’ll have a somewhat less colorful perspective on the events of this evening.”

“But Mac, that’s my point! They were in black and white!”

Oomph! Hope that jab to the ribs doesn’t show tomorrow.


continued in Part 3: This Situation Is A Joke