The merger between National Car News and World Car News had gone on behind closed doors. None of the former's employees were privy to the negotiations, the heated back-and-forth, and the exchange of grotesque sums of money that led to their network being swallowed whole by its competitor. They were simply told that they worked for WCN now, and to carry on like normal for the time being.
Arlene Emerson shed her share of tears for NCN's demise. Decades ago, in her senior year of college, a talent scout from the network heard her variety show on the campus radio station, saw potential in her, and offered her a job. Then Stu Baker, bless him, had taken her under his wing. He gave Arlene her "big break," as an on-air presenter and occasional guest host on his own show, The Dinoco Oil Variety Hour. His act of kindness opened a million doors. Viewers loved the vivacious blue Continental with her quick wit, cheery laugh, and willingness to push at the limits of the "proper." The Dinoco Oil Variety Hour became The Arlene Emerson Show, and it was such fun, and fun kept NCN afloat long after other networks had sunk.
Without National Car News, there would be no Arlene Emerson, so the Queen of Daytime joined her colleagues in their toasts and reminisces. When, about a month after the deal was announced, WCN's President informed them they'd be moving to the network's headquarters in the heart of the city, she bid her old studio a wistful goodbye, sparing one last glance at the living room-style set through her rearview mirrors.
Arlene got used to her new surroundings easily enough, all things considered. She thought she'd be at NCN until her retirement, and was as sad as anyone else to see it go, but WCN was determined to win her over. They gave her a corner office on the eighth floor of the network headquarters, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city's biggest park. They obliged when she insisted that her entire NCN team follow her to WCN, and gave them generous raises for good measure. When Arlene met with the President of WCN to lay out her plans for a new-and-improved version of her show, the old Buick Riviera listened intently, nodding along with the Continental's words.
"I think that's a swell idea," said the President, her bumper curling into a smile. "Tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen."
Most of Arlene's new colleagues were just as welcoming as the boss. Margaret, the lead anchor of the evening news, invited her out for drinks. Hugh Nimbus, the network's weathervan, helped her pick out furniture for the new set of The Arlene Emerson Show. Richard, one of the sportscasters, offered to put her in touch with some rather promising interviewees. Everyone, from the on-air reporters to the camera crew to the paint-and-chrome department, seemed happy she'd joined the WCN team.
Among all the smiling bumpers, there was one conspicuous absence. Mel Dorado, host of his namesake primetime show, always arrived in the evening, after Arlene had gone home. They hadn't yet had the chance to meet. It was nothing personal, Margaret reassured the Continental. Mel, so confident when interviewing guests, was quiet and reserved off-camera. Hugh Nimbus called him "painfully shy." The Cadillac was always polite—no one could call him unprofessional—but he kept to himself.
"It's pretty remarkable that any of us know him at all," Margaret conceded.
After Arlene's first show at WCN, the Continental and her new friends gathered in the studio's green room for a celebratory drink. Outside, dark clouds loomed over the horizon, threatening to put a damper on the sunny summer afternoon.
"To the Queen of Daytime, long may she reign!" shouted Jenny, Arlene's secretary. The small green forklift had made the leap to WCN with her boss and, by all appearances, had taken to it as well as the Continental had.
The others honked their horns. Champagne and laughter flowed freely, giving the impromptu party an air of warmth and possibility that reminded Arlene of her early days at NCN. She accepted a second glass of bubbly, taking small sips in between snippets of conversation.
"So Arlene," Margaret said in a stage-whisper, "I hear you do impressions."
The little crowd laughed. Every vehicle in America knew that Arlene Emerson was a master impressionist. She did at least one per show, more in the old days, when it was still The Dinoco Oil Variety Hour.
Jenny nudged Arlene with one of her arms. "You do, don't you?" she giggled.
Arlene did not answer Jenny or Margaret directly. Instead she straightened her tires and stared at Margaret as if toward a camera, adopting the dignified posture familiar to viewers of the evening news.
"Good evening, I'm Margaret Daly. Tonight: Big Developments in Big Oil," Arlene began. "After months of uncertainty, Dinoco's purchase of Rockfellow Oil is now official. We'll tell you what that means for prices at the pump. Plus, the President met with Queen Elizabeth today. We have all the details direct from London." She shifted her gaze to the left and back rapidly, like the silver Corvette did when switching from the day's big events to the feel-good stories. "And finally: Pests or Pets? We talked to one vroomaroundus–buguskeeper about her work on behalf of our flying friends. All this ahead, on WCN Nightly News."
Margaret thumped her front right tire on the floor. "Bravo!" she cried.
Hugh Nimbus said, "Do me next!"
Arlene thought back to the couple of times she'd caught Hugh's weather forecasts on TV. She leaned on her left tires and looked to her right. "Ooooh boy, looks like we got a real whopper of a storm comin' up from the southwest. Seventy-five per-cent–" Hugh always said "percent" as if it were two words "–chance of flooding. Folks in low-lying areas should seek higher ground, I reckon. Whoa-oa-oa! What's this? My storm senses're tingling." She took a deep breath and shouted, "There's a twister on the loose!"
Hugh Nimbus's satellite dish, folded against his roof while he was indoors, shook with mirth. "Well darn it, you sure you're not my long-lost twin?"
Arlene smiled, bumping Hugh's tire with her own. "You never know. Stranger things have turned out to be true."
Once the hoots and guffaws had died down, Richard piped up, "My turn!"
"Now there's a challenge," Arlene proclaimed. She hopped back and forth, left and right. "I gotta tell you ladies and gents I've never seen a race quite like this one seven-time Piston Cup champion Strip Weathers really left 'em in the dust that's gotta be a new record will he do it again he better watch out for the rookie alright now let's go racin'!"
That one needed work, Arlene admitted to herself. She knew she'd gotten Richard Revel confused with Darrell Cartrip at the end. Not that the former minded. He laughed just as hard as Margaret and Hugh had when they'd taken their turns in the hot parking spot.
Margaret took another sip of champagne. "Alright, last one, I promise. Do Mel."
"Gonna need thicker specs for that one," Hugh joked.
"I'll try my best," Arlene replied.
"Oh, this is gonna be good," Jenny whispered.
Arlene shook her hood. The beaded chains of her spectacles clinked against her side-view mirrors. "Tonight, on The Mel Dorado Show: A true story stranger than fiction." It was hard to imitate Mel's gruff voice with her musical one, but Arlene gave it her all. "Twenty years ago, amateur radio operators Ed and Zed Milligan picked up a mysterious signal from out of this world. Shortly thereafter the government seized their equipment, swore them to secrecy, and whisked them away to solve this mystery of the universe at an undisclosed location."
She paused for a breath. The room was in hysterics. Arlene figured the science fiction angle was a bit much, but Mel was known to be a fan. She hoped he'd get a kick out of it, if he were there.
"For years they worked in utmost secrecy, seeking answers to carkind's biggest questions. Now, declassified at long last, these visionaries are here, in the studio, tonight. Welcome, Ed and Zed."
Everyone had gone quiet. Maybe the last bit wasn't all that convincing, Arlene thought. I never did read much sci-fi.
"Ed, what was it like to hear that signal for the first time, not knowing its origin?" she asked in her Mel voice. One Dorado-esque dramatic pause later, she said, "Mmm-hmmm," "A-ha," "Oh," and "Fascinating," all the Cadillac's stock responses to a guest he thought was full of hot air.
"Um, Arlene?" Margaret mumbled, gesturing to behind the Continental.
Arlene reversed and turned around–no mean feat, given her size and the crowd in the green room. There, regarding her with confusion and surprise, was Mel Dorado.
The Cadillac said nothing. His eyes were widened in shock, like a tractor in the headlights. Arlene saw her own startled expression reflected back at her in the thick lenses of Mel's glasses.
Then, as suddenly as she'd snapped out of it, Arlene slipped back into Entertainer Mode. What had Stu Baker taught her? The show must go on.
"Zed, tell me more about your diplomatic overtures to the submarine people of the Vega System. I hear you've made great strides in drafting interstellar trade agreements. What was their chief export again? Pool toys?"
Margaret and Richard looked mortified. Hugh and Jenny tried valiantly to suppress fits of giggles.
"Hi, Mel," Margaret said.
Richard nodded. "Good to see you, buddy."
"You're in early. Tryin' to beat the storm?" Hugh asked.
"Hey, you're just in time! Arlene's doing impressions." Jenny beamed.
Arlene smiled her signature kind, forget-all-your-cares smile. "Hello, Mel," she said. "It's nice to meet you."
Mel laughed, not a soft chortle under his breath but a booming, hearty laugh that shook him down to his chassis. He laughed so hard his glasses nearly fell off, and Jenny had to prop them back in place.
"You must be Arlene Emerson," he wheezed. "I've heard so much about you. Welcome to WCN." All of a sudden he blinked. His gaze darted from face to face before settling on Arlene again. His headlights flickered on and off. His mouth hung open.
Another blink. Mel composed himself. His smile was shy and oddly endearing, Arlene noticed. "Glad to meet you, Arlene," he said. I'm sorry it took this long."
"Don't worry about it," replied the Continental. "We are on opposite schedules, after all."
"Speaking of schedules," the Cadillac said. "Excuse me, but I really have to go. I need to get ready for tonight's show."
Arlene winked at him. "Break an axle."
For a moment Mel looked like didn't know what to say. Did nobody ever wish him good luck? Maybe someone ought to, thought Arlene.
[Insert Line Break Here]
Mel's office stood at the opposite end of the hall from Arlene's. The Continental parked herself beside his door and knocked.
"Come in," he called.
"Mel, I'm sorry," Arlene said, driving through the door. "I took that impression too far. I won't do it again."
"Oh no." The Cadillac drove around his desk to meet her. "You have nothing to apologize for. In fact, I wanted to thank you. That was the best laugh I've had in a long time. As Hugh would say, 'Ya got me good.'" Mel said the last part in a spot-on imitation of Hugh Nimbus's distinctive drawl.
Arlene nudged Mel with her tire. "Hey, you're quite an impressionist yourself. Ever thought of going pro?"
There was that smile again, and the little flickery dance of the headlights. "I doubt I could make it in the big time. Oh, well, at least my talk show pays the bills."
Now it was Arlene's turn to laugh. "There might be a comedian in you yet."
They stood there in companionable silence for a few minutes. Arlene took stock of the office. Huge windows like her own, only overlooking a busy city street rather than tranquil green. Shelves overflowing with books, a desk piled with papers. On the wall behind the desk, a framed photograph of an older, bespectacled Cadillac and a smiling station wagon. All around her, pieces of a life the camera didn't see.
"Sorry," Mel said, "but now I really do have to get ready. I'm on in twenty minutes."
"I'll leave you to it." Arlene turned to leave. "Don't be a stranger. My door's always open, if you want improv lessons."
Mel smiled again. "I might take you up on that."
