Car of His Dreams
The caste system of medieval Europe has no better equal than the social hierarchy found in today's public schools. Just as in those bygone days when one was born a serf or a lord and destined to remain such until death, students today are classified and ranked at an early age by their peers. Every school across America has its quota of nerds, jocks, preps, popular kids and the quiet ones who tended to blend in with the desks and lockers and go unnoticed by peers and teachers alike.
Seventeen-year-old Elton John Canfield—so named because his parents had met at one of the English rock star's concerts—was one of those quiet, nameless students at Meadowbrook High School. A senior, Elton had been in the Meadowbrook school system since kindergarten and during those twelve years had only made friends with other quiet kids since one doesn't make friends from outside one's own social group.
The thing that distinguished Elton and his friends from their more popular classmates was their mediocrity. Their families were neither wealthy nor poor. They, themselves, were neither exceptionally intelligent nor hopelessly stupid; and, although they didn't quite excel at sports, they didn't trip over their own two feet either. Another thing that they had in common was that they all longed to be popular, to date a cheerleader or a member of the football team and to have a horde of equally popular friends vying for their attention.
Elton, often described as "cute" by girls his own age or as "nice looking" by their mothers, had a great sense of humor, wore the same clothes and listened to the same music as the more popular kids. So why wouldn't they give him the time of day? No matter how hard Elton tried to be one of them, he, like a medieval peasant, was never allowed to rise above his station.
There was one bright star on Elton's otherwise dark horizon, one dream that was within a few short weeks of coming true. He had worked part-time during the school year and full-time during summer vacations since he was fifteen and had saved almost every dime he made to buy a car. As his eighteenth birthday approached, Elton began looking through the classified ads for used cars. Actually, he had saved enough money to buy an inexpensive new car, but Elton was not about to settle for a Hyundai, a Daewoo or a Kia. He wanted a sleek car that people—specifically pretty girls—would notice.
"Why would you want to buy a used car?" his mother asked. "You'll just be getting someone else's problems."
"Because I want a sporty-looking vehicle," Elton explained, "and you know how expensive they are."
"There are inexpensive cars that look sporty. What about a Dodge Neon?"
"A Neon? I might as well keep on driving your old Legacy."
"Never mind! That Subaru is a good little wagon. It goes in all kinds of weather, it's good on gas and it has never given me any problems. You can't say the same for most of those sporty cars."
"I know your Subaru is a great car, and maybe when I'm older, I'll want to own one, too, but you're only young once. I want a car that reflects my personality. I have the rest of my life to drive Subarus."
"I guess I was the same way when I was your age," Mariel Canfield admitted. "The first car I ever bought was a 1978 Mustang II. It was aqua inside and out and had a T-roof convertible."
"See, Mom, you had a sporty little car before you were forced to become practical."
"I guess it wouldn't do any good for me to tell you how many times that sporty little car broke down on me, would it? It was a beautiful car, but it also needed a lot of work to keep it on the road. And I'm not talking about minor repairs. I had to have the entire engine replaced twice."
"Mo-om," the teenager groaned, pronouncing the word in two syllables just as he always did when he wanted something badly.
"Okay," Mariel said, giving in to her son's wishes, "go and get your sports car. I guess you'll just have to learn the hard way."
After several weeks of pouring through The Meadowbrook Courier's classified ads section, Elton finally found what he had been searching for; it was the car of his dreams, a 1996 Dodge Stealth, bright red, just like the die-cast model he kept on top of his computer.
"Are you sure this is the one you want?" his father asked.
"That's it, Dad. And look at the low mileage. It must be like new."
"Don't go getting your hopes up, Elt."
Elton is bad enough, his son thought, but Elt? Come on!
Thank God his parents hadn't met at an Iggy Stooge concert!
"You have to take a good look at it first. People get rid of cars for all sorts of reasons. You don't want to buy it and then have to put a few thousand into it just so it'll run."
At least his father hadn't tried to talk him into buying a Subaru.
Two days later Elton, his father and his Uncle Jim drove to Fairfield to look at the Stealth. Uncle Jim, a shade-tree mechanic, was pretty good at assessing the condition of a used car. When the three of them pulled into the Honda dealership, Elton saw the Stealth on the side lot, where trade-ins were sold as used—excuse me, "pre-owned"—vehicles. It stood out like a rainbow against a black-and-white background.
It's beautiful!
Elton considered the Stealth and its Mitsubishi counterpart, the 3000GT, the best-looking cars on the market, their styling surpassing even the Corvette, which has long been the king of American-made sports cars.
A smiling salesman approached the three men as they headed for the side lot.
"Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Louis Seefer," he said, flashing his pearly whites. "Can I show you something specific or do you just want to browse through the lot for a while?"
Elton's father acted as spokesman for the group.
"We're here to take a look at that Stealth."
"Let me get the keys, and I'll let you take it for a test drive."
The three Canfield men walked over and examined the Dodge. The exterior was in showroom condition—not a scratch, nick or chip anywhere to be seen.
Uncle Jim eyed the car skeptically.
"It looks like it was just recently painted. That could mean it's been in an accident."
"Or maybe some little old lady kept it in a garage and only drove it to church on Sundays," Elton said jokingly.
To which his father replied, "Little old ladies don't drive Stealths."
No, Elton thought, they drive Subarus.
The smiling salesman returned with the keys, opened the door and let Elton get in behind the wheel. The young high school student immediately fell in love.
"Why don't you take her out on the road, son?" the salesman suggested, getting in on the passenger side.
The teenager needed no further encouragement.
As Elton drove down Belmont Avenue, the salesman started his pitch, "Listen to that engine purr. Isn't this car a beauty?"
"Yes, sir. To me, there's nothing to equal the Stealth."
"And wait until the girls at school get a look at you behind the wheel of this car. You'll have to beat them off with a stick."
"I wish!" Elton said dubiously.
The salesman's smile momentarily faded.
"I promise you, son. The girls will see you in a whole new light."
"Mr. Seefer, I don't mean any disrespect, but I'd still be the same person whether I drove a Stealth or rode a bicycle."
"Listen closely, my boy; I'll tell you something even your father won't tell you. Women aren't interested in what a man is on the inside. They're only interested in what he's got and what they can get from him. I've seen the oldest and ugliest guys, with no education and absolutely nothing going for them except money. Those guys always have a gorgeous dame or two ready to rock their world for the right price."
Elton felt somewhat uncomfortable hearing such sentiments expressed by a total stranger and was glad when the test drive was over and he pulled back into the car lot.
"How does it drive, Elt?"
"Like a dream, Dad. Uncle Jim, what do you think?"
"I'd like to take a look under the hood before I make up my mind, but as far as I can tell, the car is in very good shape."
After the vehicle received Uncle Jim's seal of approval, Elton put a deposit on the Stealth.
"You can pick her up tomorrow night around seven if you'd like," the salesman said. "We'll have it inspected and prepped by then, and all the paperwork will be done."
The next evening Elton handed Mr. Seefer a cashier's check for the balance due on the car.
The salesman then gave him the keys, shook his hand and said, "Good luck with her, son. And don't forget what I told you."
As Seefer squeezed the young man's hand, he continued to smile, but Elton noticed that the man's eyes were cold and distant.
* * *
When Elton pulled the Stealth into the student parking lot, his classmates' heads turned in his direction. Brooke Chandler, the head cheerleader and one of the most popular girls at Meadowbrook High, stared open-mouthed at him when he got out of the car.
"Hey, Elvis," she called to him. "Nice car. Is it yours or your parents?"
"It's mine," he answered. "And my name's Elton, not Elvis."
"What's the difference? Elton ... Elvis. I never could tell one Beatle from another."
Elton only shook his head at her complete lack of knowledge about the legends of rock 'n' roll.
"I'd really like a ride in your car. Maybe you could drive me home from school sometime? Like today?"
"What would your boyfriend say?"
"I won't tell him if you don't," she replied with a mischievous laugh and walked away.
During the day, dozens of students, some of whom only yesterday hadn't been able to remember his name, came up to Elton and asked about his car. The salesman was right: people were looking at him in a whole new light, and it wasn't only the girls. It was the guys and several teachers, too.
After the final bell rang, signaling the end of ninth period, Elton picked up his books from his locker and headed for the student parking lot. Brooke was waiting for him there.
"Hi, Elvis, can I have that ride home now?"
"Maybe if you can get my name straight, you can."
"Sorry, what was it? Elton. That's it."
As they traveled down North Pine Street, Brooke kicked her shoes off and sat back against the passenger seat.
"I don't have to be home at any special time. Why don't we go for a little drive?"
"It had better be a short one. I have to work tonight."
"Work? Why on earth would you want to go to work?"
"How do you think I can afford to put gas in this car if I don't work?"
"Your parents, how else?"
"My dad doesn't own his own business like yours does."
Sitting so close to Brooke, Elton wondered why he had ever thought she was so hot. She wasn't that good-looking after all, and there was definitely a dim light burning in her attic.
He drove her around town for fifteen minutes and then pulled up in front of her house.
"We're here so soon? Come on, Elvis. I was just beginning to have fun."
Irrational anger such as he had never experienced before flared up inside of him.
"It's Elton, you stupid bitch! Now get the hell out of my car."
* * *
In a little over a week, Elton had become one of the most sought-after students in Meadowbrook High School, but his newfound popularity was not the blessing he had once imagined it would be. Girls, especially Brooke Chandler, called him all hours of the day and night, and guys were always trying to bum a ride.
Oddly enough, the better he got to know the socially elite students of MHS, the less impressed he was by them. He found them spoiled, lazy, self-centered and, if that weren't bad enough, in most cases, they were also stupid and boring.
"Brooke phoned," his mother told Elton when he arrived home from school.
"Again?" he groaned under his breath. "Can't she take a hint?"
He ignored her in school and didn't return any of her calls, yet she still chased after him.
Elton changed his clothes and ate a quick dinner. As he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, he heard the phone ring. His mother answered it.
"Elton, it's Brooke," Mariel announced.
"I gotta go, Ma. I'll be late for work."
Grumbling like a cantankerous old man, he got into the Stealth, turned the key in the ignition and started the engine.
"Why can't she just leave me alone?"
The radio suddenly went dead.
Just great! Elton thought with mounting frustration.
"Girl troubles?" a voice that seemed to be coming from the dead radio asked. "She won't leave you alone now, will she?"
Elton recognized the speaker. It was Louis Seefer, the smiling Honda salesman who had sold him the Stealth.
"Mr. Seefer, I know it's you. I recognize your voice. Did you put some kind of a transmitter in my car?"
"Not exactly. I'm actually inside your car."
"Yeah, right."
"Don't patronize me, son, or I'll take you straight into a telephone pole at ninety miles an hour. They'll need a Dust Buster to suck your remains out of the wreckage."
The gas pedal went down of its own volition, the car's speed increased and the brakes didn't work. Elton had no control of the vehicle.
"Believe me now, Elt?" the voice asked with cruel laughter.
Moments later control of the car was returned to the driver.
"Now," the salesman's voice continued, "what do you intend to do about that annoying cheerleader, son?"
"I guess I'll have to tell her I'm not interested in her."
"That won't work. She's convinced that she's God's gift to the male population of Meadowbrook. She'll think you're just playing hard to get, which will only make her want you all the more. Why don't you let me take care of her?"
"How?"
"Carbon monoxide poisoning always works or perhaps something a little messier."
"But that would kill her!"
"Look who just joined us."
"I don't want her dead. I just want her to leave me alone."
But the voice was gone, and the radio had come back on.
* * *
"I'd like to speak to Mr. Seefer," Elton told the assistant manager who worked at the Fairfield Honda dealership.
"Who?"
"Louis Seefer, one of your salesmen. He sold me this Stealth last week."
"I've been here for more than five years, and I've never heard of anyone named Seefer. Maybe you got the name wrong. Let's go in and check your paperwork.
The assistant manager examined the dealership's records on the sale of the Stealth, all of which indicated that the commission was to be paid to Amos Cahill.
"Amos," he asked the salesman in the next cubicle. "Do you remember selling that '96 Dodge Stealth?"
"Yeah. A guy named Canfield bought it for his kid."
"I'm Canfield. I bought the car myself," Elton explained.
"No. An older man filled out the paperwork, gave me the deposit and told me it was for his son. He came back the following evening and gave me the cashier's check, and I handed over the keys and the bill of sale to him."
"What did the man look like?" Elton asked suspiciously.
"Tall, thin guy, about fortyish, with black hair and a black goatee. Smiled a lot."
"That's him. That's Mr. Seefer. I was looking at the car out on the lot with my father and uncle, and he came over and introduced himself. He talked and acted like a salesman. He went into the showroom, came back with the keys, and we took it for a test drive. Afterward, he asked me to sign on the dotted line and told me he'd handle everything."
"I don't know who the guy was, but he didn't work for this dealership. And another thing, the keys were locked in my desk drawer until I received payment for the car. How could you have taken it for a test drive?"
* * *
"Well, Elt?" the pitiless voice in the Stealth asked with a laugh. "Did you find out what you wanted to know?"
"Who are you? Where are you hiding?"
"I'm right here, inside the workings of this car—at least temporarily. I come and go as I please. I'm not restricted to any one place. As to who I am—why don't you just call me Lou?"
"What do you want, Lou?"
"Me? I don't want anything. This is your dream, remember? You're the guy who wanted the fancy sports car, wanted to be one of the popular kids at school and wanted the pretty girls to notice you."
"I just wanted a car."
"No. You said you wanted a car that reflected your personality, but in truth, you wanted a car that would attract attention to you—and here I am to give you what you wanted, son."
As Elton headed for home, he wondered if he was losing his mind. It was the only logical explanation. Surely, he wasn't really driving around Meadowbrook in a vehicle that was a cross between KITT, the modified Pontiac Trans Am from Knight Rider, and the deadly Plymouth Fury from Christine.
"Uh, oh!" Lou suddenly laughed malevolently. "You've got company."
Brooke Chandler was standing in front of Elton's house, waiting for him. The young man sighed; he might as well get it over with once and for all.
"Brooke, I've got to talk to you."
"Oh, Elton, honey, I missed you so much," she said, leaning over the driver's side window to throw her arms around his neck. "Let's go for a ride."
"No, stay away from the car!" he yelled, afraid something might happen to her.
"Don't worry; I won't hurt your precious car."
She ran around the back of the vehicle and got into the passenger side.
"Let's go," she pleaded.
"Get out, Brooke. I don't want you in here."
"Come on, Elton. Don't be like that. Let's go for a ride."
"No!" he screamed.
But the car started itself and pulled out of the driveway.
"Wow! How did you do that? You didn't even have your hands on the key!"
Brooke was behaving like a kid at the circus. She didn't even have the sense to be afraid.
The Stealth took off toward the interstate. It started accelerating the minute it turned onto the entrance ramp.
Forty ... fifty ... sixty...
"Stop it," he yelled.
"Don't stop; this is fun. Go faster, honey," Brooke urged as the speed increased.
Seventy... eighty...
Elton grabbed for the keys, trying to turn off the engine as he futilely pumped the brakes.
"Lou, that's enough. Slow down."
Brooke, who was now letting her long blond hair fly out the window of the speeding Stealth, paid no attention to him.
Ninety ... a hundred...
The car started rapidly changing lanes: right, middle, left, middle, back to the right, racing from one side of the highway to another, zigzagging at a deadly pace. Elton felt like the steel ball inside a pinball machine.
One ten ... One twenty ...
How fast could this car go?
"Damn you, Lou. Don't do this."
Lou laughed demonically.
"Damn? Now you're finally catching on. You were damned the moment you bought this car."
Yes, he was damned, Elton realized, damned by his desire to be popular with shallow, worthless people like Brooke Chandler and damned by a mysterious smooth-talking, smiling, phony salesman named Lou Seefer.
"Oh, God, please help me!" he cried out in despair. "Get me out of this nightmare of a car."
Suddenly, the brakes finally grabbed and the car began to slow down. Elton could feel the power returning to the steering wheel. He was in control again, at least for now. He took the next exit and drove back to town.
As he pulled into the Meadowbrook Mall parking lot, he turned to Brooke, and announced, "I'm hungry. Let's get some pizza."
When she got out, locking the door behind her, Elton jumped back into the car and took off, leaving Brooke screaming angrily at him, unaware of how lucky she was to still be alive.
* * *
When Elton pulled into an empty space in the student parking lot, no one looked his way. He was just one of the quiet kids, those who blend into the surroundings and go unnoticed by the more popular students. He locked the door to his car and pocketed the keys. Across the lot, he saw Brooke Chandler arm-in-arm with her latest boyfriend, the quarterback of the football team.
What else would you expect from a cheerleader? he thought with amusement.
Denise Howard, another of the quiet, unnoticed students of Meadowbrook High School, walked over to him.
"Another car, Elton?" she asked.
Now she was pretty! Elton realized. Why hadn't he ever noticed that before?
"Yeah, I decided to get rid of the other one. It was giving me too much trouble. My mother tried to warn me about sports cars, but I didn't listen."
"Well, I like your new car much better. It seems to fit your personality more than that red one did."
"You really think so?" he said, smiling as he looked over at the little blue Subaru Impreza. "You know, I don't have to work tomorrow night. How would you like to go for a ride? Maybe we could go to the movies."
"Sure, Elton," she said with a smile. "I'd like that."
As they started walking toward the school, he turned and asked, "Do you know who Elvis was?"
"Are you kidding me? Elvis Presley was the king of rock 'n' roll. Why?"
"Just testing you; that's all," he replied with a good-natured laugh.
"Did I pass?"
"With flying colors."
This is the car of Salem's dreams. It has cat treats in the glove box and a litter box in the trunk.
