The Umpire Has No Clothes

by Walter Witty

  EXT. DECK TWELVE FORWARD. 10:11 A.M.

  Russ is astonished to see a boat on the horizon, angled in their direction. Tipsily, he rushes to the pilot’s bridge. The door is wide open. He enters to retrieve the flare gun and flares. Returning to deck, he inserts a new flare, aims the gun high, then pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. Frantically, he puts in another flare. Nothing. In a frenzy, he tries each of the flares without luck.

  Suddenly, the ship comes to life, with “Rock Around the Clock” playing, lights blazing. The radar is revolving again, but the ship is turning away from the approaching ship, back into the storm. Russ goes back to the pilot’s bridge to find that the door is now closed and locked. The door is new, with a shiny brass handle as before. His hand axe and dumbbell are missing.

  Russ stumbles out and around to the front of the bridge window as before, falling over the rail onto the narrow walkway. He peers into the bridge, hands cupped to the side of his face. There is no one there. Frantic in the urgency of the moment, he is climbing back over the rail when he sees over the side of the ship that one of the lifeboats has been lowered almost to the water. It hovers there, as if waiting. There are provisions inside it.

  Connie approached the photo gallery on deck six cautiously, shining her penlight ahead of her in the gloom. She remembered having a photo taken of them upon entering the ship, with a girl dressed as a pirate. And wasn’t there another photo taken of them at dinner? It was true, she told herself. Yet why would they ask her to view these photos so soon?

  They wouldn’t, dear, her mother’s voice piped. No more than they’d deliver room service, whoever they are. She shuddered, yet still resisted believing anything supernatural was at work. She’d never been superstitious, like Russ. Her only major flaw had been falling for the wrong men. Men with flashy cars and smooth talk. Players who’d used that one weakness against her. And when they were done with her—after they’d had their fun—they’d dumped her, every time. Just as her mother had so monotonously pointed out. Russ was the first man who’d gone the distance, NASCAR fast though it had been. The one and only, among those she’d chosen, (and primarily to prove her mother wrong, she now realized.) She should go find him, and apologize. They would figure this thing out together, then search the ship for an emergency transmitter. There had to be one.

  Had to be.

  When the ship seemed to lurch, she heard a distant and accompanying sound, and was about to turn away—to go up on deck—when a solitary light came on ahead of her, in the gallery. It was a gallery spotlight, focused tightly on one photo amid a collection of others. As she approached, she saw the subject:

  Russ.

  He was with a woman, and it was not her. This woman wore only underwear, as did he. Shot in a hotel room, the photo displayed an intent that could not be mistaken. A printed title below it read, Russell Thompson and Guest, April 11, 2012. Connie recalled the date Russ had proposed, the date of her engagement. She could hardly forget it, for it had been April the first. Otherwise known as April Fool’s Day.

  When the ship lurched again, and seemed to turn, she came to her senses, and retraced her steps back to the elevator landing. She noticed, now, that the light above the elevator was glowing, indicating a return to operation. She punched the button for eleven, and heard an engagement of cables and wheels. Then a ding sounded just before the door whispered opened.

  INT. DECK ELEVEN DINING ROOM. 10:17 A.M.

  Connie sees a sign advertising, “Lunch 11—2 P.M.” She goes into the dining room to see that the tray she left is missing. All the service trays in the buffet are empty. A tray is heard to drop inside the kitchen, and she walks quickly but in terror toward the door she’d peered into before. Going inside, she shines her penlight into dim areas, but finds no one. An empty tray lies on the floor.

  CONNIE (calling)

  Someone here?

  The lights flicker on, startling her. The ship lurches again, the sound of engines distinct this high. She goes to the dining room windows facing the exterior of the ship, and looks out. The ship is definitely moving, even turning. She looks down to see one of the lifeboats being launched, with Russ inside it.

  EXT. DECK ELEVEN FORWARD. 10:19 A.M.

  Connie emerges onto the exterior deck, and leans over the side to see that Russ has launched his lifeboat. Drifting from the ship, he is now too far away to hear her.

  CONNIE (yelling)

  Russ!

  The ship levels out, away from him, back into the storm, music playing manically, horn blasting.

  CONNIE (in terror)

  Russ!

  Now she sees that another ship is coming for him. A yacht of sorts. She turns back, dazed, to see that the cruise ship’s radar is turning again.

  INT. DECK TWELVE FORWARD. 10:21 A.M.

  Approaching the wheelhouse, Connie sees the door’s new handle. She tries it, and it’s locked. She bangs on the door, then backs away in confusion and shock.

  INT. DECK TEN. 10:24 A.M.

  Connie arrives at her penthouse suite, enters, and goes to the window. There are no other boats in view. The cruise ship motors full throttle into the gale. She tries the phone without luck, then throws herself on the bed in frustration. From the bed she sees the room service tray on the table where she left it. Recovering, she gets up and goes to it. When she lifts the silver cover, instead of scrambled eggs she finds Eggs Benedict and blueberry pancakes, with orange juice and coffee. She dips a finger in the coffee, which is very hot. She falls back into a chair, again dumbfounded. She finally eats, tentatively, then hungrily. As she eats, she picks up the note again, buts this time it reads, “Special Presentation at 10:30 A.M., Starlight Theatre.” She stops and looks at her watch. With one final bite, she rushes out of the room.

  The gale was in full force, she realized. Glancing toward the windows of the rooms she traversed, Connie saw that outside visibility had fallen to near zero. The ship rocked violently, now, plowing through the high waves below. Is Russ okay? she wondered, before another thought eclipsed it: How could he have abandoned me here? She felt a tear trace her cheeks, as she failed to convince herself that Russ truly loved her, but was simply too superstitious: a cheat and a coward. She waited for her mother’s voice to chime in on the matter, but the only inner voice she heard now was her own. And what it repeated was that more vital question: where in God’s name is everybody?

  In the middle of crossing the casino, she recoiled in startled fright when a solitary slot machine came to life, spitting out tokens as if a jackpot had just been hit by a ghost. In looking back toward it in passing, she tripped and almost ran into the roulette station. At that instant the turning white marble there fell into a black slot.

  No! her mind screamed in resistance. No! She clamped shut her eyes for a moment, trying to refocus, her face turned away. Forcing herself not to look back again, she stumbled on.

  Her resolve faltered upon entering the bar of the adjacent lounge, where two full martini glasses stood. Even more disconcerting, an ashtray beside it contained two smoking cigarettes. She stopped, frozen by the peculiarity of the sight. There was no one at the bar. . . no one in the room. In any room. Besides this, smoking was prohibited. But then maybe it was okay, she thought, if you were a ghost. Ghosts, after all, would appreciate smoke. Because they are smoke.

  A chill ran through her. When the ship’s horn sounded next, she screamed in unison to the blast. She only stopped when music swelled from the speakers, intoning a song that had long been her favorite, with the line, “but they all disappear. . .from. . .view. . .and I only have eyes. . .for. . .you. . .”

  Approaching the Starlight Theatre at last, she felt a queasy disorientation swell inside her. The rolling motion of the ship was not the sole cause, either. Crazily, she wondered if ghosts could even perform under such conditions. A living dancer or acrobat surely required balance! No sooner had the thought faded when she saw a sign which suggested everything she needed to know about today’s performance: THIS IS
YOUR LIFE.

  As she stood transfixed at the rear, the theatre lights dimmed. Then, slowly, a movie screen descended. Somewhere, a projector whirred. And when the first image appeared, she slumped into the nearest seat, and stared up at a baby held in the arms of its mother.

  Her mother.

  What followed were home movies taken during her years growing up in Miami and Greenville, South Carolina. She stared in awe, seeing herself morph and mature into a college student. Then a new, but unblushing, bride. Finally, there were sequences taken outside various hotel rooms, featuring Russ and various women. Nothing indiscreet, merely suggestive. Very, very suggestive for anyone with an imagination. At last came footage from hidden cameras set up around the ship. Images of Russ in terror, climbing over rails, cursing in rage and fear. His face seemed twisted, somehow, his hair matted by rain. In the end were close-ups of that face as he left the ship in his torn underwear, leaving his new wife behind. . . to fend for herself.

  Suddenly, then, the screen went blank. Then it rose to reveal someone standing behind it. A spotlight came on, and her mouth widened in astonishment to see who it was.

  “Dad?” she said, with a gasp.

  And then a final surprise, as another man stepped out. . .

  NEW YORK TIMES, OCT. 1

  After having her recent marriage annulled from Little League umpire Russ Thompson, Clemson grad Connie Baumgartner is now engaged to former boyfriend Alec Andros in what must be the most elaborate turn of the phrase “all’s fair in love and war” ever. Instead of simply delivering evidence of betrayal of trust obtained by private investigator, Mr. Andros enlisted the bride’s father to aid him in a test to prove the groom’s love—or lack of it—before revealing his own. Just how much money this logistical nightmare cost to choreograph is “not important” according to Andros, who’d shortened his name from Andropolis upon entering college four years ago, since he “didn’t want favoritism to play a role in any relationships forged at school.” His own father, Dimitri Andropolis, concurred, then offered funding as a geek Greek shipping magnate who owns controlling interest in a fleet of oil tankers headquartered in Dubai. The scheme reportedly involved not only leasing a cruise ship, and monitoring the couple to avoid detection, but also paying the fares of hundreds of other guests, who had sworn not to mention this fact to anyone prior to being quietly evacuated onto a private island in the middle of the night, after which the voyage would continue only for those who’d played by the rules, with cameras watching. A fictitious study was even cited to them, being run by the psychology department at an Ivy league school. Fate also played its own part in the form of a very cooperative storm, while one of Dimitri’s yachts served as lure to the groom—who then agreed to the annulment for an undisclosed sum. “All’s well that ends well,” Mr. Edward Baumgartner told the press at the end of the ordeal and celebratory cruise. “I’m satisfied that disaster was averted for this marriage, and might even revive my own, who knows?” About his daughter, Baumgartner added, “I’m sure Connie will be able to weather any storm after this one, and won’t be making such a mistake again by choosing the wrong man in a love triangle, whether to Bermuda or not!”

  The couple plans to wed next May, and to honeymoon in Alaska.

  LOSSARY OF TERMS

  ABACUS– Think of this as an ancient Chinese calculator, but instead of buttons there are beads pushed along metal rods. (Note: You’ll seem smarter if, when you’re counting the number of beers you’ve consumed on your fingers in order to calculate your tip, you say, “Sorry, but I forgot my abacus.”)

  ACCOUNTANT– A person hired to hide the money of “smart people” in numbered Swiss and Caymans bank accounts. Like a bookie, except with a degree from a school more directly focused on money than those with massive athletic programs. As a financial adviser, plays the popular Wall Street Board game Insider instead of the ponies.

  ADDICTION– This is a psychological or physiological dependence on something. In the case of sports fans, the compulsion to watch men in tight shorts make repetitious and hypnotic movements with a sense of purpose that ultimately proves to be illusory.

  ADVERTISING– The science of utilizing data gathered from market research and social media to inundate computer users and TV viewers with unhealthy products having high profit margins. These can include soft drinks, snacks, grain fed beef, farmed chickens reduced to nuggets, prescription drugs, and reality TV shows featuring semi-nude jocks and tarts trading insults while waiting to play Marco Polo on an Olympic sized water bed.

  AERODYNAMICS– The study of bodies moving in air. These could be with or without wings, skis, skates, or even jogging shorts, but never without curves and jiggles (if on TV.)

  AFICIONADO– An adept and enthusiastic fan, somewhat less than a religious fanatic constructing bombs in his basement. In keeping with the law of logic “differences in degree constitute differences in kind,” the aficionado of a sport may only decide to firebomb a downtown Boston department store after “his team” loses.

  A.I.– Artificial intelligence related to computers or to sports announcers.

  ALACRITY– A good word to use in mixed company, as it demonstrates one’s readiness and willingness, as in “I must confess to possessing a certain alacrity when it comes to the subject of our retreating to a more intimate location.” Just be sure to take off your Bulls or CIA cap before using this line, and don’t admit to already having a wife, a mistress, and a girlfriend.

  ALBATROSS– A large South Seas sea bird come to represent bad luck, and used in a poem by both Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Philadelphia Penguins’ Sydney Crosby.

  ALGORITHM– Formerly a set of computer instructions as a systematic method of solving problems, this has come to mean the periodic resurfacing of Al Gore in the news media.

  ALIMENTARY CANAL– This is the path traveled by food moving through your body. Gets clogged with age, depending on whether your favorite sport is watching football or participating in cross-country skiing.

  ALPHABET– These are your basic ABCs, used not merely to describe soup, but also everything else. Think of them as tools to replace grunts and whistles and nods and (hopefully) belches or farts.

  AMELIORATE– To make better or improve. Using this word may also improve your love life if you happen to be in a Bachelor Pad with coeds looking to find a man who reads something other than the sports pages. Because you will never hear a sports announcer say, “that pass return truly ameliorated his rushing record.”

  AMERICAN’T– What the Chinese call America, since Americans can’t stop watching sports long enough to manufacture anything. As part of their subversive campaign, the Chinese mimic our athletes and pretend to be enthralled with American culture, even as they steal military blueprints online and send the embarrassing stuff to Wikileaks.

  ANGINA PECTORIS– A heart condition characterized by chest pain, a feeling with which you should soon become familiar if your lifestyle continues unchanged, and your favorite sports bar fails to upgrade its menu to include salmon and broccoli.

  ANGST– This is a feeling of trepidation or apprehension which may (or may not) be associated with witnessing your gray hair falling out in clumps after you’ve just arranged your trading card collection for the 8000th time.

  APERITIF– A beverage served before a meal, particularly those containing alcohol. Malt liquor doesn’t count, nor does Bud Lite.

  ATOM– Once considered the smallest unit of measure, we now think that atoms are made up of tiny vibrating strings so small that if a proton were the size of a basketball, a billion strings would be the size of a gnat’s gnut on the microscopic seam of the dot over the “i” in “Wilson.”

  AVANT GARDE– That which reflects the most recent trends, especially in painting, but also in filmmaking. Today, these trends require corporate sponsors who pass out T-shirts and decals, and whose main focus is the bottom line, usually found at the bottom of the barrel, (which is where movie sequels sprout from compost.)

  BAS
EBALL– A sport called “dumbest of all” by Sports Illustrated columnist Rick Reilly in his landmark book “Sports from Hell.” The origin of the game has only recently come to light. Homer, author of “The Iliad,” is the real creator of baseball. (Hence, a “homer.”) The original bat was an olive branch, and the ball was made of yarn. How far the yarn unraveled determined the number of points achieved by making base. There were five bases, and you had to get there on your knees while flogging yourself with the bat. Luckily, the bases were only twelve meters apart. This game only lasted three years, and so didn’t make it into the Olympic Games, yet many of the game’s principles survived into the modern recreation played today, including the chewing of tobacco (although the tobacco at the time consisted of a variety of hemp known to alleviate the pain, and which led to the phrase: ”you’ve got some balls there. . . or are they just yarn?”)

  BASKETBALL– A repetitive game consisting of ten pituitary cases running back and forth in a race to achieve endorsement contracts for sneakers. . . and groupies to sneak into hotel rooms. Players are allowed to attend the Olympics, where they get to play Goliath vs. David with unarmed Croatian dweebs.