Call Lockheed

         I was enjoying a nice hot July day in my native Miami. It was made hotter by my fiery wife, Brooke, debuting her new sizzling bikini. She planted a big ol’ smooch on my lips and lie down next to me. Yes, life was good. No national security threats to deal with, no Mt. McKinley sized paper work sitting on my desk, no daily grind of the navy life grinding me down.

         Nope, there was nothing to drag me down on this humid South Florida afternoon. It was Brooke and I lying in the sandy beach as the coconut palm trees swayed in the tropical breeze. We were having a good time until my phone rang.

         It wasn’t just any other phone, it was THEE phone. It was the phone that alerted me to national security threats; I groaned as I gazed at it. I huffed and reached for it, but my fiery snookums picked it up first.

         Her full ruby red lips purred as she remained on her back, “Gotham Naval Air Station Studs for Play, You Pay!”

         My stomach sank; only God and she knew who was on the other end. It could’ve been Colonel Eagle, The Chartreuse Avenger, or her grandfather…Admiral Dolittle; embarrassing me as well as getting me into hot water with nonmilitary etiquette.

         “Mmm hmm,” she continued to purr, “Yes, Lieutenant Commander Ryan Tiberius Wolf, an excellent choice. He’s our most prime specimen of masculinity. That’ll be $10,000.”

         She stayed silent for a few unnerving seconds, “Deal,” she smugly cooed, rolled over, and handed the phone over as her emerald eyes turned into dollar signs, “It’s for you.”

         I led airstrikes against tin faced European tyrants, escorted the Wondrous Amazon through the Bermuda Triangle, engaged autonomous robots from another planet, but what my perky wife just did had me more nervous than a frog in a high school biology class. I anxiously took the phone; I cleared my tense throat and put the phone to my ear.

         “Lieutenant Commander Wolf speaking,” I stated with uneasy confidence.

         I faced palm, rubbed my forehead against my hand as I heard the voice on the other end. “Cluster,” I groaned, “What do you want? I’m supposed to be on leave.” His name isn’t exactly Cluster, but when this chief petty officer is around, bizarre inexplicable things tend to happen.

         “Cluster,” I sighed, “I don’t fly the F-35, remember?”

         I shook my head as he spoke in my ear.

         “No, those are two different weapons systems. They are totally incompatible!” I replied waving my happy animated hand.

         “Tell that to the Pentagon! Anyhow, ask Lieutenant Pike or Ensign Belcher…”

         “You did,” I mumbled and searched for words. I hastily stated, “Call an engineer from Lockheed-Martin,” and flipped the phone off. I smiled at my redheaded wife as I placed the annoying device down.

         She smugly purred as she snuggled up to me. We leaned into each other, our lips slowly inching towards the other. We tilted our heads, closed our eyes as our lips continued onto their sweet destination. Brooke and I breathlessly waited for the kiss.

         Then her phone rang.