Lois watched Clark’s face as Cat zipped away in her fire-engine red Porsche. When they’d first met, she’d thought that he was open-mouthed because he was instantly in lust over her. Now Lois knew that he was just trying to recover after taking a full dose of Catharine Grant to the male ego.
She tapped him on the elbow. “Come on, farm boy. Let’s go inside and sort through this stuff.”
He blinked and took a deep breath. “You know, she’s just as hard to take now as she was a year ago.”
Lois laughed as they stepped through his front door. “I’m glad that’s all it is. Here, you look at this stuff while I make sure I have all my pencils.” She rummaged through the remainder of the box. “Weird. This just looks like random office supplies.”
He frowned at the notebook in his hand. “What is this?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but Perry made very sure I knew it was specifically from him. We’re supposed to study it closely.”
“Huh. The lockbox has a key inside and – that’s funny.”
“What is?”
“There’s foam padding inside and I think – yep, a false bottom. The notebook goes in there like they were made for each other.”
“Really? What’s so special about the notebook?”
He flipped it open and turned the pages slowly. “That’s funny too,” he said. “It looks like gibberish. It’s – no. Wait a minute! Of course!” He snapped it shut and beamed at Lois. “This is brilliant!”
“Of course it is. But what is it?”
“I’ve been thinking of how to communicate with Perry on our investigation without tipping off the bad guys.”
“So have I. But what does that have to do—”
He held the notebook in front of her. “This is it!”
She frowned. “What, we fill out a notebook and mail it to him?”
“No!” He opened it to the first page. “Look here. If we have any solid info on a club or someone working in the club, we say something about a script page and line number. Perry has a copy of this in his office, so when he hears a page and line he checks his copy and voila! We’ve called in part of the story!”
“So how do we work that into the act? We can’t just stop and say, ‘Okay, now we’re on page seven, line fourteen.’ Even a stupid crook would get it after a while.”
“We’ll make it part of our shtick!”
“Do what?”
“Come on, Lois! You remember how Abbot and Costello would sometimes go off-script and one of them would ask the other what page he was on? We’ll do the same thing, except we’ll put it in different parts of the show every night. If we act like we’d planned to use it, no one will figure out that it’s a code.”
She frowned, thinking. It actually wasn’t a bad idea. No crook would suspect that it was a code, especially if they only used it once each night. And if the code popped up in the natural flow of the routine, it wouldn’t jar the listeners. Besides, they’d already established that she was the straight man (or woman, in this case) and Clark was the clown. She was the Martin to his Lewis, except his humor wasn’t based on him being stupid.
It would work. As long as they didn’t make Clark look stupid. He’d do it for the sake of the partnership, but it would hurt her to let other people think he was anything less than brilliant.
“I think you’re right, partner,” she allowed. “I think it’ll work. Can you give me an example of how we’d slip that stuff in?”
*****
Joe DeLucca watched his newest attraction from the wings. He’d been unsure about hiring Lane and Kent, but Louie had talked him into taking a flyer on them, and Joe was glad he had. The club’s audience was laughing out loud because Lane and Kent were really funny, and not the drunk-laughing-at-potty-humor kind of funny. He’d seen just about everything at the clubs he’d worked, from stoners trying to copy George Carlin and failing miserably to mumbling old men trying to do George Burns routines to terrible singers trying to be The Voice Who Brought Back Vaudeville!
Except for a few well-established big-name acts, none of them had held an audience like these two. And most of them ran off customers.
Not this pair. They were smooth and funny and clean and sharp and they made everyone smile. For example, Joe usually hated knock-knock jokes, but he loved the one they were doing at the moment.
“Do you like knock-knock jokes, Clark?”
“Tell me who doesn’t like knock-knock jokes, Lois.”
“Spiteful old fuddie-duddies.”
“Oh.” He turned to the audience. “Any spiteful old fuddie-duddies here tonight?”
A chorus of “noes” mixed with hearty chuckles came back to him. “Great!” he said. “Lois has a great knock-knock joke. It’ll knock-knock your socks off.”
She opened her mouth and held it there for a moment as a chorus of laughing “boos” competed with the groans. Lois shook her head. “The things I put up with from you.”
“It’s only because we’re so funny together.”
A deadpan expression crept over her face. “Yes. That’s exactly right. That’s the reason right there.” Then she waved her hands as if resetting the system. “Okay, Clark, for this bit, you be the Vulcan and I’ll be the captain.”
“Wait a minute! Why do you get to be the captain?”
“Because someone has to be the Vulcan and you’re more logical than I am.”
“Really? Are you sure it isn’t because you want to be on top?”
“Clark!”
“Of the chain of command, of course.”
“I’m not mollified.”
“That’s not one of the dwarfs.”
“What?”
“You’re actually supposed to say, ‘I’m not happy,’ then I say, ‘Then which one of the dwarfs are you?’ and then I duck and – ow! Hey! You’re not supposed to hit me now!”
“It’s in the script.”
“Yeah, on page six! Go reread line nine!”
Joe smiled. They always went “off-script” in a scripted way and made the customers laugh even harder. And the better his customers felt, the more they ate and drank and stayed and ate and drank more. These two were good for business.
“Okay, Clark, we’re back on script. You be the Vulcan.”
“Just don’t hit me again, Lois. That starship has sailed.”
“Oh, all right! Are you ready?”
He straightened and put his hands behind his back. In a flat, toneless voice, he said, “I am prepared to be humorous.”
“I sure hope so. Knock-knock.”
“I do not understand.”
“Just say 'who's there,' Vulcan Clark.”
“But I already know your identity.”
“Yes, but it's for the joke.”
“This is a joke?”
“You better believe it, buster.”
“Perhaps we should begin once again.”
“Okay, folks, Vulcan knock-knock joke, take two.”
“Lois, you don’t have to do the clapper board thing. We’re not filming.”
“Who’s telling this joke?”
“At the moment, no one is.”
Lois paused as the audience roared again. “Fine! Get back in character so we can do the routine we rehearsed. And don’t adlib this time! Ready?”
“I am once again prepared to be humorous.”
“Knock-knock.”
Clark stared at her with a quizzical expression.
“Knock-knock, Vulcan Clark.”
“This is highly illogical.”
“Knock. Knock.”
His head tilted to one side and he lifted one eyebrow.
“You’re supposed to ask me who’s there!”
“I fail to divine the purpose of this exercise.”
“KNOCK. KNOCK.”
“Very well. Who is there?”
“Orange.”
“The Terran fruit or the pigment?”
Lois gritted her teeth and growled. “It doesn't matter! Either one.”
“Then I choose Earth's pithy citrus.”
“Argghh! You make such a lousy Vulcan!”
“And you are discovering this just now?”
“You – I – they – You know what? NEVER MIND!”
She spun and stomped off-stage, brushing right past Joe as the audience went wild, whistling and clapping and calling for more. He watched Clark grin sheepishly and lift one hand palm-out for their trademark “virtual high-five.” Most of the men in the audience responded, then clapped even harder. Clark slid his hands in his pockets and ambled off-stage behind Lois. The next act, a pianist and dancer team, scrambled onstage behind him.
Clark stopped just behind Joe, where he embraced a laughing Lois. “That was great, Clark!” she gushed. “You were wonderful!”
He bent his head and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re pretty good yourself, Lois. For a moment I thought you really were mad at me.”
“For a moment I was. Then I got off-stage and walked by Joe and remembered that he owes us a big fat check.”
They turned to face him in unison. Lois’ eyes made him think of a lioness he’d seen in a zoo once – relaxed and ready to pounce. In contrast, Clark’s almost goofy smile seemed to say “What she said” more effectively – and convincingly – than any words he could have spoken.
“Not to worry, kids,” he replied. “I gave Louie the check this afternoon, along with a request to bring you two back in a couple of months. That sound good to you?”
Even Lois’s smile looked predatory. “Sure, as long as you agree to the higher salary we’re going to command by then.”
Joe held her gaze for a long moment, then smiled and shook his head. “Wow. No wonder you two got such good stories for your newspaper.”
He was almost shocked at the wall that slammed down over both of their faces. “We don’t work for the Planet now,” Clark growled. “That’s why we’re doing this.”
Joe lifted his hands in surrender. “And you’re doing it very well, too. I’ll talk to Louie about your new and improved appearance fee.”
Lois nodded and her face relaxed a bit. “Thanks, Joe. We’ve got to meet some people tonight, so we’ll be back to clean out our dressing room about ten tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll tell the doorman. You two have a good night.”
When they turned and left, Joe let out a long breath. Those two were still scary and intense. He was glad they’d never learned about his Intergang connection when they were still investigating. They would’ve buried him so far under the jail an archaeologist couldn’t have found him.
*****
Perry picked up his phone and punched Cat Grant’s extension, something he wasn’t used to doing. But for this conversation he needed to talk to her without summoning her with his usual bellow, even given the lateness of the hour.
Cat was at his door within seconds. “Everything okay, Perry?”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. “Close the door and sit down, Cat. I need to talk to you.”
Her faced went white as she complied. “I’m getting fired, aren’t I?”
“What? No! Nobody’s getting fired today, especially not you. Why would you think that?”
She lifted her hands, palms up, and said, “You call me on my desk phone instead of yelling for me or sending Jimmy. You ask me to close the door and sit down. You very calmly tell me that you need to talk to me. If you’re not firing me, you’ve got to be chewing me out about something.” She folded her arms and flumped backward in the chair. “What have I done wrong this time?”
Perry ran his hands down his face. “I have got to learn how to do this kind of thing better. Look, Cat, I brought you in here because I need you for a very special assignment, one you can’t tell anyone about. And I mean no one! This is hush-hush, eyes-only, highly classified top secret spy-level security I’m talking about. Are you in or out?”
Cat’s jaw dropped. This was obviously the last thing she’d expected to hear from her boss. “Wow. I didn’t see that coming.” She shifted in the chair, leaned forward, and lowered her voice. “I’m all in, whatever it is. What exactly are we talking about here?”
Perry nodded. “I need for you to cover Clark and Lois during their Metropolis and Gotham shows.”
Perry waited for a reaction, but all Cat did was say, “Perry? I’m already doing that.”
“I know. But you aren’t bringing me back the code phrase.”
He almost laughed as her expression flickered between belief and call-the-men-in-their-clean-white-coats. “What’s the code phrase?” she whispered.
One side of his mouth twitched up in an almost smile. “It’s a page number and line number combination.”
Cat nodded slowly. “You mean like page six line nine?”
“Exactly. I need for you to tell me what that reference is in every one of their routines. And if they don’t mention a page-line combination, I need to know that too.”
“Uh-huh.” She paused and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Can you tell me what it means?”
“Sure. They have a notebook with a series of messages with page-line references. They use one during a sketch, you tell me what it is, I look it up in my copy of the notebook, and I know what they’ve learned about that particular club and any Intergang links they have.”
She frowned. “But you’d only do that if they – were – undercover—” Cat’s hands grabbed the armrests of her chair and squeezed. “You dirty stinking rat.” Her voice sounded soft and level but her eyes flashed lightning. “You brilliant, slimy, inventive, cheating rat. Lois was never fired. She went undercover with Clark for this investigation.” She lurched to her feet and leaned over the desk. “And you brought me back as a distraction to prove that she’d really been fired, didn’t you?”
“Sit down, Cat.”
“I don’t believe you, Perry! I’ve never been used so badly—”
“I said sit down!”
His outburst had the desired effect. Perry had always known that Cat’s self-control was good, but he’d never seen anyone’s body language so at odds with her facial expression. As she gradually sat back down, her body told him that she was chastened by her boss’ outburst.
Her face, however, promised pain and suffering.
“Now listen to me. I didn’t hire you back, Mr. Stern did. But if he’d asked me, I would have approved without delay. You’re a good reporter and I’m grateful to have you, but only if you’re really working for me. And to answer your accusation, I absolutely did not hire you as window dressing. You’re here for six months, and then you get a review and probably a chance to stay on permanent. That has nothing to do with what may or may not happen with Lois Lane. I’m telling you about this thing with the code phrase because I know you’re discreet, you can keep secrets, and you understand life-and-death situations. Now are you done yelling or do you want to further endanger your job status?”
She glared at him for a few seconds, then blew a sharp breath out through her nose. “I’m done. And – and I’m sorry if I jumped to an unsupportable conclusion.”
He waved her apology aside. “I admit it wasn’t very complimentary, but you did get it pretty fast. And I will also say that you’re my first choice for this job.”
She fidgeted a bit as if embarrassed, then nodded. “Thank you. When do I start this new assignment?”
“Tomorrow night. They’ll be at a Superman Foundation thank-you dinner for their biggest contributors. Jimmy has your ticket.”
She nodded. “Page six, line nine.”
“Huh?”
She stood. “That was the reference they used in their last routine at Joey DeLucca’s club. And you’re welcome.”
She strode out the door and shut it harder than necessary without slamming it. Perry shook his head, wondering if he could survive having two skilled, high-powered, intense, take-no-prisoners women working for him.
Assuming, of course, Lois did come back.
The thought that she might not return haunted him for the rest of the day and put a damper on dinner with Alice that night.
*****
Lois nodded to the crowd as the applause following their introduction died down. “Hey! Thanks, everyone. Look, I know you guys wanted to see Lane and Kent perform tonight, but—” Clark quietly walked onstage behind her, wearing a baseball cap and carrying a bat with a fielder’s glove hung at one end of it “—I guess my partner decided not to show up on time. He does that on occasion, you know. Why, sometimes he just—”
“I’m right behind you, Lois.”
She jumped and turned halfway around to look at him. “Oh! Clark, you’ve got to stop scaring me like that!”
He grinned and leered at the audience as he walked to stage center. “Because it’s not good for you, being in your delicate condition, right?”
She slapped him on the shoulder as the audience snickered. “No! You’ve got to stop spreading those rumors about me being pregnant! Someone’s going to believe them and tell my mother and if she shows up at our doorstep trying to be the Mother of All Grandmothers you’re going to take care of her by yourself! Got that?”
Clark’s mouth fell open and his eyes bugged out behind his glasses. “Your mother? Me? Take care of her? Alone?” He turned to the audience and put his hands out, pleading, “Please don’t tell Lois’ mother that Lois is pregnant! One Lane woman at a time is all I can handle!”
Lois crossed her arms and glared at him. “What do you mean, one Lane woman at a time? Are you talking about my sister?”
Clark slowly turned his face to her and took a deep breath. “Lois, you remember all those times in the past when someone asked you a question and there was no answer you could give that wouldn’t just get you in worse trouble?”
She dropped her hands and clenched her fists. “What do you mean, all those times?”
As the audience laughed and applauded, he took a step back and spluttered, “I mean just like what I said and now I’m really sorry I said anything at all!”
“Fine. Just remember how much trouble you’re in when we get home.”
He turned to the audience. “As if she’ll let me forget.”
“Heard that!”
He paused as the audience laughed, then offered, “That’s because you’ve always had very good hearing.”
“That’s right, and don’t you forget it. Hey, why the bat and glove?”
“What? Oh. I almost forgot about them. I brought them to remind me to tell you about my new part-time job.”
“Part-time job? Clark, you don’t have time for a part-time job.”
“Well, this is as much a hobby as is it anything else, unless I get really good at it.”
“Really. Tell me about your new hobby.”
“Okay. You’re familiar with minor-league baseball?”
“I know that there is such a thing.”
“Well, they have all kinds of levels of baseball leagues. There’s rookie league, Class D, Class C, Class B, Class A, Double-A, and Triple-AAA, and then the major leagues. A level for every player according to his ability and experience.”
“Huh. Sounds kinda Marxist to me.”
They waited as the slow chuckle hopped around the audience, and those who got the joke quickly explained it to those who didn’t. Clark spun his free hand in a “hurry-up” motion and said, “Come on, folks, we don’t have all night.”
Lois crossed her arms and fixed him with a gimlet eye. “Let’s get back on track, okay? You said ‘every player according to his ability and experience’ and I said ‘sounds kinda Marxist to me.’ Take it from there.”
“Lois, please, don’t embarrass me here!”
She shook an index finger at him. “The routine, remember?”
“Fine,” he sighed, “I got it.” He took a deep breath and plastered a startled expression in his face. “It’s not Marxist, Lois! It’s baseball. And what do you know about baseball, anyway?”
“I know more than you think I do.”
“Oh, really? Why don’t you explain baseball to me? We’ll see how much you really know.”
She cut her eyes to the audience and gave them an evil grin along with a perfect eyebrow wiggle. They leaned forward, anticipating yet another Lane putdown for Kent.
“Baseball works like this. This is a game played by two teams, one out and the other in. The one that's in sends players out one at a time to see if they can get in before they get out. If they get out before they get in, they come in, but it doesn't count. If they get in before they get out, it does count. “
“Wait a minute—”
“When the ones out get three outs from the ones in before they get in without being out, the team that's out comes in and the team that’s in goes out to get those going in out before they get in without being out.”
“Lois, I don’t think you—”
“When both teams have been in and out nine times, the game is over. The team with the most in without being out before coming in wins, unless the ones in are equal. In that case, the last ones in go out to get the ones in out before they get in without being out. Then the game will end when each team has the same number of ins out but one team has more in without being out before coming in.”
“Uh, that’s certainly—”
“Come on, Clark, is that baseball or isn’t it?”
He shook his head and waited for the audience’s laughter to die down. “Well, it sure looks like you know—” he pulled off his glasses and looked at them before slipping them back on “—the ins and outs of baseball.”
He lifted both hands and wiggled the fingers of his free hand as if asking for the audience’s response. They groaned loudly, and a scattering of boos cascaded onto the stage.
Clark lowered his hands and ducked his head in obvious disappointment. As usual, a number of women near the stage began throwing balled-up pieces of paper or motel keycards onstage. Some shouted, “Read mine first, Clark!” or “No, mine!” until Lois stepped in front of him and crossed her arms.
“Ladies, you know the rules. Any and all dates for Clark Kent have to be scheduled through my office. We’ll gather up all these invitations and get back to you as soon as we can.”
“Yeah?” yelled one tipsy redhead. “When is that gonna be?”
“Right after the second,” Lois replied.
“The second what?”
“The second lunar eclipse of next week.”
The redhead looked puzzled for a long moment while the other women around her laughed. Then she smiled and waved her hand at Lois. “Never mind. Bachelorette party girls gone a little wild, I guess.”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all. And believe me, I understand.” Lois waited until the cascade of paper wads and plastic ceased, then the turned to Clark and said, “Hey, honey, you never said why you had the bat and glove.”
He perked up immediately. “Oh, right! My new part-time job. See, there’s a new baseball league starting up, and Metropolis has a team.”
“Really? Which class is this team?”
“It’s a Class Q league. It’s for older guys who think they can still play ball.”
“But you played in college, Clark. And you did very well.”
“That was then, Lois, this is now. I want to prove that I’ve still got it.”
She smiled brightly and hugged his arm. “Oh, Clark, you’ll always have it with me.”
The audience gave them a communal “Awww!” and began applauding. Then Clark smiled brightly and wiggled his eyebrows at them, and the applause blended with their laughter.
Lois pretended to be oblivious to his antics. “So, what position are you going to play?”
“Right field. It’s important, you know. You gotta know how to catch. You gotta know how to throw. It’s so important somebody wrote a song about it. I’ll sing it if you want me to.”
Horrified, she blurted, “No!” The audience, having heard of Clark’s lack of vocal talent, added their objections to hers. “I mean, why don’t you save it until we get home? It’ll mean more to me that way.”
“Okay, if that’s how you want it. So, what do you think about my new part-time job?”
“You didn’t tell me the name of the team you’re going to play for.”
“Oh. I guess I forgot.”
“What do you mean, you forgot? Didn’t you study the script for tonight?”
The audience broke up again. “Yes, I studied the script! We’re on page four, line seventeen!”
Lois made a face. “Line seventeen, you say?”
”That’s what I said! And the name of the team is the Metropolis Quagmires. You know, Class Q, the Quagmires? It all fits together somehow.”
They both waited while the audience grew silent. Clark slowly turned to face them and pleaded, “You’re supposed to laugh here! I wrote that line myself!”
“Clark, honey, settle down. It’s okay. Anyway, that sounds great. And it seems like a great time to tell you about my new part-time job.”
“Wait. You have a part-time job too?”
“Yep. Say, have you met the manager for your team?”
“Not yet.”
“Has anyone told you who’s going to manage the club?”
“No, but I’m sure he’ll be great. I have every confidence in him.”
Lois’s sly grin spread over her face and she sang, “I know something you don’t know!”
“I’m sure you do, dear, but this is baseball.”
“I’ve already proven how much I know about baseball!”
“You have, and I’m still impressed. But knowing what you know about baseball is different from running a team.”
“Oh, I don’t think it will be all that different.”
“But it really—” A horrified look emerged on Clark’s face. “Oh – no. No, no, no! Tell me it isn’t true! Tell me that’s not what you know that I don’t know!”
People began giggling. “No, it isn’t.”
“Whew! I’m so relieved.”
More low laughter. “Because now we both know it.”
His shoulders sagged and he leaned on the end of the bat. “Lois, please, tell me that you aren’t – that they didn’t – that you don’t—”
She grinned and hopped in place once. “Oh, yes! I’m the new manager of the Quagmires!”
The audience roared, the women especially. Lois stepped forward and lifted one hand, palm forward, and yelled, “Virtual high five, ladies!” Nearly every woman in the building responded, including two of the stage crew.
Clark, meanwhile, had covered his face with his free hand. He waited for the tumult to die down, and when it finally did, he hefted the bat to his shoulder and picked up the glove. “Lois? Honey? Could you come over here for just a minute, please?”
“Now, Clark, you can’t talk to me like that when we’re in the dugout. You’ll have to address me as ‘Skipper’ or ‘Skip’ just like a real ballplayer.”
He gazed at her, defeated. “You aren’t going to cry when we lose, are you? Because there’s no crying in baseball.”
She crossed her arms. “You never know. A woman’s tears are a powerful weapon. Maybe I’ll be nice to you guys and just cry at the other team.”
“Yeah, that would throw them off their game. Say, have you met the rest of the players on our team?”
“Yes, I have. And except for right field, where you’re competing to be the starter, the lineup is already pretty much set.”
“Great! You know, I haven’t had a chance to meet the other guys yet. Can you tell me their names?”
“Sure. You want their real names or their nicknames?”
“These guys have nicknames already?”
“Of course, Clark! All the great ballplayers of the past had really good nicknames. Babe Ruth was the Sultan of Swat, or the Bambino, Lou Gehrig was the Iron Horse, there was Big Chief Bender, there was Ducky Medwick with the Cardinals, Walter Johnson was called The Big Train, and you remember hearing about Dizzy and Daffy Dean, don’t you?”
“Sure I do. And there were lots more. But you say these guys all have great names like that?”
“They sure do.”
“Great! Okay, can you give me the starting lineup?”
“Sure. Who’s on first, What’s on second, I Don’t Know is on third—”
“That’s what I want to find out.”
“What do you want to find out?”
“The names of the players.”
“That’s what I’m telling you, Clark. Who’s on first, What’s on second, I Don’t Know is on third—”
“Hang on a minute! You’re gonna be the manager?”
“Yes.”
“So you know the player’s names?”
“Sure I do.”
“Then tell me who’s on first.”
“Yes.”
“I mean the fellow’s name.”
“Who.”
“The guy on first.”
“Who.”
“The first baseman!”
“Who.”
“The guy playing first base!”
“Who is on first!”
“I’m asking YOU who’s on first!”
“That’s the man’s name.”
“That’s whose name?”
“Yes.”
“So go ahead and tell me.”
“That’s it.”
“That’s who?”
“That’s right.”
They paused for a breath and to let the audience laugh, and they extended the pause when a young woman leaped out of the second row and sprinted to the back of the auditorium where the restrooms were located, one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach. Clark pointed at her and said to Lois, “See what you’ve done?”
“What did I do?”
“You upset a paying customer!”
“She’s just upset because you don’t know the names of your teammates!”
“I’m trying to find that out now!”
“I tried to tell you but you won’t listen!”
“All I want to know is who’s playing first!”
“That’s right!”
They paused again while a group of businessmen who’d apparently had their fair share of libation – and several others’ fair shares – recovered from their whooping belly laughs. Clark finally stepped closer to stage front and said to her, “Look, you got a first baseman, right?”
Lois followed him. “Of course we do.”
“Who’s playing first?”
“That’s right.”
“Yikes.” Clark took a breath and tried again. “When you pay the first baseman’s salary, who gets the money?”
“Yep. Every dime of it.”
“All I’m trying to do is find out the name of the guy playing first base.”
“Who.”
“The guy that gets the money!”
“That’s him.”
“Who gets the money?”
“Every nickel of it. Sometimes his wife comes to the office and collects it.”
“Whose wife?”
“Yes.”
Clark’s mouth hung open and he took a deep breath to collect himself. “This is who?”
“Of course it is! What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it! Look, when the first baseman signed his contract, how did he sign it?”
“With a pen. Using a pencil isn’t legal.”
The tipsy businessmen bellowed out again, but they weren’t alone, so Clark had to wait for the audience to settle down. “No, what I mean is, how does he sign his name?”
“Who.”
“The guy.”
“Who.”
“The first baseman.”
“Who.”
“How does he sign his name?”
“Who.”
“The guy playing first base!”
“Who.”
“How does he sign it?”
“That’s how he signs it.”
“Who?”
Lois grinned and poked Clark on the shoulder. “Exactly!”
He turned and walked in a small circle on the stage, then came back to stand beside his partner. “Lois, please, just tell me what the first baseman’s name is.”
“No, What is on second.”
“I didn’t ask you who’s on second!”
“Who’s not on second, Who’s on first.”
“One base at a time, okay? One base at a time!”
“Then don’t try to change the infield lineup!”
“I’m not changing anything! I just want to know who’s on first!”
“That’s right.”
“Okay!”
She mimed wiping her forehead. “I’m glad that’s settled.”
“Me too, because – because – aw, nuts!”
This time the entire audience cracked up. It was a full twenty seconds before it was quiet enough to continue the routine.
Clark made a fist with his free hand and bit his knuckle. “I know I’m going to regret this, but – Lois, please, tell me what’s the guy’s name on first base?”
“No, Clark! What’s on second!”
“I’m not asking you who’s on second!”
“Who’s on first!”
“I don’t know!”
Lois waved one hand between them. “No, no, that’s the third baseman’s name. We’re not talking about him.”
“Wait a minute! How did I get on third base?”
“You mentioned his name.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
“Okay, if I mentioned the third baseman, who did I say is playing third?”
“No! Who’s on first!”
Clark scrunched up his face in concentration and blurted, “What’s on first?”
“What’s on second.”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s on third.”
He turned to the audience. “Here I go again, back on third base, all the way around the infield.” He waited for the laughter to die down a bit, then said, “Would you stay on third for just a minute and don’t get off?”
“Fine! What do you want to know?”
“Here’s what I want to know. Who is playing third base?”
“Why do you keep trying to put Who on third, Clark?”
“What am I putting on third?”
“What is on second!”
“You don’t know who’s on second?”
“Who is on first!”
“I don’t know!” Clark lifted his free hand as he and Lois said together, “Third base!”
Clark shook his head while the laughter died down again. “Let’s try another position. Ah – the outfield! That should be safe enough, right?” He cut his eyes to the audience as they chuckled. “I wrote that line too, you know.” He turned back to his partner. “Okay, let’s go once more. You got a left fielder?”
“Of course we do.”
“And the left fielder’s name?”
“Why.”
“Oh, I just thought I’d ask.”
“And I just thought I’d tell you.”
“So tell me.”
“Why.”
“Because I want to know who’s playing left field!”
“Who’s playing first, Clark!”
“I don’t – stay out of the infield!” The young woman who had fled to the back returned to her seat in the second row and Clark waved his hand at her. “Hi. Welcome back. Do you want us to go back a page or two and catch you up?”
She turned bright red and buried her face in her hands. Clark waited for the laughter to die down again. “I guess not. Okay. I’m just asking Lois – the manager of the team who is supposed to know the names of the players! – what’s the guy’s name in left field.”
Instead of proceeding with the routine, Lois crossed her arms and glared at him. “Are you through flirting now?”
“Lois, honey, save it for later, okay?”
“You bet I will. And what’s on second!”
Clark didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t want to know who’s on second!”
“Who’s on first!”
“I don’t know!”
“Third base!” they chorused, and many in the audience joined them.
Laughter filled the room and scattered applause appeared. Clark lifted his hand and made a “not yet” motion. “Hang on, we’re almost done. Okay, Lois, tell me the left fielder’s name.”
“Why.”
“Because.”
“Oh, no, he’s in center field.”
He wiped his face with his hand. Lois smiled and turned to the audience. “Isn’t he cute when he’s frustrated?”
One slightly drunk woman sitting near the redhead from earlier yelled “I can fix that!” over the audience’s chuckles.
Lois smiled wider and shook her head. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t fix that with a left-handed monkey wrench.”
The other people in the drunk woman’s party pointed at her and made comments which were inaudible on stage, so Lois turned back to Clark and nodded slightly to tell him to go on with the bit.
Clark took a deep breath and asked, “I assume you have a starting pitcher on this team?”
“Of course.”
“And his name?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You don’t want to tell me today?”
“I’m telling you now!”
“So go ahead.”
“Tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“What time what?”
“What time tomorrow are you going to tell me who’s pitching?”
“Now listen, Clark, Who is not pitching. Who—“
“You say ‘Who’s on first’ and I’ll call your mother! Now I want to know what’s the pitcher’s name!”
“What’s on second!”
“I don’t know!”
Instead of saying the next line, they both turned to the audience and pointed. Nearly everyone in the room called out, “Third base!”
Lois laughed with them, then said, “Just remember, you guys don’t get paid for this, just the two of us.” The audience cracked up again.
When the latest round of laughter settled, Clark asked, “You got a catcher on this team, right?”
“Sure we do.”
“His name?”
“Today.”
“Today?”
“Today.”
“And Tomorrow’s pitching?”
“Now you’ve got it, Clark!”
“Terrific. All we got is a couple of days on the team.”
“Would it help if I told you the name of the relief pitcher?”
“Probably not, but go ahead.”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yesterday.”
“That’s three days. In another minute we’ll have the whole week.”
Lois patted his shoulder and crooned, “Poor baby.”
“Hey, I’m not that poor! I can play catcher, too!”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
“Okay. I get behind the plate to do some fancy catching. Tomorrow’s pitching on my team, and a heavy hitter from the other team gets up to bat. The heavy hitter bunts the ball, and me, being a good catcher, I’m gonna throw the guy out at first. So I pick up the ball and I throw it to who?”
“Now that’s the first thing you’ve gotten right tonight.”
“How’d I do that? I don’t even know what I’m talking about!”
“Well, that’s all you have to do.”
“Just throw the ball to first base?”
“Yes!”
“And who’s got it?”
“Naturally.”
Clark’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in comprehension. “So if I throw the ball to first base, somebody has to catch it. Now who has it?”
“Naturally.”
“Naturally?”
“Yes, naturally.”
“So I pick up the ball and throw it to Naturally?”
“No! You throw it to Who!”
“Naturally.”
“That’s better.”
“But that’s what I said!”
“No, you didn’t say it right.”
“I throw the ball to Naturally.”
“No, Clark! You throw it to Who!”
“I throw it to who?”
“Naturally.”
“That’s what I said!”
“No-no-no! Look, I’ll show you. You ask me.”
“I throw the ball to who?”
“Naturally.”
“Now you ask me.”
“Fine! You throw the ball to Who.”
“Naturally.”
“That’s it!”
Clark all but jumped up and down twice. “Same as you! Same as YOU! I throw the ball to Who. Whoever it is drops the ball and the guy runs to second. Who picks up the ball and throws it to What. What throws it to I Don't Know. I Don't Know throws it back to Tomorrow. Triple play the wrong way around the horn. Another guy gets up and hits a long fly ball to Because. Why? I don't know! He's on third and I don't give a hoot!”
“What did you say?”
“I said, I don’t give a hoot!”
“Oh, that’s our shortstop.”
Clark screeched “Aargh! I give up!” and stalked offstage.
Lois waited for the laughter and the applause to run its course, then she turned to the audience and smiled. “Thank you! Thank you for coming, for laughing, and for putting up with us. We’ll be here for the rest of the week! From both myself and Clark, good night! And be safe out there!”
She stepped back, waved, then followed Clark off the stage.
