*
*
CHAPTER 4
The Forty-fourth Annual AMC Jamboree had been a great success for all save for those unfortunate individuals whose cars had been vandalized. The volunteers from the American Motors Owners Club had worked hard for weeks without end to get the whole thing going, and they had performed magic to keep everything on track even during the unwanted period of tension and high drama. Even when the proverbial marquee lights were turned off, their job was far from over - once everyone else had gone home, they still had to sweep through all the lanes and collect the tons of cardboard cups, soda cans, hot dog trays, burger wrappers, dropped ice cream cones, candy wrappers, lollipop sticks, forgotten pieces of clothing, loose pages from discarded newspapers and the hundreds of other items that were always left behind when so many people spent so much time in such a relatively confined area.
The many car owners and their countless rare, unusual, quirky and certainly colorful automobiles had breathed the needed life into the event by arriving in droves ever since the gates had been opened, and the bands had literally played their part in keeping everyone's juices flowing throughout the busy ten-hour event by playing rock'n'roll the way it was meant to be played: loud, hard and fast.
The thousands of visitors who had flocked to the event had done their bit as well by showing up in such high spirits, and they continued to show their support to the Owners' Club as the jamboree wound down. Though some of them - typically those with young children - began to drift back to the stadium's eastern parking zones to drive home in their modern cars, there were plenty who had remained at the stage that had been built in the central area.
After the musical program had come to an end at the stroke of eight o'clock and the final band - A 1970s stadium rock tribute band called The Board Of Directors - had left the stage to resounding applause, the president and the senior members of the organizing club had taken over and were presently thanking the many volunteers for their sterling work.
One after the other, the men and women wearing the characteristic neon-yellow vests were given a commemorative Jamboree pin they could attach to their caps, hats or lapels to show that they were now veterans of the annual get-together - the most experienced volunteer already had thirty-eight pins on her jacket.
Trophies, awards and ribbons had been handed out to the winners, runners-up, those who had earned honorable mentions and all the rest of the nominated cars in the categories Best Of The 1950s and Best Of The 1960s, but there were several categories yet to go including the Best Showroom Original - the one Stella's Pacer competed in - as well as the fan favorite Best Modified Performance Car and finally the headlining Best In Show that would earn the winner a genuine gold medal.
An open area off to the side of the stage had been reserved for all the cars nominated in the various categories. When it was time for the final results of a category to be revealed, the top-three cars would be called out and then driven into a space between the front of the stage and the spectators' enclosure so everyone could get a good look at them - then the owners of the finalist cars would be invited up onto the stage where they would receive their trophies, awards or ribbons.
Thus, Stella's chocolate-brown 1975 Pacer rolled up next to a Castilian Gray 1969 AMX Three-forty-three cubic-inch muscle car, a silver-metallic 1971 Gremlin Model X, an emerald-green 1964 Rambler Classic station wagon and a bronze 1982 Eagle. Even before she had come to a full stop, they were joined by several more classic vehicles including an ultra-rare, Cotton Candy Pink 1959 Rambler Sedan that had Best In Show written all over it.
After moving the shifter into park and turning off the engine, Stella could do nothing but stare out of the windshield with wide, nervous eyes. She tried to scratch the pale-blue, tree-shaped air-freshener to release a little Alpine Air home comfort into their local environment, but all that came out of it was a severely crinkled nose belonging to one R. Harrison.
The evening hours meant there was no longer any need for the mirror-shade hangers so Stella clicked them off her glasses and put them in the virginal ashtray where they would be safe. She had donned her period denim jacket to combat the mounting chill, but since it came from within her there was little the warm fabric could do. Even Regina's calming hand that continued to caress her thigh through the flared jeans had little effect on her nervousness, but she enjoyed it nonetheless and let her sweetheart know by the wistful smile she sent back at her.
'And now, Ladies and Gentlemen,' the president of the American Motor Owners' Club said into a cordless microphone. Though he was up on the stage and thus out of sight of the people waiting in the open area off to the side, his voice echoed out of several loudspeakers that had been put on poles so everyone back there could hear what was said. 'It's time to reveal the top three of the Best Showroom Original category. Will the two Mister Reynolds and their nineteen-sixty-four Rambler Classic station wagon please drive to the stage?'
Shouts of delight were let out inside the full-sized, emerald-green vehicle that was parked directly next to Stella's Pacer. As the huge station wagon rolled away from the staging area, Stella let out a nervous sigh and began to tap a fast beat on the steering wheel's brown sock.
After the station wagon had arrived in front of the stage, the club's senior official continued: 'Will Mrs. Allen and her nineteen-seventy-one Gremlin Model X please drive to the stage?'
The driver of the silver-metallic car with the somewhat clumsily designed, near-vertical hatchback and the odd-looking - but factory-original - spoiler on top of it honked the car's horn several times to celebrate. Soon, it was started and driven through the short course to get to the stage.
"I don't think it's gonna work out for us," Stella said in a gloomy voice as she reached up to toy with the air-freshener once more - the glum look in Regina's eyes meant she let her hand fall back down into her lap without releasing more of the artificial scents into the air. "They're only announcing one more car in our category, but look at the quality of those lined up here around us… nah. My Old Girl gave 'em all one helluva run, that's for sure. It's been kinda neat, though… don't you think so?"
"Very much so, dahling," Regina said and leaned over to place a wet kiss on Stella's cheek. She added a tiny bit of tongue-tickling to draw a reaction from the mop-topped investigator, and it came as a snicker and a little sideways squirm.
Up on the stage, the club's president furrowed his brow as he had to re-read the last name on his list to make sure that he had read it right. Shrugging, he continued: "And will Miss Arr and her nineteen-seventy-five Pacer Hatchback please drive to the stage!"
Chirping crickets had invaded the backstage area even before the president's voice had faded from the loudspeakers; they were playing a somber symphony in nothing but minor keys and blue notes.
"Dang, Reggie… I really, really, reallllllly wanted it to be us," Stella said and smacked her hand down onto the brown wheel sock. A deep sigh escaped her as she looked around for the lucky lady who had been awarded a spot in the final three. "Oh well. Maybe some other time. Ya wanna go over to Ruby's?"
"Sure, Stell… I'm sorry it didn't work out," Regina said and offered her sweetheart another kiss.
"Mmmm. Yeah. Oh, well. Story of my life. Even when I think everything's going to plan, the plan strikes back and puts a thumb-tack on my chair," Stella said and turned on the engine intending to leave the jamboree by slipping into the mounting dusk. "Maybe Ruby can cheer me up… and… huh…"
The brand new RoarMaster muffler sent out its throaty hum, and the sound seemed to set the gears in motion inside Stella's mind: "Hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute… wait a frick-frackin' minute, Reggie! What did that guy say? He said a 'seventy-five Pacer but I don't see no other Pacer here! Do you see any other Pacers here, Reggie?!"
"Actually, I don't," Regina said and craned her neck in every direction.
'Miss Arr? Will Miss Arr and her nineteen-seventy-five Pacer Hatchback please come to the stage,' the president of the Owners' Club said into the cordless microphone.
This time, Stella and Regina both took notice, but it was clear the odd name confused them. "But who the frick is-" Stella said, but she was cut off by a howl of understanding that burst out of Regina:
"Miss Arr!" Regina cried, "Stell, that's what the judges called you! Miss Arr! It's you! It's us! We- we- we… we gotta hustle! Hustle!" she continued, smacking her hands together in several loud claps that seemed to light the fuse of Stella-the-Firecracker.
"Riffin'-biffin'-baffin'! My name is Stella Starrrrrr… why is that so hard for those blip-bloppin' blip-bloppers to pronounce?!" Stella cried as she slammed her orange ergonomic shoe down onto the throttle. Her Pacer flew out of the staging area, through the twisty access road and into the open space in front of the stage - there, she came to a screeching, rocking, dust-flying halt between the Rambler Classic and the Gremlin. "Ohhhhhhhhh, I hope… I hope we can… ohhhhhh," she croaked as she leaned forward to be able to look up onto the stage.
"Thank you, Miss Arr. And now!" the senior official continued, "The moment you have all been waiting for. Ladies and Gentlemen, in third place in the Best Showroom Category… Mrs. Allen and her nineteen-seventy-one Gremlin Model X! Congratulations, Mrs. Allen!"
Cheering and clapping broke out among the spectators as the lady in question got out of the Gremlin and went up on the stage to receive her third-place award: a small glass vase hand-painted in the factory AMC colors of red, white and blue.
"Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!" Stella cried, gripping the steering wheel hard before she let go of that lifeless object in favor of gripping Regina's far more rewarding hands. "That's second place in the bag, Reggie… Sweet Mother of Pizza, the suspense is kill-ll-ll-ling me!"
Up on the stage, the club's president continued: "And in second place…"
"Ooooooooooooooooooooooh!" Stella croaked inside the Pacer.
"Mister Reynolds Senior and Junior and their nineteen-sixty-four Rambler Classic station wagon! Let's hear it for the two Reyn… uh… Reynolds'esses!"
More cheering and clapping broke out among the spectators as an elderly man was helped out of the emerald-green vehicle by a middle-aged man who was clearly his son. The elderly runner-up - who was arthritic and thus needed to use an arm crutch - was assisted up onto the stage and given a lawn chair to sit on.
Stella's world fell silent like someone had flicked a switch that carried the label Mute Sound. She stared straight out of the Pacer's curved windshield without seeing anything. She just stared and stared and stared and stared and stared. Regina jumped up and down in her own seat while clapping and letting out whoops of joy, but Stella just stared, stared and stared a little more.
Gulping once, then once more, she slowly turned her head toward her sweetheart who instantly wrapped her slender fingers around it to give it a good-ol' rub-and-shake with a sloppy wet kiss for dessert. "What just happened, Reggie?" Stella said in a robotic monotone while she was still being held onto. "Was that second place, Reggie? Does that mean what I think it means, Reggie?"
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"
"Oh. My. Frick. Oh. My. Frack. Oh… my… uh… buh… wuh… kuh… muh… puh… ebble… bebble… webble… kebble… febble… heart… attack… hea- hea- heart… attack…"
"No, you're only excited," Regina said and broke out in a snicker. Reaching over, she poked a long digit into Stella's side that made the mop-topped investigator jump up and let out a yelp. "Didya feel that?"
"Yes, ding-dong-darn'it!" Stella croaked as she rubbed her side.
"Then it's not a heart attack… g'wan, Stell! Get up there and collect your award!"
On the stage, the senior official folded up the judges' notes and put them into one of his pockets. "And that of course means that Miss Arr and her nineteen-seventy-five Pacer Hatchback has won the Best Showroom Original category. Miss Arr, there's a trophy waiting for you! Let's hear it for Miss Arr, everybody!"
"Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!" Stella cried behind the fluffy steering wheel. From one moment to the next, she let out a long string of utterly inarticulate hoots, hollers and howls while she bounced around like a ping-pong ball trapped in a blender. "It's official! It's official! Woooo-hooooooooooo! I won! My Old Girl won! We won, Reggie! We fricker-fracker-frocker-flippety-flappety-floppety won the whole kit-n-caboodle! I don't be-lieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve it!"
"Believe it, Stell. I'm so happy for you," Regina said and mussed the shaggy haystack. "What are you waiting for? Git! Git up there and collect your trophy! I'll wait here so I won't steal your thunder with my sheer presence," she continued as she flicked her perfect hair over her shoulder.
The very long raspberry that Stella let out as she exited the Pacer was meant as a good-humored parting salute, and that's how Regina took it - mostly.
Bounding over to the stage to a rapturous applause from the spectators and her competition in the category, Stella had already cocked her leg way, way, way up high to be able to climb up onto the stage itself when she noticed that she could spare herself a lot of bother, sweat and tears - and perhaps split jeans - if she used the short flight of aluminum steps instead. Grinning, she did just that and made it to the senior official in fine form in her period-correct outfit from the 1970s.
"Congratulations, Miss Arr," the president of the Owners' Club said as he shook hands with Stella. "Your Pacer is certainly a very fine motor car indeed."
"Thank you… thank you, Sir," Stella said as she looked around for her trophy that she hoped would be a painted vase, a shiny cup or perhaps even a commemorative laurel wreath of the kind she could wear around her neck. The stage was empty which befuddled her slightly, but then she remembered Regina's words about all good things coming to those who could wait. In the meantime, there was some urgent business she needed to sort out: "Sir, may I borrow the microphone for a moment?"
"Oh, sure. Here you go, Miss Arr," the President said before he handed the cordless microphone to Stella.
The first thing that happened was - obviously - that it let out a howling whine that set everyone's teeth on edge. When Stella tried again, the second attempt proved more successful: "Ah! Sorry 'bout that. I hope your fillings stayed in. Anyway… first of all, my name is actually Starr, not Arr. Stella Starr. I own the Pacer, but all I do is drive it. Two people deserve this accolade far more than I do. One is my friendly mechanic Billy who worked tirelessly to restore my pride and joy. He isn't here today, but rest assured he'll be rewarded… I'll definitely invite him over to Bob's Bucket Of Ribs for their legendary All U Can Eat buffet," Stella said as she strolled around on the stage like she had been born on one - in fact, she walked around with her eyes closed or else she would clam up from having all the spectators gawking at her.
A big smile spread over her lips as she went on: "And the other person is the verrrrrrrrry nice lady who financed it all. She's an, uh… a woman who's very dear to my heart, and… aw shoot, I've never minced my words so why start now? She's the love of my life. Regina Harrison. She's down in the Pacer, but I want her up here so we can celebrate together. Reggie, are ya listening?" she said, finally opening her eyes so she could look down at the chocolate-brown wonder.
When Regina climbed from the car and sashayed up the flight of steps, another round of applause broke out among the spectators at the foot of the stage. Many of them recognized the tall, graceful model from various print and TV ads, and waves of flashes suddenly rolled back and forth as everyone wanted a photo. She remained at the edge of the stage for a moment or two to wave at the people below and to do the briefest-of-brief posing routines now she finally had the opportunity to do so.
Chuckling, Stella handed back the microphone to the president before she waved her sweetheart over to her. "Nice entrance, Snookums. I know I keep tellin' ya, but I think you could have a career in modeling if ya wanted," she said as she wrapped a hand around the taller woman's waist.
"Is that a fact, dahling?" Regina said while she waved and shone her patented two-hundred watt smile at the spectators who continued to take plenty of photos of her.
"O-yeah. Definitely."
Rhythmic squeaking from the wheels of a portable table made Stella and Regina turn around to see what was going on. One of the members of the Owner's Club was hard at work pushing a square table onto the stage. The table carried a huge bouquet of red, white and deep-purple flowers to emulate the AMC company colors, as well as a second object that was so large that Stella needed to rub her eyes twice before she figured out what it could be - then she realized it was the winner's trophy.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Miss Arr…" the President of the club continued, "Oh… beg' pardon… Miss Starr… the American Motors Owners' Club is extremely proud and happy to present you with the trophy for winning the Best Showroom Original category. Please accept this small-"
"Small?! That's a monstrosity!" Regina squeaked as she clapped eyes on the huge thing. "Stell, we'll need to buy a new office building for it! And there's no way it can fit in our apartment!"
"-token of our appreciation for your efforts in supporting the AMC brand… and for capturing the vandal who caused so much heartache for several of our members today. Miss Starr, it's all yours," the President said as he waved Stella over to him.
Stella grinned from ear to ear as she strolled over to the table and the gigantic trophy upon it. Once she reached it, she realized that it was even larger than she had originally believed it to be:
Close to five feet tall, the central section of the trophy was a fairly traditional-looking cup, but several intricately designed pieces of metal artwork had been welded onto it - they had been shaped to resemble certain style-elements of the cars like a steering wheel, a piston and even a headlight. The base appeared to be the bottom section of the factory-supplied jack, and up top, two wings that were styled like bent spark plugs had been attached to the sides. To round it all off, everything was held in bronze and chocolate-brown. In short, it was as quirky and unusual as every last one of the cars that had ever left any of the AMC assembly lines.
"Holy flip, I love it! It's a blip-bloppin'-beautiful thing! Sweet Mother of Pizza, this has been the best day since forever and ever. Okay, I coulda done without the running part, but the rest was just one huuuuuuuuuge piece of wonnn-daful-ness," she said as she shook hands with the President. "Reggie! Get over here! Check this beauty out!" she continued before she turned around to offer the crowd below an enthusiastic wave.
Regina seemed less enthused with the shape, size and design of the trophy, but she moved her legs in the regular pattern to shuffle across the stage. As always, she had a well-developed sense for camera angles, so the first thing she did was to pick up the large bouquet of flowers and hold it so it would form a natural barrier between her exquisite self and the metal monstrosity on the table.
"Awwwwwww-yeahhhhhhhhhhh! This is so riffin'-raffin' awesomesauce it can't get no awesomesaucer!" Stella said before her face split wide open in the largest, widest, toothiest grin ever recorded in the history of the human species - the spectators responded to the heartfelt proclamation by laughing, cheering, clapping and firing off another round of flashes from their cameras.
---
After the Best Modified Performance Car-category had been won by the Castilian Gray 1969 AMX Three-forty-three that had been backstage at the same time as the Pacer - Stella thought it was nowhere near as sexy as Ricki Deane's black-and-red 1970 Javelin Three-ninety - it was time for the highly prestigious Best In Show award.
It came as no surprise to anyone when the genuine gold medal was collected by the owner of the pristine and ultra-rare 1959 Cotton Candy Pink Rambler Sedan - it was one of only six remaining cars nationwide, and only two of those were in a roadworthy state.
As Stella and Regina joined the winners and finalists of all the other categories to wave at the spectators and to receive their applause in return, the closing of the Forty-fourth Annual AMC Jamboree was marked by a large-scale, highly colorful fireworks display that lit up the evening sky and created enough booms and bangs to last for a week.
Stella waved and grinned like a maniac at all the attention. Regina cursed the attention as she continued to hide behind the flowers because the monstrous Best Showroom Original trophy had been put right next to her - and down below the stage, Stella's Old Girl, the 1975 Pacer Hatchback, sparkled like a chocolate-brown diamond as all the fireworks in the sky were reflected in its chrome, stainless steel and high-gloss-polished body panels.
-*-*-*-
After forty minutes, three slight detours, two brief arguments and a single stop at a convenience store to restock Stella's beloved Oreos, the Pacer arrived at Rockin' Ruby's and drove onto the bar's parking lot.
Rockin' Ruby's - the best and certainly the friendliest girls-only bar in all of Bay City - was owned by 'Rocking' Ruby Albrecht, a former pro-softball player who had always dreamt of owning such an establishment. When she had come to the realization that her playing days would soon be over, she had begun putting aside her hard-earned dollars and cents so she could pursue her dream if and when a decent place became available; one did, and she had bought it without hesitation. It had started out as a low-key establishment, but it soon grew, and it did not take long for it to turn into a popular hangout for the types of people who weren't always overly welcome in the mainstream bars and clubs.
The two investigators were at their favorite haunt at a later hour than usual so they needed to drive around twice before a suitable parking bay could be found. It seemed to be truck-night because more than half of the vehicles parked in front of the establishment were of that kind. None were of a modest size: they all ranged from grossly huge to plum crazy.
There was something unusual about the relative shapes and sizes of the two women in the Pacer. The person in the passenger seat seemed to have bent spark plugs for ears, and the person who held the steering wheel in a two-fingered grip - like she was afraid the brown wheel sock would taint her well-manicured digits - seemed to have long, dark tresses.
A third head suddenly popped up from the back seat. Equipped with a shaggy haystack of dirty-blond hair, the head bobbed around a little like the body it was attached to had a hard time getting back up.
"Crud, this wasn't such a good idea after all," Stella grumbled from her somewhat precarious position on the back seat. With the winner's trophy being far, far too big to fit underneath the rear hatch, they had needed to put it down in the footwell up front on the passenger-side so it could lean back against the seat - that in turn had necessitated a change in their regular seat reservations.
There was insufficient space in the back for Regina's long legs, so she'd had to assume driving duties of the chocolate-brown wonder; Stella had moved into the back where she had spent the entire cross-town trip from the stadium to Rockin' Ruby's leaning forward with her hands wrapped around the top of the trophy to keep it from tumbling around and knocking into the driver's arms.
"You're telling me? I had to drive this horrible thing," Regina mumbled while displaying a distinct nose-crinkle that did not only stem from the tree-shaped air-freshener that was far too close to her nostrils for her liking. After she had reached down to turn off the engine, her slender fingers were treated to an extra-thorough dusting-off on her jeans before she pulled the lever for the door.
"Reggie, I need a hand gettin' outta here! Reggie? Reggie? Stella in distress… oh-fer-Flipper's-sake!" Stella said loudly as she watched her sweetheart walk away from the Pacer en route to the glass door leading to Rockin' Ruby's.
Regina seemed to make a statement of it as she came to a halt at half distance to the bar's entrance; pointing at her chest like she was saying "Moi?" she sashayed back to the Pacer in her patented model-walk where her hips slammed left-and-right.
Opening the passenger-side door, Regina stuck her head in and offered the woman in the back a big grin and an even bigger wink. "But Stell, you're always telling me how easy it is for you to get out of your Old Girl… that it's only the SLK-"
"Oh-ha-ha-HA and another HA! Don't give up your day job, Miss I-Ain't-Funny-Worth-A-Ding-Dong-But-I-Sure-Won't-Let-It-Stop-Me-From-Crackin'-Jokes," Stella said and shuffled around in the back. "And I can get out just fine but not with my wonnn-derful trophy in front of me! You need to take the darn thing out so I can fold the seat forward…"
"Oh, all right, then," Regina said and removed the monstrosity that was less heavy than it appeared. Once she had put the five-foot metal trophy on the ground, she gave Stella a hand-up so the mop-topped investigator could get her occasionally leaden rear out of the Pacer.
---
The glass door to Rockin' Ruby's was opened with a little more fumbling than usual, and that made the patrons and barflies who sat at a polished counter turn their heads to see what was going on.
Ruby had wanted to make sure that the bar wouldn't turn into a meat market - there were too many of those in Bay City already - so when she had given her input into the re-decoration, she had added an annex off from the main bar room that contained a dance floor. The fairly narrow main room was equipped with a long, polished counter, a few tasteful pictures on the walls, ten bar stools and eight cozy booths lining the wall opposite from a fully-stocked bar. The rear section of the establishment, beyond the access to the dance floor, was wider and saw an additional fifteen regular tables.
The crimson carpet that covered the entire floor near the counter and the seating area had recently been changed, and the upgrades that had been installed earlier in the year - like the bronze highlights inside the booths - looked great and inviting under the warm, cozy lights that shone from the many lamps hanging from the ceiling.
A concert of whistles and hoots broke out when the patrons spotted the five-foot-four-and-a-half-inch Stella Starr stumbling inside with her arms wrapped around a trophy that was almost as tall as she. All that was visible of her were her ergonomic, orange-brown 1970s-era shoes, her arms that were clad in her period denim jacket, the lower hems of the widely flared, decorated jeans and finally the very top of her shaggy haystack.
After closing the door behind them, Regina guided the heavily-laden Stella over to their regular booth; along the way, she uttered a line of Hiyas, Whatups and Hullos to the patrons, regulars and barflies.
The late-fifty-something retired softball star Ruby Albrecht had been in the restroom to restock the toilet paper when the small hubbub had taken place, but she was soon headed back to her customary spot behind the counter. She was a square-built woman in her mid-fifties who had kept fit and in ship-shape despite the fact that she hadn't been a professional softball player for over fifteen years. Her hair was more gray than blond now, but her eyes were as sharp and intelligent as ever. She had to inch past the trophy and Stella who had problems walking in a straight line. "Hi, guys. What on Earth is that butt-ugly piece of hideousness? And what's it doing in my bar?" she said as she picked up a few used tumblers and dunked them into a plastic wash bowl.
"Hiya, Ruby!" Stella said while she put down the mammoth trophy in the center of the round table by their regular booth. "This? Well, this is the physical embodiment of a blip-bloppin' miracle!" The table suddenly gave off a nasty creak like it was seriously considering giving up the ghost, so she picked up the trophy once more and put it down on the floor next to the plush bench - it was so tall it mattered little where it stood.
"Huh?" Ruby said, looking to Regina for an explanation.
"Stella's Pacer won the Best Showroom Original competition over at the AMC Jamboree tonight," Regina said with a proud grin - the message earned Stella a long 'Ooooooh!' and a collection of 'Awesome,' 'Way to go,' and 'Let's toast to that!' from the peanut gallery at the bar.
"Thanks, guys! The drinks are on you, right?" Stella cried back. When all she got out of that was an entire row of backs being turned - and a free concert courtesy of the legendary buggy big-band The Chatternooga Brass & Strings Band featuring Jiminy Crickett - she let out a snicker or two.
"Oooookay," Ruby said as she cast a sideways glance at Stella and the winner's trophy. "Uh-huh. There's always something funky going on with you two… I guess congratulations are in order. I remember the AMC cars. Most of 'em were pieces of-"
"Genuine Americana!" Stella interjected as she took off her denim jacket and threw it onto the bench seat.
Ruby broke out in a nod that was only slightly exaggerated. "Something like that, yes. Oh my hell, Stella… what is that you're wearing?"
Regina only had time to utter "Don't ask!" before Stella took over:
"Pure seventies awesomeness!" Stella said and pulled her rainbow-colored suspenders out from her batik T-shirt. She swirled around twice to give Ruby and the slightly flabbergasted patrons a chance to get a good look at her; then she shuffled around in a circle to allow the widely-flared pantlegs of her decorated jeans to swing, flap and fly about like they were designed to do.
Ruby let out a grunt as she dunked the next set of tumblers into the hot water. "I was a teenager in the seventies, Stell… there was nothing awesome about that decade. Nothing. Not a damn thing. ANYway, what can I get you gals tonight?"
Regina had already dug into her jeans pocket to find her wallet and her credit card. Putting the titanium-colored plastic on the counter, she looked over at Stella who seemed to be deeply involved in a detailed briefing conducted by her tastebuds. "I'm driving the chocolate-brown horror so I'll have an easy gin-tonic, Ruby… Stell?"
"In a mo!"
"Don't believe I have one of those!" Ruby said with a grin.
"Oh, haw haw! Uh… uh… uh…" Stella said, rubbing her nose, her chin, her forehead and even her ears. The rubbing grew more and more intense before she finally seemed to arrive at a conclusion: "I know! I'll have a… crud, I had that the other day… hmmm. Oh, a… no. But how about a… no. Shoot! Oooooh, tell ya what I'd like, Ruby! I'd like a Toffee Coffee! Y'know, like an Irish Coffee… brown sugar and hot black coffee, but with a good dash of creamy toffee liqueur mixed in instead of whisky and whipped cream."
Chuckling, Ruby finished dunking the tumblers and put them on a grating so they could drain. "I know what a Toffee Coffee is, Stella. It's gonna take a couple of minutes 'cos I need to fire up the old plunger pot first."
"No problemo!" Stella said and waved her entire arm in the air before she slid her jeans-clad rear-end onto the plush, curved bench.
Regina grunted and turned back to the counter. "Tell ya what, Ruby… hold the gin-tonic and make two Toffees while you're at it. One of them a bit easier than the other… oh, and no brown sugar in mine. Okay?"
"Sure thing, Reggie. I'll be down with 'em as soon as they're done," Ruby said and took the credit card to process the order.
---
It took a little longer than usual to prepare the special beverages, but Ruby soon put two napkins, two swizzle sticks and two large mugs filled with a brownish-creamy-colored liquid onto the round table. "Here ya go. Careful, the coffee's real hot. Reggie, this is the easy one without brown sugar," she said as she moved one of the mugs over to Regina's spot at the table. "You'll need to give it a little stir now and then or else the toffee liqueur will settle."
"Will do. Thanks, Ruby," Regina said and took her mug. She put the swizzle stick into the coffee and began a gentle rotating motion to keep everything mixed.
"Now that you're here, Stella," Ruby continued as she wiped a few droplets of coffee off the table top with a rag, "thanks for making Miss Cruz get in touch with me. I sent her my rough estimate of the expenses the other day. We're still hammering out the details, but it looks like the big post-wedding bash will be held right here at my place. Or maybe out on the parking lot, depending on the number of guests."
"Hey, that's great news, Ruby! You're most decidedly welcome," Stella said before she leaned down to blow away the steam that rose from the scorching-hot coffee - if she could help it, she would prefer to avoid a repeat of the burning-coffee-and-donut-killing-incident that had occurred at the recent Meet The Police-day. Taking her swizzle stick, she mirrored Regina's actions by letting it move around in a deliberately slow circular motion down in the mug. "I couldn't believe my ears when Law told me she had never been here… I guess she liked what she found."
Regina put her wet swizzle stick on the napkin before she wrapped her fingers around the mug's ear; she briefly sniffed the delightful contents before she started blowing on it to cool down the liquid lava. "We'll definitely come over and give you a helping hand setting it up, Ruby. Won't we, Stell?"
"Aw, you betcha!" Stella said and nodded so hard her haystack flew all over.
"Mmmm," Ruby said, scratching the side of her nose while she offered her two regulars a pointed gaze. "Like that time at Valentine's Day a couple of years ago? Yeah?"
Regina's eye was caught by something really, really interesting on the table top that required her full, undivided attention.
"Ah… yeah," Stella said and let out an embarrassed chuckle - she ducked her head down between her shoulders and adjusted her glasses several times. "Something came up, Ruby. Happens allllll the time in our line of work…"
"So you keep telling me. Ah, old news." - Ruby waved her hand in dismissal - "Anyway… all the signs say it could be a done deal, but I'll keep ya posted," she said before she moved back up to the counter to serve another round of beers, cocktails and other types of drinks to her regulars.
"Excellen-ty!" Stella said as she took the first sip of her Toffee Coffee. It was still a little too hot for her tastebuds - literally - so she went back to blowing on it a little more.
The music from the dance floor wafted into the general area of Rockin' Ruby's giving everyone a chance to hum along to the number-one smooching-anthem of the 1980s: Berlin's Take My Breath Away.
Regina and Stella shared a long, loving look before the former of the two leaned in to place a whole line of little kisses on the latter's luscious lips. "Love that song," Regina whispered before she added another few kisses to the already full plate.
"Me too," Stella said once they separated.
Grinning, Regina stirred her Toffee Coffee a little more before she picked up the mug and enjoyed her first real taste of the rich, hot beverage. Although she stuck rigorously to her no-sugar, no-fat, no-salt, no-calories and no-thrills-of-any-kind-diet nine-and-a-half days out of ten, she did allow herself a little treat from time to time - especially after such a long and eventful day. "On a completely different but somewhat related note… how's your best-man speech coming along, Stell?"
"Ugh… not at all. It's kickin' my bee-hind," Stella said and let out a deep sigh. Like Regina's, her Toffee Coffee had cooled down sufficiently for her to take a deep sip, and she purred with pleasure as she savored the sweet, creamy taste.
"Why?"
Shaking her head, Stella sighed again and drew a little pattern on the round table. The napkin was too good to ignore, so it was pushed around some as well. "I dunno. I just can't get the words down on paper. Or onto the laptop. I can see all the kookie stuff Law and me did back then so clearly in my mind's eye, but… when I try to commit them to the word processor, all those great things just roll over and die. And I guaran-ding-dong-tee ya I'm not gonna allow that to happen. A dead speech equals a dead audience and a stone-dead mood. Not gonna happen. Not at Law's wedding. But I just can't get it to work." Yet another sigh escaped her before she reached for her mug to take a further sip.
Regina fell silent as well, but it was clear that something was brewing behind her bluer-than-blue orbs. After a little while that was filled by a few sips and a little stirring of her Toffee Coffee, she leaned in to give her sweetheart a little nudge. "How about doing it Stella-style, then? By way of your phone."
"Uhhhh… no thanks, Reggie," Stella said while she looked just as confused as if someone had told her that Pippi Longstocking was a fictional character and not the Queen of Sweden after all, "my fumble-fingers can't hit those teeny-tiny-itty-bitty symbols that pass for letters on my phone… and I sure ain't gonna use it to write the speech!"
Regina had already had time to shake her head several times before Stella piped down. "Hang on, pardner… that's not what I meant. I meant using the voice recorder app to make recordings of yourself talking about all the things you and Laura Cruz did. The fun, the scary and the, uh… kookie. You could save each train of thought in a file that you could transcribe afterwards. That way, the words would be one-hundred percent unfiltered. They would be one-hundred percent Stella Starr… and that speech would not roll over and die, that's a fact."
"Wow… the app can do that? I've never used it for anything like that… only for note-to-selves and grocery lists and stuff…"
"It's the exact same thing, Stell," Regina said and dug into her jeans pocket to find her smartphone. After a few swipes and taps, she accessed the recording she had made of Harry DeVall - the owner of the AMC Matador that had suffered four slashed tires.
Stella let out an excited grunt as she heard Regina's questions and the man's subsequent answers on the recording. "Hot-diggety-wham-bam, Reggie! Haw, that's a fa-bew-luss idea! Holy can-of-mackerel-in-pepper-sauce, I'm definitely gonna do that! Aw-haw-yeah. That's gonna be theeeee best set of recordings on this side of the last album by Daisy-Belle's Butterflies!"
"That's nice," Regina said and put away her telephone.
"You better be there to manage the electronics for me, though… you know how excited I tend to get when I dip into the good, old days…" Stella said and adjusted her glasses - from one moment to the next, her eyes had gained that tell-tale luster that revealed that the Starr-Euphoria Express was about to depart for Paradise on Platform One.
"I'd love to. It's gonna be perfect. I promise," Regina said and leaned over to offer her sweetheart a medium-sized kiss. The first soon led to a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, a seventh and on-and-on-and-on until they had used up a whole crate of kisses - much to their relief, there was plenty more where the first batch had come from.
Once Regina Harrison and Stella Starr had separated - sporting identical goofy grins - they rubbed arms for a while to stay connected. The Toffee Coffees were too good to ignore, so they both took long sips while they observed, and occasionally commented on, all the typically colorful things, people and goings-on at Rockin' Ruby's…
*
*
THE END