STARLIGHT SUPPLY by Shawn O'Shea

The door opened slightly when the insurance adjuster knocked. He poked his face in the space between the door and the jamb. From his vantage he saw a hodgepodge of newspapers, financial ledgers and overstuffed cabinets.
“Hello? Is anyone here? Mr. Williams?”
A disembodied voice responded, “Yes? Who is there, please?”
“Hello, Mr. Williams!” Still having not yet seen the apartment’s occupant, the man continued, “My name is Melvin Richards. I’m from U.B.I.”
“U.B.I.?”
“Universal Business Insurance. I’m here about your claim. There are a few discrepancies we at U.B.I. have a few questions about.”
“Of course,” the voice calmly said. “Please come in.”
As he accepted the invitation, Melvin noticed a leaning tower of presumably empty pizza boxes and a string of drying laundry underneath which was a half-full laundry basket presently being used as a bed by a burnt-orange Tabby. In an odd way, each additional piece of the chaotic scene he noticed helped make the small space seem organized in a disorganized sort of way.
Deeper into the chaos he delved, carefully stepping in order to avoid tripping over any number of empty glasses, cola cans or lone, unpaired shoes strewn across the floor.
Following a faint clickety-click-click-tap-tap-tapping, Melvin found the owner of the disarray facing a computer, frantically typing.
Without turning around, the man said, “Please sit down, Mr. Roberts.”
“Richards.”
Still typing, “Excuse me?”
“Richards. My name is Melvin Richards.” As he spoke, he scanned for a free place to sit. Finally he settled on the only spot not covered by one item or another, the arm of a dark green-plaid, over-stuffed, threadbare couch. “From Universal Business Insurance.”
“Of course.” Tappity-tap-tap-tap “I’ll be with you in just one minute.” Tappity-tap------------TAP “Ahhhhh! All sent! Finished!” He grabbed a half-full glass from atop the computer monitor and gulped the remaining liquid as he swiveled around in his chair.
Leaning forward to place the now empty glass on the floor, the man at the computer offered an outstretched hand, noticeably manicured, as it was the only thing within view that was neat and well cared for. “How do you do,” he said as the two men shook hands.
`”Fine. Thank you.” Melvin freed his hand from the over-zealous greeting and opened his stereotypical black leather brief case that was precariously balanced on his lap. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get right down to business.”
“Of course.” Williams began to pick up soda cans in his vicinity. One by one he gently shook them. He placed several cans back where they had been resting as he found them to be empty. When he discovered one adequately filled, he sat back in his chair and looked at Melvin. “I’m sorry. Where did you say you’re from again?”
Struggling to maintain his professional composure, “Universal Business Insurance.”
“Of course. I am so glad you are here. I filed a claim with your company. Could you possibly tell me when I might be able to speak to someone about it?”
“That’s why I’m here. To talk to you.”
“Oh? About what?”
“Your insurance claim.”
“Of course. How convenient this is! I filed a claim with your company.”
“I know. I----“ Suddenly Melvin felt like he was playing Abbott to this man’s Costello. This has to be a joke, he thought. The man he was sent to interview was even more “out-there” than the claim itself.
Melvin stood to leave, accepting the laughter he expected when he returned to the office when the reality of the situation was made apparent by the question, “So when do I receive my money?”
“Your----money.”
“Yes, Mr.----Richards, did you say? When should I expect my money?”
“You’re----serious.” He slowly sat back down.
“Of course.”
“This isn’t a joke?” As he gazed blankly at the man taking another sip from the salvaged soda can, “Hennessey didn’t put you up to this?”
“Of course.”
A wave of relief washed over Melvin. He knew he was going to be laughed at by Hennessey back at the office. He could handle that.
“I can understand how such a claim could be so interpreted. But,” the odd little man firmly put down the soda can and changed his tone to say, “I am not joking.”
A tsunami of fear washed over Melvin. He now knew he was going to be hacked apart by Williams in the apartment. He could not handle that.
Williams’ tone changed back, “Of course I understand I will not be handed by U.B.I. actual money. Cash, that is. After all, twenty million dollars is quite an astronomical sum. A check will suffice.”
“A check.”
“Of course.”
“For twenty-million dollars.”
“When do you suspect I should receive it?” He began another soda can salvage mission.
What I suspect, Melvin thought, is that you are a complete lunatic! Suddenly he realized his best chance to survive the situation would be to play along.
Having chosen his course, the insurance man started to conduct the interview as he would any routine claim. From his meticulously organized brief case he pulled a manila file folder labeled: STARLIGHT SUPPLY, W.W. WILLIAMS, OWNER
“Before I can approve your claim to paid, I’m required to ask you a few questions concerning the matter.”
“Of course.”
“There’s nothing personal about it. It’s standard procedure.”
“Of course.”
“It helps to deter those trying to commit insurance fraud.” Why did I add that last part!? he internally chastised himself.
“Of course. Please. Proceed.”
Attempting to hide experiencing his near put-to-death sensation, Melvin calmly continued. “Yes. Well, there is the matter of the name listed for the policy holder.”
“Oh?”
“I believe there is a typo.”
“Curious. May I see?” He reached out and took the copy handed to him. After quickly scanning the form he said, “No. It’s correct.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
“So your name really is William William Williams?”
“That’s right.”
“I see.”
“My mother told me she named me that so if ever, in my life I lost the will to do anything, all I had to do was remember who I was.”
“I understand.” Oddly, he did. “Okay, then. Moving on.”
“Yes. Moving on.”
“The mailing address you have listed for Starlight Supply is 812 Halper Street, Apartment B12, Philadelphia.”
“Correct.”
“This apartment.”
“Correct. Is that a problem?”
“Well----no. However there does seem to be----“ He warned himself, don’t say problem, don’t say problem, don’t say problem!, “some confusion as to the address you have listed for the business location.”
“13 33 35.5 –22 11 21?”
“Yes. You see, it’s not a location.”
“It most certainly is a location! Here. Let me show you!” Williams swiveled to face his computer and started again to tap-tap-tap on the keyboard. It was only a few moments before upon the screen what appeared to be a stock photo from the Hubble Telescope. When a pinpoint of white streaked across the picture, Melvin realized he was looking at a live picture.
He placed his briefcase on the disheveled couch and slowly stood to make his way to look at the monitor from over Williams’ shoulder.
“There! Right there!” Williams declared, excitedly jabbing his finger at the near center of the screen.
Melvin squinted. “All I see is a bunch of stars.”
“Right here! Where my finger is!”
“Oh, yes. Now I see it.”
“You do?”
“Ummm, yes?”
“How could you possibly? There is nothing there to see.”
“Then what are you pointing at?”
“That is where it used to be.”
Managing to hold back his tears, he uttered with exasperation, “Where what used to be!?”
Williams turned in his chair. “Starlight Supply, of course.”
“There?”
“Yes.”
“In space.”
“Yes.”
“In a solar system.”
“No.”
“But you just said----“
“Technically Starlight Supply was in a star system. More accurately is was a star system. You see, we call where we live The Solar System because our sun, our star, is named Sol.”
By this point Melvin was sitting next to his brief case on the paper and clothes covered couch. “What!?”
“Sol. The star we call our sun is named Sol. Just like Betelgeuse. And Pleides. And----“
“What are you trying to tell me!? Why am I here?”
“Starlight Supply was a star.”
“It was?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s not anymore?”
“No.”
“What happened to it?”
“Simply put?”
“Please put it simply.”
“It exploded.”
“Exploded.”
“Yes. Exploded.”
“And so now you want us to issue you a check for----“
“Twenty-million dollars.”
“Yes. For twenty-million dollars for your business----“
“----Starlight Supply---”
“----which was a star----“
“Yes.”
“That exploded.”
“Yes.”
“So your claim is since this star which you believe to be yours----“
“It was mine. I owned it.”
“Mr. Williams. People do not own stars.”
“Some people do. I did. There’s the deed.” He pointed to a modestly framed document hanging on the wall above the computer. It read:
GALACTIC STAR REGISTRY
HEREBY CERTIFIES AS OF THIS
25TH DAY OF JUNE, 2002
MISTER WILLIAM WILLIAM WILLIAMS
IS THE SOLE OWNER OF THE STAR IN THE LOCATION OF
RA13h 33m 35.5s; DEC –22° 11’ 21”
HEREAFTER IN EVERY AND ALL SCIENTIFIC VENUES
TO BE REFERRED TO AS
STARLIGHT SUPPLY
Melvin vaguely remembered reading, or maybe hearing, about a company that actually will, for a price, name a star whatever a person chooses.
Deciding not to argue, “Fine. You owned a star. You owned a star and it exploded. Explain this to me then: Why should U.B.I. give you any money at all?”
“Because I paid the monthly premiums, which, I may add, were all paid promptly when due, if not before. Just in case something like this were to happen. Which it did. If you need verification, I have a recent well-reputed science journal around here somewhere. I can also give you the URL to several web sites if you would like to see for yourself.”
“The fact of that your----your star exploded is not in dispute. I just fail to understand how you could possibly believe you should be paid for it.”
“That star was my business Starlight Supply. Since its obliteration, my income has come to a halt.”
“Income.”
”Yes. Starlight Supply was my source of income.”
“How?”
“When I first gained the title, I contacted, via e-mail, 7,250 universities and observatories worldwide. The message explained to them I now retained ownership; of the celestial gaseous body at RA13h 33m 35.5s; DEC –22° 11’ 21, and if they desired the continued privilege of studying and or observing said body, it would require a monthly payment of $100.”
“What was the reaction?”
“As you can well imagine, I received quite a fair amount of negative replies.”
“I’m sure.”
“However, most of the responses were greatly beneficial.”
“They were?”
“They were.”
“How many?”
“How many what?”
“Responses. How many of them were beneficial?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Williams upended a can a can and emptied into his mouth. “Five thousand seven hundred eighty-two.”
“Five thousand----“
“----seven hundred eighty-two.”
“And they have all been paying you $100 a month for----how long?”
“Prior to the explosion, slightly longer than four years.”
Melvin retrieved a calculator from a pocket inside his brief case. Pressing numbers he said, “That would mean your yearly income is----“
“Was.”
“Sorry. Was.” When he pushed the total button he was astounded. “This can not be right!”
“Is the total: six-million nine hundred thirty-eight thousand two hundred dollars?”
“Exactly.”
“It’s correct.”
“So over the last four years, you have made over twenty-seven-million dollars?”
“Yes. Minus taxes and expenses, of course.”
“You pay taxes?”
“Of course.” Williams began to shuffle through a pile of papers stacked atop the hard drive tower. Finally he found a paper-clipped stack of tax documents that he handed to Melvin. “As you well know, your company would not issue me business insurance without a business license. And I could not have a business license without having filed the appropriate financial statements with the Internal Revenue Service and the state licensing board. So yes. I have paid my taxes.”
Melvin started punching the numbers on his calculator again.“No need for that. I have paid eleven-million one hundred one thousand one hundred twenty dollars in taxes.”
The stunned insurance adjustor looked up blankly at Williams. “And expenses?”
“Of course. Honestly, my expenses have been minimal. Less than one-million dollars in the entire four years.”
“For what?”
“I pay $250 a year for exclusive usage of a particular internet server. Plus I pay an assistant $380.56 each week to go to the bank and run other miscellaneous errands when needed.”
“Where is he now?”
“Where is who?”
“Your assistant.”
“Of course. She.”
“What?”
“She.”
“She what?”
“She. My assistant is a she.”
“Okay, then. Where is she?”
“I had to let her go.”
“Why?”
“Because Starlight Supply no longer exists.”
“That’s right.”
“Really, Mr. Richards. I do wish you would pay attention.”
Melvin was about to make a derisive comment. He thought better to leave the comment just made to him alone and continue as close to normal as possible. He was determined not to have to issue a check for twenty million dollars.
“Let’s start over.”
“Of course.”
“I will concede, Starlight Supply, a celestial body, a star, which you held title to and owned and used as a business to charge various universities and observatories $100 each month for the last four years for the privilege of studying, exploded recently, bringing your business to an end.”
“Absolutely correct.”
“What was the cause of the explosion?”
“Well, stars are in actuality gaseous bodies. Sometimes gaseous bodies explode.”
Melvin found himself trying to understand. “Like if you have a gas leak or leave the oven on without the pilot light lit.”
“Not exactly. But that’s close.”
“I see.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I think I do. I’m very sorry, Mr. Williams, but I think I am going to have to deny your claim.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Gas explosions are considered accidents. Accidents caused by negligence. U.B.I. does not pay on claims which are a result of negligence.”
“Of course. I would not expect you to.”
“That’s good.” Melvin started repacking his brief case; visualizing himself walking out of the strange apartment in only a matter of minutes. He stood.
“However, a gaseous celestial body exploding is not an act of negligence.”
Melvin lost his vision. “It’s not?”
“No. It’s not.”
He sat again. “What is it then?”
“A natural phenomenon.”
“A natural phenomenon?”
“Yes.” Williams was now drinking from another soda can.
“Like a flood? Tornado? An earthquake?”
“Again, close. But not exactly.”
The vision returned. “Ah! Then I am afraid I am going to have to deny your claim on the fact that is clearly what is termed in your insurance policy as ‘an act of God.’”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Richards, that you are incorrect.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Williams, that I am not. There is most certainly an ‘act of God’ clause in your insurance policy!”
“I am not arguing that.”
“Then what are you arguing?”
“Would you be so kind as to read the clause, please?”
It was Melvin’s turn to say, “Of course! It would be my pleasure!” He took the policy out of the manila folder and started paging through it. “I know it is here somewhere.”
“Page five. Paragraph six, subsection two.”
Melvin turned to the named section and was not surprised to find Williams was correct. “Here. It reads: ‘Agent shall not be required to pay on claims of loss of business in part or in whole which results from any source determined to be An Act of God.’” He looked up at the man sitting across the room from him. “I think that says it pretty clear, Mr. Williams.”
“Will you continue reading, please.”
Confused, but willing to oblige if only to bring the insanity to a conclusion, Melvin looked back down at the policy in his hand and read, “An Act of God is defined by Agent as an earthquake, flood, hurricane, storm, tornado or any other Earthly based natural disaster or any combination of those listed.” He looked smugly at Williams. “There. You see.”
Williams looked smugly back at Melvin. “Of course.”
“And you still think we owe you the money?”
“Of course.”
“How could you possibly think that!!?”
“It states very clearly, ‘any other Earthly based natural disaster. Starlight Supply is not on Earth.”
Melvin’s jaw went agape as he started down at the words he held in his hand, ‘….or any other Earthly based natural disaster….’ “Yes. But, I, you, it----“
“So when may I expect my check?”
Melvin finally admitted to himself he had been defeated. In monotone, he said, “I am authorized to issue you a check today. To whom should I make it out to?”
“Starlight Supply. Of course.”
“Of course.”
Forty-three minutes later, after endorsing the largest check in his career, in his life, the bewildered insurance man sat at a coffee shop with his black coffee in front of him. He did not know how he was going to explain to his boss what had just happened.
After his third cup, Melvin called his office on his mobile phone. “Hello, Sheila? This is Richards. Yeah.----I approved it.----I’m not joking,----Message?----No. No message. Wait! Yeah, give him this message----I quit!” He ended the call.
Immediately he dialed the phone again.
“Hello, operator? Can I please have the phone number for Galactic Star Registry?”