*
*
CHAPTER 2
Two days later - ten to eleven A.M.
Though the month at the top of the flip-over calendar's page had changed from August to September, it appeared the weather gods had found a leftover bucketful of Summer that was too good to go to waste: the sun beat down from a deep-blue sky that only saw a few of the fluffy white things known as clouds.
The ambient temperature had risen accordingly, but the much-reviled high levels of humidity that often plagued Bay City in August and September had taken a leave of absence - perhaps it had come to realize it could not compete with the strong high-pressure system that had built up above the metropole.
With the autumn months just around the corner, the colors seemed stronger somehow. The leaves on the trees were beginning to grow darker, the grass on the city's lawns had already grown paler, the marquees and parasols that had been dug out of storage once the sun had returned were more colorful, the pale-gray strips of asphalt that cris-crossed the city were brighter, and even the chocolate-brown paint job on a certain AMC Pacer stood out more than it had earlier in the summer.
The sunny conditions inside the Pacer matched those it was driving through. The driver's side window was rolled down to allow the catchy country tones of Jerry Reed to escape into the ether, and the person behind the wheel had her elbow on the windowsill while belting out a somewhat faithful rendition of East Bound & Down.
The newly-calibrated speedometer read twenty-seven miles per hour which was just about right for the situation. It caused one or two of the people behind them to honk since they were travelling on a radial road that had a fifty miles per hour speed limit, but Stella was not about to let other people's chronic impatience cause her any heartburn that would turn her day sour.
As the theme song from the hit movie Smokey & The Bandit faded out, she turned the volume down a notch or two to be able to hear herself think again. With the arrival of the warm front, she had nixed the idea of wearing the poncho - it seemed the non-stop prayers Regina had sent upstairs had worked - but the rest of her 1970s retro garb was in place: she wore her colorful batik T-shirt, rainbow-colored suspenders, a pair of pale-blue bell-bottom jeans that had a swirling pattern hand-painted in white on the outside of the pantlegs, and finally the type of flat, dull, ergonomic footwear that had been so popular with pipe-smoking college professors and celery-stick-chewing kindergarten teachers back in the day. The shoes were obviously orange and had brown shoelaces.
She wore a bright-purple sweatband around her head that made her shaggy haystack stand out even farther than usual, but she considered taking it off and using it as a wristband instead - the 1974-vintage fashion accessory was far hotter than she had expected. A well-worn, fourth-hand denim jacket with wide lapels and brass buttons rested on the back seat, but she would put it on once they reached their destination. As expected, she had clicked the mirror-shade hangers onto her glasses to offer the illusion that the 1970s had never really gone away.
The title of the eight-track cartridge they listened to was All-American Superhits Of 1977, and the contents lived up to the name when Walk This Way by Aerosmith started playing. Such a hard-rock song was more difficult for Stella to warble along to, so she had time to check out the garb worn by the passenger next to her. It came as no surprise to anyone that the woman in question looked amazing, and in fact as if she had just stepped out of a time warp.
To get inspired, Regina had spent hours upon hours scouring the Internet to find images of genuine 1970s high fashion. It was a tough job that only the most dedicated fashionista could pull off, and even then, she had needed plenty of nourishment in the shape of a gallon-sized bottle of Slurrpy Carbonated Mineral Water and an entire four-pound bag of healthy snacks - mostly carrots and fresh sweet peas, but also grapes, cherries, chunks of cantaloupe and half a watermelon. The latter was the only item on the menu that she needed to keep from Stella or else the mop-topped investigator would have eaten the entire green-and-red-thing all on her own.
All of that hard work had resulted in an ensemble that was as classy as it was simple: she wore sandals like Stella had suggested, but they had a one-inch heel rather than being of the trademark flat-soled Roman design. Further up, she wore casual-cut blue jeans; the pantlegs were neither tight nor loose but just right to accentuate her endless legs and shapely rear. Unlike Stella's jeans that were so widely flared it bordered on self-parody, Regina's pantlegs ended in a modest trumpet that just covered the top of the sandals.
Her sculpted upper body was graced by an off-white V-neck tunic that featured puffy sleeves and an integrated, four-inch wide waist belt made of pale-brown cotton. The belt carried a large buckle that appeared to be made of brass, but it was merely metal that had been painted in a brassy tone - it was only for show, so it mattered little what material it was made of.
Oversized black sunglasses and just the tiniest amount of facial makeup - a bronze foundation and a faint hint of a black eyeshadow - completed the ensemble. She had her hair styled down around her face, and the long, dark tresses made her look like a true 1970s-era fashion goddess who could easily have been one of the original Charlie's Angels.
"Holy mackerel, have ya ever clapped eyes on such a pair of fashionable gals?" Stella said while displaying a grin wide enough for a 1970s-era Mack RS tanker truck to drive through. "I mean… look at us, Reggie! This has got to be the coolest looks we've ever had. I can't believe the second-hand shop where you bought some of this gear had day-to-day delivery!"
"Well, how could they say no to the undisputed Queen of the Catwalks and the incomparable, the original, the one-and-only Stella Starr?" Regina said with a grin as she looked at the reflection of herself in Stella's mirrored hangers.
The grin was returned at once, soon followed by a: "Damn straight, Sister!"
"Still not sure about those rainbow suspenders, though… but I guess you make them work."
"Uh-huh! The suspenders stay right where they are… or else I can't go faster than a chain-gang walk 'cos my britches have pooled around my ankles," Stella said; her grin only grew wider and even turned saucy.
"Ah… very well. You've convinced me."
While Stella's attention had been focused on Regina and her classy garb, the speed had climbed to more than thirty-two miles per hour. Shocked at how easy the new and improved Pacer had achieved such an insane velocity, Stella let go of the gas pedal at once so she could avoid tempting fate.
As the next song started - Ram Jam's hard-rock anthem Black Betty - Stella turned the volume back up and took a deep breath. Soon, she was belting out the punchy, oft-repeated lyrics of the rambunctious tune though her voice was not exactly suited for singing hard rock.
While Regina stuffed her index fingers into her ears, all and sundry they met on the radial road stared at them like there was something very, very wrong with the driver. At one alley they drove past, Stella's attempts at singing made several rough'n'tumble stray cats stop their fighting to hiss at her in unison. A little later on, three homeless people left their filled shopping carts behind to dive for cover, and that only happened once a year at the most.
Stella cared little about the critics. When Black Betty faded out, it was followed by the Bee Gees' Stayin' Alive that only made her increase her efforts and thus her loudness - it also gave her a good opportunity to explore her falsetto.
---
A few ninety-degree turns later, they entered the wide, six-lane avenue that would eventually take them to Fifty-fifth Street. Once there, they would need to follow it all the way to the far end to get to the gigantic parking lots at the Bay City Bulldawgs stadium where the jamboree was held.
Their trusty, old paper map of the metropole's intricate system of streets and roads had been spread out over Regina's jeans-clad lap, and she kept track of where they were and where they needed to go by pressing a slender finger onto the colorful lines. Underneath the paper map - and far, far out of Stella's line of sight - the GPS app on Regina's smartphone marked the route better than either of them could.
When they reached the intersection at Fifty-fifth Street, even Stella Starr in all her giddy, loudly-singing exuberance could not get a simple right-hand turn wrong, so they were soon headed down the correct street at a ferocious twenty-four miles per hour.
It seemed the time-warp thing was contagious, because the entire pump area of a gas station they went past was filled with nothing but classic cars of all ages and shapes, and in all kinds of lurid colors. Stella considered topping off now they were on the road, but Billy's expert fine-tuning of the carburetor appeared to have worked wonders for the fuel consumption as well as the rest of the Pacer, because the needle on the gauge had hardly moved closer to the 'E'.
The first signs and posters welcoming all AMC owners to the Forty-fourth Annual AMC Jamboree extravaganza came into sight before long, so Regina quietly turned off the GPS app and slipped the smartphone into her pocket - mission accomplished. "Great driving, dahling," she said and offered the woman behind the wheel a few kissies.
"Thanks, Reggie!" Stella said as she mirrored the kissies with a few of her own. "Yeah. I'm in a positive mood today. Yep. I feel sum'tin good is gonna happen to us. For us. Around us. Blippety-blip-blop, all of the above!" she continued as she let her hand slide over the new, fluffy wheel-sock that added so much 1970s-magic to the Pacer that she could not believe she had never thought of it herself.
A car suddenly began to honk somewhere behind the two investigators. First a couple of times, then a couple more like the driver wanted to get past. Looking ahead, Stella noted that Fifty-fifth Street was so clear even she could have overtaken someone if she had wanted to - not that she ever did. She grunted, adjusted her mirror-hangers and scrunched up her face.
When a third round of honking was heard, she began digging through her archive of juicy retorts and stinging barbs to find a few excellent ones to throw at the impatient driver, but she let out a surprised grunt rather than a fiery response when she realized what was in fact going on.
With another honk, the car behind them jerked out of line and roared up alongside the chocolate-brown Pacer. Instead of it being a modern, deathly dull, charcoal-gray people carrier driven by an annoyed - and annoying - salesperson, insurance broker or accountant, it was a melon-yellow 1979 AMC Pacer Wagon occupied by three people who were clearly members of the same family. They all offered Stella and Regina big, happy waves and several thumbs-up that were responded to in kind before the Pacer Wagon roared off into the distance.
"Hot diggity-bing-bong, how 'bout that, Reggie?! Woo-frickin'-hooo!" Stella said as she smacked her hand down onto the fluffy sock on the steering wheel. When even that was not enough to fully display her excitement, she reached over to scratch at the tree-shaped Alpine Air air-freshener - the scents it sent out made Regina crinkle her nose and shy back from it.
Stella failed to notice, and continued: "Sweet Mother of Pizza, we're among friends now! Can you be-lieeeeeeeeeeeve what just happened? I mean… I mean… I mean… can you imagine the driver of another Merc SLK giving us a thumbs-up and a wave when we're out in that roller skate? The hell you can!"
"You have a point, Stell," Regina said and craned her neck to look into the right-hand door mirror. Several more oddly-shaped - but certainly wild, wacky and wonderful - vehicles came up behind them like they were suddenly part of a great pilgrimage to the AMC Holy Land.
"Ain't this just too flip-floppin' great? Ohhhhh, man, this is gonna be theeee best-" Stella said, but she was cut off mid-stream by an impossibly loud:
BWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHH! that came out of nowhere.
The dinosaur-like roar that blasted out of the two-plus-two chromed-up exhaust pipes of the black-and-red 1970 Javelin muscle car drowned out even Status Quo's Rockin' All Over The World that played on the eight-track - and that took some doing.
"Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooly squid!" Stella shouted at the top of her lungs as the dust continued to settle even after the fast-moving sports car had been reduced to a black dot in the far distance. She jumped up and down on the brand new covers which made the springs in the seat let out a constant creaking and squeaking. "Can't wait… can't wait… can't blippety-blip-bloppin' wait!"
-*-*-*-
"Oh crud, I guess we gotta wait after all," Stella mumbled as she drove her Pacer up to the end of a line of cars waiting to get into the vast, and vastly confusing, system of parking lots at the stadium. She flicked open her mirrored hangers in the hope it would improve the view, but it failed to do so.
The organizers had opened up seven access lanes that allowed entry to the big event - three reserved for AMC products and four for the many different vehicles the hopefully large number of spectators were to arrive in - but even though a handful of volunteer attendants were busy at each of them checking the invitations and handling tickets for those not involved in the various AMC owners' clubs, the lines of cars were growing by the minute. There were shiny metal boxes on wheels everywhere, and it seemed that every last car ever produced by the American Motors Corporation had shown up for the forty-fourth annual jamboree.
"Stell, I think we're in the wrong line," Regina said after studying the cars closest to them.
Stella had no time to listen to her sweetheart's observation - her entire attention was directed solely on an odd, whiny sound that came from somewhere ahead of them. "Reggie, can you hear that?" she said while she poked her head out of the window.
"The whine? Yes. But like I said, I think we're in the-"
"I don't like that, Reggie. It sounds bad, Reggie. Real bad, Reggie," Stella said and fell back against the brown seat cover. She began to tap her fingers on the wheel sock - and her gestures grew more frantic as the whine continued. "It's whining, Reggie. It shouldn't whine, Reggie. Why does it whine, Reggie?"
"Perhaps to match its owner," Regina mumbled.
"Whassat?"
"Nothing, dahling!"
"Yeah, right… but there's definitely a whine. No doubt about it… it's a whine. I can speak whine fluently, and that's definitely a whine. It shouldn't whine, Reggie! Not after all the stuff Billy did to it! Ohhhhhh, my Old Girl… now what's wrong with you? I'm gonna be so frickin'-frackin' annnnngry if… if… if… naw, I gotta check. I gotta check!" Stella said and reached down below the dashboard to pull the lever for the hood.
Once the latch had released up front, she bolted from the seat and tore around the fender to lift the heavy piece of sheet metal that moved forward rather than backward like on most other American cars. Two-point-four seconds later, she let out a deep sigh of relief that turned into a quacking, croaking, squeaking snicker.
After shutting the hood again and making sure the lock gripped, she shuffled back behind the wheel where she let out another sigh of relief. "False alarm. It's the new cooling fan. It's working! That's what's producing the whine… holy mackerel-in-spicy-tomato-sauce, it had me worried. It reallllly had me worried, Reggie! Huh. I'd never heard that whine before… I guess it means the old fan never really worked at all. That could explain why the engine temperature went into the red zone the whole blip-bloppin' time…"
"No kidding," Regina mumbled.
"Whassat?"
"Nothing, dahling!"
Stella scowled at her sweetheart, but like always, she was unable to hold it for long. Snickering, she adjusted her mirror hangers before she reached over to give Regina a little poke in the side. "ANYway. What were you saying before?"
"I think we're in the wrong lane, Stell."
"How you figure that? I didn't know there were right or wrong lanes here…"
"Well," Regina said and pointed at a large group of colorful vehicles off to their left, "those old cars over there are all AMCs. And I mean all of them… right?"
"Uh… right," Stella said, following Regina's manicured finger to look at the collection of classic and vintage cars that seemed to be in a faster-moving line compared to their own that had hardly moved since they had arrived there.
Turning back, Regina pointed at the gray sedan ahead of them. "And unless AMC is spelled T-o-y-o-t-a, that car ahead isn't."
"Uh… yeah… huh. So?"
"Well, let me see…" Regina continued as she craned her neck a little more. A few glances in a few directions seemed to confirm her suspicion. "Okay, the AMC cars are all led into the central section of the parking lot… where all the flagpoles are. That's got to be the site for the jamboree. The cars in this lane are moved further away… probably to the stadium's eastern parking zones. We're in the wrong lane, Stell."
Chirping crickets.
"Bing-bong-almighty, we're in the wrong riffin'-raffin' lane!" Stella growled as she smacked her hand onto the fluffy sock on the steering wheel. "Okay. Okay. Don't panic. Don't panic!"
"I'm not panicking…"
"How do we get from this lane here over to that lane there, Reggie?"
"Well…" Regina said and rolled down the window so she could get a better view of the situation. After pulling her head back inside so her delicate hair would not be disturbed by that pesky thing known as a breeze, she broke out in a shrug. "I don't know."
"Panic! Panic! Panic!" Stella cried as she jumped up and down in the seat, "ohhhhhhhh, not now… not now, Reggie!"
"I'm not pan-"
"Panic! Panic! Panic! Okay… okay… think… think! We need to- to- to- we need to- to- think!" Stella said, furiously rubbing her forehead. The purple sweatband was in the way so she whipped it off to have better access to her flushed skin. She flipped open the mirror-hangers to see better; then she flipped them back down; then she flipped them open all over again.
"I have an idea, Stell," Regina said after surveying their situation a second time. The lane on their immediate left was closed off for the day since there was a big, jagged crack in the pavement. Four bright-orange traffic cones had been put up to mark the outer edges of the deep pothole to warn the drivers not to get too close.
In theory, there would be plenty of room for even the wide Pacer to go past the traffic cones, but whether or not Stella could perform such a maneuver was another question entirely.
"Whaddayawant, a handwritten invitation from the Surgeon General?! Tell me, Reggie!" Stella said in a screechy voice.
"Just pull a U… make a U-turn left and go back. Drive around the cones, and then we can latch onto the tail-end of the AMC-line…"
"A hard U… ohhh, crud… I s'pose I could try," Stella said and turned the steering wheel all the way to the left. She needed a bit more clearance up ahead for the wide car to have enough space, but that came almost at once when the gray Toyota sedan in front of them moved another few yards forward as the lane moved. "Here goes, Reggie… cross your fingers and toes and eyes and- and- and- everything," she croaked as she depressed the throttle.
The RoarMaster muffler responded by letting out a content growl that was soon followed by a simple, elegant U-turn. Behind the wheel, Stella promptly lost her jaw and her ability to speak at the ease of the maneuver. The four bright-orange traffic cones provided no drama whatsoever which left Stella even more astounded.
Driving at no more than walking pace and with the hazard lights flashing to warn the others that something unusual was going on, Stella had her Old Girl trickling down the closed lane until she reached the tail-end of the one that held all the AMC cars. Another equally simple and elegant U-turn was carried out before the chocolate-brown wonder and the two passengers inside slotted in behind a bronze Matador from the early 1970s.
Sniffling, Stella reached up to wipe away a tear of joy that had escaped her left eye. "Thanks, Old Girl… thank you, Billy… I definitely owe you a dinner at Bob's Bucket Of Ribs… and thank you, sweet, sweet, sweeeeeeeeet Reggie for the suggestion," she croaked as she fondled the brown wheel sock and the fake woodgrain-panels on the dashboard and the aftermarket center console.
Regina did one better - she leaned over to place a large kiss right on Stella's trembling lips.
"Pulling a U has never been that easy… ever!" Stella said and shook her head in wonder. "It's probably got something to do with what Billy said about tightening nine bolts in the steering gear or whatever it was…"
"He said what?! How many bolts?!" Regina cried and jerked her head to the left.
"Nine-"
"Do you mean to tell me we've been driving around with a defective steering all these years?"
Stella wiped her nose on the back of a hand; then she broke out in a shrug. "Well… I guess…"
"We could've been seriously hurt, Stell!"
"Well, yeah, but… I mean, whenever I turned the steering wheel, my Old Girl always went in that direction… mostly… just not this easy."
The wide-eyed expression on Regina's face told a tale of barely hidden shock and horror. A shiver ran over her despite the warm day; then she gulped audibly and looked straight ahead at the line of similar-aged cars ahead of them.
---
The process of showing the emailed invitation and having it checked and approved was a smooth one - much to Stella's relief and Regina's astonishment - and they were soon able to let the chocolate-brown Pacer trickle into the jamboree's main area at the stadium's central parking zone.
Row after row after row was filled with all kinds of AMC products ranging from the mid-1950s to the last-gasp attempts of the mid-1980s to allow the company to carry on. There were even a couple of high-quality examples of the Hudson and Nash-Kelvinator cars from the early 1950s before the two companies had merged to form American Motors Corporation.
Despite - or perhaps because of - the meager budget the AMC styling team had to work with compared to the main competition, it was never afraid to experiment with wild colors and even wilder designs that would have made the people working for the Big Three auto-makers lose their jobs in a heartbeat. Widely flared wheel-arches, overly heavy rear-ends and square edges that ran into soft curves and vice versa were a dime a dozen, and the kaleidoscope of colors on display ranged from Aquamarina and Big Bad Green past Bitter-Sweet Orange and Cotton Candy Pink to Neon Brilliant Blue.
Stella's chocolate-brown Pacer fit into the eclectic bunch like the Pope in Rome. As she trickled slowly down a row to find a spot to park - and show off Billy's quality restoration - they went past Ambassadors, Matadors, AMX'es, Gremlins, Javelins, Hornets, Pacer hatchbacks and wagons, Spirits, Concords, Eagles and even a few Rambler Marlins. Her poor neck got a severe workout as she whipped her head around the whole time to take in as much of the splendor as she could.
Happy people had flocked to the event and were everywhere around them: kids, teens, adults and old folks appeared to have a fabulous time walking around the vast parking lot adjacent to the stadium of the Bay City Bulldawgs. Many of the car owners had put up lawn chairs and small picnic tables next to their cars where they had lunch while yapping endlessly with their friends, like-minded enthusiasts and just the visitors in general.
The organizers followed a strict plan to keep the rows thoroughly mixed. Two cars sporting identical primary colors could not be parked next to each other unless they traveled together, and it meant the rows seemed to explode in all the colors of the rainbow - it was a sound plan as it made the jamboree seem even livelier and friendlier.
"Holy smokes, Reggie… wouldya look at all this!" Stella said in a daze as she made a sweeping gesture at the colorful corner of automotive paradise around them. "I'm shocked… no, stunned. No, speechless! And that doesn't happen often…"
"I'll say…" Regina mumbled.
"Whassat?"
"Nothing, dahling!"
"Yeah, right… oy! Lookie there," Stella suddenly cried as she pointed ahead of them. "There's a gap for us… between that- that- that- pink thing… I'm not sure what that is… and the black thing. Oooh, isn't that… hmmm… yes, that's definitely the awesome sporty car that roared past us before!"
"Looks like it," Regina said and unbuckled ahead of time.
Stella had the choice of either driving into the available parking slot nose-first or reversing into it. The two cars parked on either side of the free space had both reversed in to offer unrestricted views of the long hoods, round headlights and the rest of the intricate design features up front. The black-and-red muscle car had its hood wide open so the passers-by could marvel at the flashy engine compartment. Coming to a halt, Stella let out a few grunts and groans as she weighed the options - they had several cars lined up behind them, so her decision had to be a snappy one. "I'm feeling brave today, Reggie. Are you feeling brave?"
"Mmmm-not particularly…" Regina said as a worried expression fell over her face. She lifted the oversized sunglasses to get a clearer view of the parking slot in question. It was long and wide enough for anything smaller than a Sherman tank, but it was a sure bet the people responsible for painting the white lines onto the asphalt at the stadium's parking lot had not taken Stella Starr into account when they had calculated how large the slots should be.
"I am. I'm reversing in. Lessee if I can't get this right," Stella mumbled and turned the hazard lights back on to let the driver behind her know that something was up; then she let the Pacer trickle another few yards ahead to get the right angle for the turn. As she selected reverse on the column-mounted shifter, Regina put up her hands:
"Wait! Wait, I better guide you in there. There's a curb at the back and everything…"
"Awwww! Thanks, Reggie! You're my friend," Stella said and sent her sweetheart a few kissies.
Regina had barely stepped out of the Pacer before she flicked her perfect hair over her perfect shoulder where it landed in a perfect cascade down her perfect tunic-clad back - it had been a while since she had done so, so she had to do it for a second time just to even things out. "Okay, come on… come on… come on…" she said as she waved Stella into the slot.
In nothing flat, Stella reversed right down the center of the parking slot like she had done nothing else since her sixteenth birthday where she had earned her driver's license. She let the Pacer come to a halt a safe distance from the curb before she turned off the engine; then she pulled the lever for the hood for a second time within fifteen minutes.
Regina was caught in a state of mild shock as she stood behind the chocolate-brown vehicle. She pulled the oversized sunglasses down onto the lower part of her nose while she tried to take in the surprising fact that Stella had been able to reverse into the gap easy-peasy. Chuckling, she pushed the sunglasses back up and sashayed around to the driver's side door.
"Watch this, Reggie!" Stella said as she got out of the car the regular way by turning around in the seat and putting her orange-and-brown ergonomic shoes on the parking lot's asphalt. With no effort at all, she got to her feet and closed the door behind her. "Huh? Huh? How 'bout that, huh? I didn't need a hand up, and I didn't fall back down onto my butt like I allllllways do in the blip-bloppin' SLK… that's why the AMC Pacer is a legendary motor vehicle, Reggie!"
"If you say so, dahling…"
"I do. So there! Now… let's get the cooler bag and, uh… ding-dong-darnit, we shoulda brought a couple of camping chairs or sum'tin… I didn't think of that… I thought we were just gonna walk around and look at stuff like we did at the Meet The Police event," Stella said as she took a look at the AMC owners closest to them who were all sitting in lawn chairs having a good time. A few waved at her or offered thumbs-up that she responded to in kind.
The air was filled with plenty of happy chatter as well as the characteristic rumbling of the many straight-sixes and eight-cylinder engines present, but it was still possible to hear the rock'n'roll band that was performing on a stage a short distance away near the center of the jamboree site. The organizers had assembled a long list of top-quality amateur and semi-professional bands who played retro music from the 1950s to the 1970s, and the crowds were presently entertained by a Rockabilly quartet called the Hammer Down Fellas who lived up to their name by playing the old Bill Haley classic Crazy Man, Crazy at full speed and maximum volume.
Stella scratched her cheek as she looked at her Pacer, at the many happy people who filed past them, at the pink 1950s-era sedan to their left and finally the black-and-red muscle car to their right - it was clear she had reached an unexpected snag with regards to how to proceed.
Her rainbow-colored suspenders, the batik T-shirt, the flared jeans with the swirling patterns and not least the mirrored hangers drew a certain amount of attention from the people walking past, but everyone smiled at her and offered her friendly, positive comments instead of insulting or ridiculing her. It took all kinds, and a little garishness was simply the norm at a jamboree celebrating the American Motors Corporation that had never been afraid of breaking the mould.
"So what do you feel like doing, Stell?" Regina said as she joined the mop-topped investigator at the front of the car. "Do you want to go around for a while, or do you want to stay here? Or a little of both…?"
"Shoot, Reggie… I dunno," Stella said and scratched her cheek again; then she moved her hand around to scratch her neck. "Both sound fun, and I definitely wanna see all the other cars here. I think we should… mmmm… stay here for a Slurrpy or two and then take the grand tour of the premises. Or maybe do it the other way 'round… ugh… I dunno."
Unable to arrive at any kind of conclusion to the conundrum of what to do, Stella reached in under the Pacer's hood to release the latch so she could pull the heavy piece of metal up once more.
The clean, shiny engine compartment with the polished aluminum valve cover and the brand-new hoses and wires could compete with any other such bay at the big event, even the muscle car next to it, and she had to break out into a wide, genuine smile at that fact. She had barely put the support-strut in place before she had drawn a crowd of interested spectators. Smartphones and proper cameras were held up to capture the sight of the Pacer's engine, and plenty of pictures were soon taken.
"Wait, what's that? Did I hear a camera clicking?" Regina said as she literally moved herself into the picture. "Ohhhh, I sure did," she continued while assuming a pre-emptive cool expression that she knew would look good from all angles.
She fully expected the crowd to ask her for selfies like every other group of people did whenever and wherever the Queen of the Catwalks ventured out among the commoners. Much to her spine-chilling shock and horror, the people who held up their cameras all continued to take pictures of Stella's chocolate-brown Pacer rather than the former supermodel standing next to it - in fact, she was even nudged aside so the view of the engine bay was clearer.
Stella noticed and moved over to her rejected - and dejected - sweetheart. "Cheer up, Reggie. It was bound to happen sooner or later, y'know. At some point, you just had to relinquish the throne… but I still kinda love ya," she said sporting a wide, somewhat cheeky, grin.
Regina mumbled a few phrases that were lost to the wind. A frown fell over her as she shuffled away from the site of the terrible disappointment.
"Awww… she's such a drama queen," Stella said and broke out in a snicker. "But she's my drama queen! Alllll mine!"
Shuffling off to the side so she could give the many photographers and interested spectators clear shots of the Pacer, Stella came to an abrupt stop when she found herself face to face with a tough-looking woman who was clad almost solely in black.
The late-thirty-something woman - whose bronzed skin tone offered a hint she was a Pacific Islander - wore basketball boots, military-style cargo pants, a T-shirt that carried the traditional red-white-and-blue AMC logo, and finally a bomber jacket equipped with a silvery zipper and a red stripe down the left side of the front; the wraparound shades and even the short, boyish hair were black as well. Tattoos reached onto her hands from underneath the jacket's sleeves, so her arms were most likely covered by works of art.
She chewed gum like a pro by mostly using her jaw and only parting her lips when it was time to blow a bubble. "Hiya," she said as she put out her hand. "Ricki Deane's my name. Friends call me R.D. This is my 'seventy Jave S-S-T Three-ninety."
"Whoa…" Stella uttered as she shook the tough woman's hand. The bomber jacket opened a little more upon contact which allowed a silvery necklace carrying two interlocked women's symbols to come into view - the classy piece of jewelry caught Stella's eye at once.
The gum was turned over a couple of times in Ricki's mouth before she said: "That's an interesting name. What were your parents called? Hi and Lo?"
"Uh-buh… whut?" Stella said and tore her eyes away from the necklace to look up at the wraparound shades. To appear a little more approachable, she flipped open her mirror hangers and offered the tough woman a smile. "No, I'm Stella Starr. Hiya. The tall drink o' water who just went off in a sulk is my Snookums Reggie Harrison."
"Right. The suspenders kinda gave you away," Ricki said with a knowing nod; her lips curled into a lop-sided grin that lasted for a few seconds - then her cool facade fell back into place.
"So this is your car, huh?" Stella said and shuffled over to the muscle car to take a closer look. Like on her Pacer, the hood had been opened so she had an unrestricted view of the flashy power plant. It was vastly different to the one in her car, even she could see that, but she was not about to reveal her somewhat rudimentary skills when it came to the mechanical aspects of the vehicles.
After nodding an affirmative reply, Ricki turned the gum over once more before she spoke: "Yep. A nineteen-seventy Javelin S-S-T. Built March twenty-third so it's one of the interim models. Bought it eight years ago. I've upgraded it a little over time, but it's still pretty stock. The motor's a three-ninety cubic-inch hooked up to a manual four-on-the-floor with a Hurst shifter. Puts down, oh, somewhere in the region of three-hundred-and-fifty horses. It's got all of the GoPac features, obviously."
"OB-viously," Stella said and adjusted her glasses and her mirror hangers - she hoped Ricki Deane would explain what most of the strange terms meant, but the black-clad driver just carried on:
"Like dual four-barrel cross-ram intake manifolds, the high-performance camshaft kit and dual-point ignition. An Autolite four-three-double-oh carb."
Stella blinked once, then once more. When no explanation was given for any of the advanced technical terms, she decided to pretend that she knew exactly what Ricki had meant. "Right. That's… certainly… uh… impressive. It sure went fast when you passed us out on Fifty-fifth Street…"
"You betcha. That was about half-throttle."
"Whoa…"
"It's got a limited-slip differential, performance drilled and slotted rotors up front and red-line Cooper Cobra tires on Magnum five-hundred wheels all around. I've always thought they looked wicked cool."
"They sure do, Ricki…" Stella said, looking at the combination of wheels and tires - at least she knew what to look for unlike most of the rest of Ricki's lengthy sales pitch.
"Twin hood scoops as part of a cold ram-air induction system up front. RoarMaster mufflers and quad-tip exhausts down the ass-end. Those three-inch drain pipes make for an awesome sound, lemme tell ya. I guess you know that already, huh? Heavy-duty suspension with reinforced anti-roll bars for the quarter-mile runs. It's got some torque-steer but it's not too bad. It's got a solid launch with the four-ten rear-end ratio, too."
By now, Stella's head was spinning freely on its axis. All she could do was to nod and let out vaguely affirmative grunts to Ricki's lengthy list of features. It was only when the tough-looking woman turned her gum over to blow a pink bubble that she snapped out of her stupor and gestured at her beloved Old Girl. "Uh… and this is a nineteen-seventy-five Pacer. With a… an engine up front. I've just had it restored bumper-to-bumper. And I got a RoarMaster exhaust too!"
"Everyone should have 'em. They're wicked. Your Jellybean looks awesome, that's a fact," Ricki said and studied the chocolate-brown body panels and the white-wall tires before she zoomed in on the engine compartment. "It's a straight-six. Holley single-barrel carb. Nice stuff. Love the polished valve cover. You got the two-thirty-two or the two-fifty-eight?"
"Absolutely. One of them, anyway. I'm sure of it," Stella said and ran her thumbs up and down her rainbow-colored suspenders.
Ricki chuckled and blew another pink bubble. After it had popped, she moved around to get a better view of the Pacer's engine. "I think it's a two-thirty-two cubic-inch. That's what most of 'em came with from the factory. You got a manny-tranny or a slushbox in it?"
"It's definitely one of the two…"
"I guess it must be 'cos I can't think of any car, AMC or otherwise, that has both a manual and an automatic transmission," Ricki said while displaying a lop-sided grin just below the wraparound shades.
"Oh… it's an automatic," Stella said before she let out an embarrassed chuckle. She shuffled around on the spot for a moment or two before she broke out in a shrug. "Yeah, I know… I'm not an expert. I don't have any technical insight or anything… I just love how it drives."
"That's cool too."
Stella glanced at Regina who was still standing at the rear of Ricki's Javelin with a surly expression on her face and her arms folded across her chest - it was obvious she was still in a severe huff after being nudged aside by the photographers. "Say…" Stella said as she turned back to the woman in black, "Reggie and me were just gonna go on a little sightseeing, but, uh… I think we'll stay here for a while. At least to begin with. You wanna chew the fat and swap stories about our cars and stuff?"
"Sure. I'd like that."
"Excellen-ty! You want a soda pop or something? We got sandwiches as well."
"I ate before I got here, but I could definitely drink a pop. Only Slurrpies, though. I can't have that Frizzie's crap. Gives me the burps," Ricki said and turned her gum over once more.
"No frickin' way!" Stella said and smacked her hands against her thighs. "Holy blip-bloppa-rooney, that's what I always say! Slurrpies iz what we got!"
"Wicked. Lead on," Ricki said and put out her hand.
---
Ten minutes later, Stella was hard at work slurping a Slurrpy South Seas Exotic Fruit Squash - using a foot-long, neon-green drinking straw - while munching on a triple-decker grilled-cheese sandwich. The sneaky Regina had even slipped in a slice of tomato to add the tiniest amount of vegetables to the greasy dish, but Stella did not mind for once.
The former supermodel in question nursed a deep sulk, a chilled Diet Pineapple Perfection and a small salad featuring raisins, bean sprouts and grated carrots. Their black-clad guest had already downed a can of Classic Cola and was working on the second one.
They had set up camp in the space between the Javelin and the Pacer - Ricki had provided the lawn chairs; she always carried several of the lightweight chairs with her whenever she attended car shows - and the three women and their two picture-perfect cars drew plenty of interested and admiring looks from the people filing past.
"So me and Reggie are fully licensed-" - Munch, slurp, MUNCH - "private investigators. We're equal-" - Munch, MUNCH, slurp - "partners in the Harrison-Starr Detective Agency." - SLURP, munch, munch - "We work all kinds of-" - MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH - "cases from missing pets to spying-" - SLURRRRP, SLURRRP, munch - "on cheating husbands… and wives too," - Munch, slurp, MUNCH - "for that matter."
"Have you had any thrillers? Or is that all hush-hush?" Ricki said with a lop-sided grin.
"Naw, we love to talk about our cases! Don't we, Reggie?" - Slurrrp!
"You certainly do," Regina mumbled, but it was lost in the sulk and the bean-sprout salad.
"Yeah," Stella continued in a dreamy voice without noticing the little needle, "Holy smokes, what haven't-" - Munch, MUNCH, slurp - "we done? We chased down a nasty-" - SLURP, munch, munch - "thief who stole recipes from the Teresa-" - MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH - "Maddalena people. Ever tried those-" - SLURRRRP, SLURRRP, munch - "pizza and pasta sauces, Ricki? They're awesomely yummy." - Munch, slurp, MUNCH - "And we caught the notorious Invisible Man-" - Munch, MUNCH, slurp - "jewel thief a couple-a years ago. It turned out to be two-" - SLURP, munch, munch - "fellas who robbed the rich socialite Lulu LaFontaine." - MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH - "Remember that, Reggie?" - SLURRRRP, SLURRRP, munch.
"Yes-"
"And we helped the legendary rock'n'roller-" - Munch, slurp, MUNCH - "Joan Of Rock get some of her new recordings back." - Munch, MUNCH, slurrrrp - "Yeah… they had been stolen, see, and she was kinda bummed about it." - Slurrrrrrrrrp.
"Joan of Rock, eh?" Ricki said as she emptied the second can of Slurrpy Classic Cola. "I think I have one of her newer albums in the CD-changer. It might even be the same one. How's that for a co-inky-dink."
"Yeah," Stella said with a dry chuckle. "That was a… an… well… hmmm. It was a special case, we better leave it at that." - SLURP, munch… munch… gulp. As the last bite of the triple-decker grilled-cheese sandwich went bye-bye down her gullet, she grew silent and drifted off on a trip along a memory lane that did not live up to the rose-tinted reputation such places usually had.
Long before she and Regina had realized there was more between them than mere friendship, she had been in an extremely embarrassing situation that involved Joan of Rock and she together in bed, undressed and more than ready for a lengthy roll in the hay. She had been star-struck to the Nth degree from meeting one of her most influential heroines from her formative years, but it had all come to a big, fat nothing because Joan of Rock had turned out to be an excessive drinker who had passed out cold before they could go beyond the I'd Like To Get To Know You Better stage.
To take her mind off the awful memories, Stella reached into their cooler box to find a new sandwich. The pastrami-baloney-double-decker-special was just what the doctor ordered, so she unwrapped it and began to munch straight away.
MUNCH! MUNCH! MUNCH! - "ANYway… oh, and we dressed up-" - SLURRRRP, SLURRRP, munch - "as clowns once. Frickety-frick-frack," - Munch, slurp, MUNCH - "that was so much fun! Honka-honka!" - Munch, MUNCH, slurp - "And one of the first cases we did together-" - SLURP, munch, munch - "was to catch a cat burglar who had-" - MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH - "specialized in using fire escapes to break into the apartments…" - SLURRRRP, SLURRRP, munch - "Ohhhhh, Sweet Mother of Pizza, that case-" - Munch, slurp, MUNCH - "gave me a life-long fear of heights…" - Munch, MUNCH, slurp - "it really did. But never mind that now." - SLURP, munch, munch - "Yeah. You might say we've had a buncha thrillers over-" - MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH - "the years, wouldn't you agree, Reggie?" - SLURRRRP, SLURRRP, munch.
"Well-"
Munch, slurp, MUNCH, gulp! - "And Reggie here is of course Regina Harrison, a former, current and no doubt future superstar on the world's catwalks. I'm sure you've seen photos of my Sweetums in various magazines, Ricki… although I don't know how many fashion magazines you've read… and how many car magazines you've appeared in, Reggie," - snicker, snicker. Snicker!
"I can't think of any, Stell," Regina said as she closed the lid on her half-eaten bean-sprout, raisin and grated-carrot salad - the way that Stella had stuffed her face with the greasy, unhealthy sandwiches had been enough nourishment for both of them. The Diet Pineapple Perfection was quietly emptied and put away as well. "Perhaps I should suggest it to Steve…"
Ricki gave Regina a closer inspection through the wraparound shades - then she displayed one of her trademark lop-sided grins. "Don't read fashion magazines, but I'll look for ya in the glitteries the next time I'm at the beauty salon."
They all chuckled at that; Stella continued eating her sandwich. "Ricki, what do you do-" - Munch, munch - "for a living? Go around-" - Munch, munch - "raisin' hell like a latter-day Bandit?"
"Nope. I'm a real estate agent."
Chirping crickets.
Stella looked at Regina who looked at Ricki who looked at Stella who looked back at the woman in black while a two-foot, fire engine-red exclamation point hovered in the air above her shaggy haystack. "Oooookay. Didn't expect that answer… is your boss okay with your tattoos and stuff?"
"Yep, 'cos you're lookin' at her."
"Aw, that's cool!" Stella said and took another bite of the pastrami-baloney-double-decker-special.
"These are my weekend duds," Ricki said and toyed with the bomber jacket's silvery zipper. "You wouldn't recognize me come Monday morning. Then I'm all beige and dull like everyone else. Well, apart from the tats. And I drive a Nissan Leaf to work."
Regina grinned - the moment was too good to pass over. "You'd definitely recognize Stell come Monday morning, Ricki… she always looks like that!" she said with a cheeky grin as she pointed her thumb at the colorful person in their midst.
Drawing a deep breath, Stella had already opened her mouth to respond with a sixty-cannon broadside when she realized that her sweetheart was in fact right on target. "Yeah, I guess I do like to wear colorful stuff," she said with a snicker. She adjusted her glasses and hooked her free thumb inside one of her rainbow-colored suspenders to make them twang a little. "But hey, the world's wayyyyyy too blip-bloppin' monochrome already, right? It's our solemn duty to spruce it up a little!"
"Word. Women are here to kick ass and chew bubblegum," Ricki said as she reached into her jacket's pocket to find a new stick of the aforementioned gum.
"Hello!" a male voice said from somewhere behind the three women. "Anybody know where I can find the owner of this Pacer?"
"Oh, man! Mmmmphf-alllways… umpphf-when I'm… mnuchmpffh-eating!" Stella said and put down the rest of the double-decker sandwich. After gulping down the bite, sipping from her Slurrpy South Seas Exotic Fruit Squash and wiping her fingers on a napkin, she got up from the lawn chair and shuffled up to the front of the cars. "That would be me, Mista… is there a problem?"
She furrowed her brow when the man turned out to be one of the volunteers working for the American Motors Owners Club who organized the jamboree - she could tell because of the letters C-R-E-W that had been printed on the front and back of the man's neon-yellow vest that also carried white, reflective striping. Beyond that, he wore regular clothes and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat that made him stand out in the crowd.
"Oh no," the man said and handed Stella a high-gloss, high-quality A4-sized card adorned with a golden laurel wreath and a few lines of text written in an elegant, calligraphic hand. "In fact, your Pacer is being given a special distinction because of its quality restoration. It's been chosen to join a select group of vehicles competing for the trophy in the category known as Best Showroom Original. You need to put this card under the windshield wiper so the judges can see it when they go through the rows."
Stella stared at the man, at the gold-framed distinction, at the Pacer, at the man, at the gold-framed distinction, at the Pacer, back at Regina and Ricki, at the gold-framed distinction and finally up at the man. "Whoa," was the only word that escaped her mouth, and even that came in a croak.
"Have a nice day, Miss," the man said and tipped his cowboy hat.
"Whoa… whoa…" Stella croaked as she read the elegantly written paragraphs of text that offered a more detailed explanation of the Best Showroom Original category.
Regina knew from watching Stella's body language that something had just happened, so she moved up to stand behind her sweetheart. Putting her hands on the mop-topped woman's batik-clad shoulders, she leaned in to read a little of the elegant card in Stella's hands. "So… what was that all about? They didn't kick us out or anything, did they?"
"No… my Old Girl might win a prize! A trophy, even! For the best original Pacer or something!"
"Whoa," Regina said and began to study the high-quality card a little closer.
Stella snickered and adjusted her glasses. "That's what I said! Hooooooooooly flippety-flipper-flapper, I better give the Old Girl a nice, ol' rubdown… and maybe a new coat of SupaShine auto polish. Gotta impress those judges, ya know!" As she spoke, she slid the card with the distinction under the hidden windshield wiper like the man in the cowboy hat had told her to do - at once, the people filing past pointed and spoke in excited tones.
"You do that," Regina said and placed a kiss on the side of Stella's neck. "I'll nibble on my salad and talk to Ricki in the meantime. We can tell you if you miss a spot or two."
"Awesomesauce! Gotta hustle!" Stella cried and zipped back to the Pacer's hatchback and the box of cleaning tools she kept there - soon, she scooped up several rags, a bottle of polish, a full roll of kitchen tissue and finally the bottle of window cleaning fluid. Once all the accessories were in place, she zoomed back to the cooler box to find a can of Slurrpy Cherry Cola Extra Cherry. "Can't function without a cherry cola, ya know," she said to Ricki and Regina who had just gone back to resume eating her salad.
"Wait, Stell… you already have an open can of exotic fruit squash right here! And a third of a sandwich, too," Regina said and pointed at the aforementioned items.
"Oh… I forgot. I guess I got kinda excited there," Stella said and let out a long snicker. After putting the Slurrpy Cherry Cola Extra Cherry back into the cooler box, she zipped over to the pastrami-baloney-double-decker-special and the can of exotic fruit squash. The last few bites of the sandwich were gulped down in record time, and the can was emptied through the foot-long drinking straw with a loud, insistent slurrrrrrp - the latter made Regina shake her head and grin at her sweetheart's inherent cuteness.
"My Jave won a trophy a couple-a years ago," Ricki said. "It's really wicked cool. I'm crossin' my fingers for ya."
"Thanks, Ricki! Oooooooh, this calls for some music. I know… The Village People!" Stella cried and zipped back over to the Pacer's glovebox to find the proper eight-track cartridge.
Before long, the cleaning rag was given such a strenuous workout it nearly began to send out puffs of smoke. The funky sounds of the disco band from the late 1970s filled the air, and Stella matched the rhythms with yet another version of the legendary - perhaps 'infamous' was a better word - Stella Two-Step as she zipped around the Pacer to give it a good, old rub 'n polish here, there and everywhere.