Brother from another mother

Boat or Yacht? [Part- 2]

To Harvey's surprise, Mike was five minutes early the next day, and they arrived right on time at the dock. Hemingway was stood by his yacht 'The Rose' and beamed at them as they approached him.

"Mr Hemingway," Harvey said in greeting, shaking his hand. "Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet."

"Busy isn't even the word," Hemingway muttered, shaking his head. "And please - call me Alfred," he turned to Mike. "Have we met?"

Mike looked over at Harvey, not sure whether 'yacht etiquette' allowed him to speak. Actually, they were on land right now, so screw the rules of the yacht. "Uh, no - no, Mr Hemingw - Alfred. I'm Mike Ross, I'm Harvey's associate. I'm helping him with your case," he smiled at the man and gave him a firm handshake, looking him dead in the eye, as if he were trying to win the trust of a dog.

Apparently, their client approved, as he winked at Harvey and gave Mike a small pat on the shoulder. "Good man. Well - to business, I suppose. Come aboard, gentlemen, please," he walked them up the small gangplank that had been erected and showed them onto the main deck. "What do you think?" He asked them. "Named her after my late wife. Just don't tell my current wife!" He gave a loud laugh and ushered them into what Mike thought of as the 'Captain's Cabin'.

He longed to touch the wheel - it was a proper sailing boat rather than a motorboat - but he knew that he would get a hard elbow in the ribs if he attempted it, and he also knew that looking like a little kid playing pirates would do nothing to help them in gaining Hemingway's friendship. "Wow, Mr - Alfred... This is an amazing boat."

"Yacht," Harvey corrected under his breath, just as Hemingway did the same in a loud tone.

"Uh... sorry," Mike said hastily, shifting the folders under his arms just so he would have something to do so he could avoid the gazes of both higher-class men. Mike had barely ever been on a boat! Hell, he'd once been on a ferry to go over to see the Statue of Liberty, but that was about it.

"This is what I like to call the first class deck," Hemingway said, leading them back out and onto the top deck of the 2-deck boat - yacht. Mike gazed around and found himself realising something.

"Alfred," he said hesitantly. "Where are the lifeboats?" He winced as both Hemingway and Harvey looked at him incredulously.

"Lifeboats?" Hemingway repeated. "What on earth would I need those for?"

Harvey's incredulous expression now turned on their client. He had only looked at Mike like that because he couldn't believe that that was what his associate had chosen to comment on. But now he realised he couldn't see a boat anywhere.

"You don't have any?" Mike asked. "But, the guidelines from the International Convention for the Safety of Lives at Sea say that - "

"Don't worry your head about it, boy," Hemingway said, with a small smile. "I was just having fun. I have one at the stern - it's got all the neccassary bells and whistles - complete with a tracking device, flashing lights - the works."

"Uh... the stern's the bit at the back, right?" Mike asked, to clear it up.

He regretted it as Hemingway's lips drew into a tightened line. Clearly their client didn't appreciate people who weren't yacht connoisseurs. "Yes," he said. "The 'bit at the back'. Anyway," he moved on quickly. "How about you go and get set up in the lounge and I'll start her up and set her going," he smiled at the lawyers and pointed in the direction of the 'lounge'. As they made their way there, Harvey hit Mike on his shoulder.

"Ow!" Mike whined, rubbing at it. "What was that for?"

"You can quote guidelines from the International Convention for the Safety of Lives at Sea and yet you don't know which bit the 'stern' is?" Harvey asked, wishing he'd told Mike to look up everything about yachts.

"Why should I know that?" Mike bit back. "It's just a freaking boat! Yacht," he snarled, before Harvey could correct him.

"You want to establish a rapport with the client," Harvey told him. "You can't do that by getting everything wrong about the only thing he cares about in his life. So you can just sit here and not talk for the meeting, okay?" He glared at Mike and set some papers out on a table. "If you have a question about something connected to the yacht - keep it to yourself. I'll take you to the library afterwards and you can read all about these big boats to your hearts content," he smirked as he used his patronising tone.

"Actually, Harvey," Mike said loftily. "I think they're called 'yachts'."

He deserved the stamp on his foot.