Disclaimer: Remember WENN and its characters are the property of Rupert Holmes, Meltzer Productions, American Movie Classics, etc. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's note: This story is set after Victor's return and before "All Noisy on the Pittsburgh Front".
The rumble of an empty stomach disturbed the peace of the reception area that Gertrude Reece minded. She sighed tiredly, setting her headset gently down by the switchboard and leaning back in her chair. It was a thankless job, operating as the lone receptionist of the small-time Pittsburgh radio station. Regardless of the long hours, meager wages, and unpredictable lunch breaks, Gertie admitted that she couldn't work anywhere but WENN. Her stomach growled otherwise. She could do with being away long enough to grab a bite to eat. Not even a receptionist could go very long without nourishment.
Gertie peered down the short hallway, as bare and desolate as the desert. The actors were in the main studio, broadcasting to the tune of Eugenia's organ and the myriad of Mr. Foley's sound effects. Victor was in his office, doing something official. Betty was in the writer's room, frantically wrapping up another script. Gertie smiled. If there was anyone more overworked than she, it was Betty Roberts, but at least Scott would drag her out to eat or bring her food.
As if on cue, Scott Sherwood emerged from the studio with a furious diva on his heels. The dark-haired actor smiled subtly as he poured himself a drink of water, paying little attention to Hilary's incessant rambling. Gertie listened only half-heartedly. Hilary was at Scott's throat so often that it was no longer an event of any interest.
"Whatever you say, Hildy," Scott said light-heartedly.
Hilary's eyes were emblazoned. She let out a frustrated yelp and stormed into the Green Room to fume in solitude, perhaps to plan her next offensive. The Scott versus Hilary war raged on.
Scott grinned his trademark Sherwood grin in victory as he finished off his water. Maple LaMarsh exited the studio and noticed his smugness.
"Got Hilary's goat again?" she inquired amusedly.
"Not just one goat, Mapes," Scott replied good-naturedly. "With Hilary Booth, you gotta think bigger."
"A flock of goats, then." Maple rolled her eyes as she reached for a cup. Scott opened his mouth in retort, but quickly shut it again, shaking his head helplessly.
"I'm starving," he remarked instead, rubbing his stomach. "You wanna go grab some food?"
"Yeah," Maple answered, downing her drink and depositing the cup in a trash bin. The duo walked towards the reception area, Maple with her hip-swinging step and Scott with his jaunty stroll.
"We'll be back soon," Scott told Gertie as he pulled on his coat.
"Oh sure," Gertie said unenthused, "go ahead and have fun while I starve to death."
"Would you like us to bring you back something?" Maple asked politely, taking the hint.
"Food would be nice," Gertie replied sarcastically.
"Any special requests?" Scott queried as he held the door open for Maple to walk through.
"Spaghetti and meatballs, with extra garlic and Parmesan cheese, maybe a warm breadstick on the side with a sparkling glass of wine..." Gertie gushed.
Scott's forehead crinkled in contemplation. Finally, he suggested an alternative. "How about a delectable Buttery sandwich?"
"Delectable?" Gertie retorted doubtfully.
"Well, it's edible, anyway," Scott said with a shrug. His face suddenly glowed with another toothy grin. "Be back in a minute."
Gertie watched as his squarish frame disappeared and the door shut behind him. She let out a small sigh and commented to herself with a shake of the head. "The story of my life."
She glanced at the switchboard. It remained silent. Gertie's mind wandered until she remembered her latest unfinished radio play collecting dust in a drawer of her cluttered desk. She carefully pulled it out and began to read the last few pages to refresh her memory.
The front entrance opened once more and Gertie looked up from her script, wondering if Scott or Maple had forgotten something. Instead, a petite blonde woman entered. Her large eyes twinkled as she looked around the premises. They peered at the ceiling, the pictures on the walls, and finally Gertie. Gertie's mouth dropped.
"Celia?" she said, examining the familiar stranger with a squint.
Celia Mellon smiled warmly. "Hi-hi," she greeted with a small wave.
"Celia!" Gertie jumped up from her seat and ran around her desk to give the actress a hug. "How are you, dear?"
"Overwhelmed," Celia answered. "This place looks exactly the same."
"Well, it is WENN, after all." Gertie shrugged. "Only a bigger budget could change it, and that's not going to happen."
"Where is everyone?" Celia asked.
"Well, Jeff and Mackie are in the studio, Hilary's in the Green Room, Victor's in his office, Betty's in the writer's room, and Scott and Maple are out to lunch."
"Victor?" Celia gasped. "He's alive?"
"That's right! You missed all the excitement. Well," Gertie began, "Scott arrived, claiming that Victor sent him to be the new station manager, then Victor died, but not really, then Rollie Pruitt, whom we called the Satanic Santa, took over and fired Scott, then Scott came back and is now an actor." Here the receptionist paused to take a much needed breath. Celia took one herself, exhausted from the long explanation. "Then Victor showed up out of the blue, and it turned out he had been brainwashed by the Nazis, but of course, he's okay now."
"Wow," Celia breathed, "it's like a movie."
"Don't I wish! We could have made a profit," Gertie remarked dryly.
"Who's Maple?"
"Oh, Maple. She came as Eugenia's replacement when Scott had an idea for her to do an all-night program while he was still station manager."
"Who, Maple?"
"No, Scott."
"No, I mean Maple did the all-night program."
"No, that was Eugenia."
Celia frowned. Gertie continued. "Now, when Eugenia's show was canceled, she took over Maple's daytime organist job again and now she's an actress."
"Who, Eugenia?"
"No, Maple."
Gertie motioned for Celia to come closer. As the young blonde leaned in, Gertie confided in a whisper, "It's a long story."
"So I see," Celia said, standing up once more. She replaced her baffled look with a smile and clapped her hands together. "Well! Maybe there's been more changes than I thought."
The studio doors burst open and a flustered Mackie Bloom rushed out. "Where's Hilary?" he asked no one in particular. Celia stood demurely, clasping her hands behind her back and beaming.
"Celia?" Mackie gasped. "Celia!"
He nearly tripped in his eagerness to greet the blooming young actress. He enveloped her petiteness in a great hug. He looked at her desperately, and clutched her arm. He began to lead her towards the studio in a hurry.
"Save the fluff for later. We need a female voice on the air right now and Hilary's not going to do it," he said.
"Well, Hilary's..." Gertie started to say, but Mackie and Celia had already disappeared into the studio before she could disclose Miss Booth's wherabouts. She shrugged, turned on her desktop radio, glanced at her watch and began to count. "Five, four, three, two..."
A shrill scream came from the Green Room.
"Who is doing my love scene with my husband?" Hilary fumed. Her hat was slightly askew. Her eyes were burning with anger. Gertie only smiled innocently. The day had just become much more interesting.
"You mean ex-husband?" she courteously corrected.
"Ex-husband, adulterer, low-life scoundrel, sewer rat - call him what you will. But some tramp is in there doing a love scene with him and it is definitely not me!" Hilary let out a displeased squeak for emphasis and made a less-than-elegant entrance into the studio. Everyone fell silent. Celia waved with exterior perkiness and interior dread.
"Hi-hi," she mouthed.
Hilary's glare was like William Tell and his arrows, only this arrow was aimed straight at the starlet's heart with murderous intentions.
"You," she said hatefully in a low growl.
"Look who's interrupted us in our bedroom, dearest," Jeff ad-libbed. "It's your...evil twin sister."
"Evil twin sister?!" Hilary spat.
"I mean..." Jeff trailed off.
"It's the ghost of your first wife, back from the grave," Mackie offered, hastily speaking in whatever voice happened to come at the moment.
"Oh look, it's the butler I killed ten minutes ago," Jeff hissed.
"Well, I'm a ghost too! We've come to avenge our deaths." As an afterthought, Mackie added a half-hearted, "Whooooooo," and threw in a few ghastly hand gestures.
"Oh cripes," Hilary muttered, rolling her eyes. "Some ghost you are."
"Hey, give a guy a break," Mackie said, stepping out-of-character.
Eugenia noticed Lester motioning frantically from the control room. Noticing the clock, she pulled her microphone within range and said, "Oh, would you look at the time?"
Gertie, in the busy midst of answering calls from distressed listeners, peered down the hall as Celia, Hilary, Mackie, and Jeff came out of the studio. They were bickering. Hilary did most of the talking, and most of it was aimed at poor Jeff. He was a tall man, perhaps even intimidating to some, but Hilary's words and evil eye were enough to diminish his stature to that of a dwarf. He ruefully pictured himself with a pick perched on his shoulder as he sang, "Heigh-ho."
An ear-piercing whistle shrieked throughout the station. All hushed and turned towards its source. Betty stood sternly, with her arms crossed, and a displeased Victor at her side.
"Geez, Betty, where'd you learn to whistle like that?" Mackie asked, grimacing. The whistle still rang like an unpleasant bell in his head. Celia, in the meanwhile, had widened and shining eyes. She wore a look of wonder on her young face.
"I always wondered what it would be like to see an un-dead man," she breathed.
"Hello, Miss Mellon," Victor said nonchalantly, his expression suddenly softening. "It's been a long time."
Celia smiled. She slowly approached the man and reached out to feel his arms, resting at his sides. She unexpectedly hugged him fiercely. Betty eyed this rather suspiciously. Victor looked at Betty, then down rather nervously at Celia, unsure how to react. He hesitantly patted her reassuringly on the back. Celia let him go and stepped back.
"I'm sorry to have dropped by unannounced," she apologized.
"You can leave just the way you came," Hilary intoned clearly, so that the younger actress could hear every word. Celia merely ignored her.
"That's enough, Hilary," Betty objected, as if scolding a small child. "That was quite the show you put on in there."
"Not one of my better performances, but thank you." Hilary smiled forcefully, knowing that Betty was dripping with sarcasm. She was met with a stone-cold look from Betty. She defended herself quickly. "An actress is very territorial, Betty. When someone deliberately," she said, directing the word towards Celia, "steals her role, it's retaliate or die."
"Couldn't you have just died?" Mackie quipped. Hilary threw him a deathly look.
"Or waited until after the show to retaliate?" he rapidly added, fluidly bringing his hand up to his face as if to cover it from Hilary's fury. "I, uh, think I need some coffee." Mackie rushed into the Green Room.
"As much as I permit myself to stand, Hilary, that outburst in there was inconceivably uncalled for," Victor said. Hilary's jaw dropped and pointed accusingly at Celia.
"She stole my role! And my love scene!" she squeaked.
"And to think, Hilary, at one time you refused to be in the same room with me," Jeff reminded his ex-wife. He said this meditatively, as if there was meaning to be had in Hilary's reaction.
"Exhale, Jeffrey. It's not healthy to hold your breath," she remarked coldly.
"I seem to recall that you objected to performing my 'unperformable' script this morning," Betty said, taking a stab. "I had the impression you'd have gladly given up the role."
"Did you?" Hilary replied, attempting but faltering at her solitary self-defense.
"It wasn't entirely Hilary's fault," Celia piped up, attracting eight pairs of eyes. Betty, Victor, and Jeff stared in surprise. Hilary was in shock. "I got here, and Mackie..."
"Wait a second!" Mackie emerged from the Green Room in objection. "I had nothing to do with this."
"Oh, I wasn't going to blame it on you, Mackie. I was just going to say that I got here, and all of a sudden I found myself being led to the studio by Mackie and reading a script." Celia shrugged. "I was the most accessible person at the moment."
Betty frowned. "What are you doing here, Celia?" she asked.
"Oh. That's another story." Celia began to wring her hands uncomfortably. "I need to talk to you in private." She urged Victor and Betty on to the office, where she quickly closed the door behind them. Hilary, Jeff, and Mackie looked at each other curiously.
"What's going on?" Gertie wondered out loud.
She was met with three shrugs. The quartet moved speedily to the office door, leaning in, hoping to hear any snippets of conversation. They hadn't noticed Scott and Maple wandering back inside from their lunch.
Scott placed a paper sack on Gertie's desk. He saw his colleagues crowded around Victor's office, listening intently. He motioned for Maple to be quiet. Tiptoeing up behind the huddled four, he drew in a big breath and said loudly, "What's all the commotion?"
"Oh geez!" Mackie gasped, clutching at his heart. Hilary appeared a bit disturbed, but had enough strength to slap Scott violently on the arm. Jeff had jumped back, and Gertie glared.
"Celia's back," Gertie said.
"Who's Celia?" Maple queried.
"Funny, she asked the exact same thing about you," Gertie pondered.
"She used to work here," Scott informed his clueless friend. "She's back? Really? What for?"
"If you would please shut that thing you call a mouth for once," Hilary snapped, "maybe we can hear something."
"Why eavesdrop," Scott said, "when you can just do this?"
He pushed the door open and let himself inside. His companions peered in after him.
"Hey!" he announced cheerily. He was met by a frazzled Betty, a thoughtful Victor, and a sheepish-looking Celia.
"Fifty-six," Betty mumbled to herself.
"Fifty-six?" Scott echoed.
"What's going on?" Mackie asked.
Victor smiled pleasantly. "It looks as if we'll be hosting Miss Mellon for a while."
"Hosting?" Jeff repeated.
"It's a long story," Celia answered dismissively.
"Fifty-six," Betty said once more.
"Yes, Betty, he's fifty-six, and that's that!" Celia crossed her arms and huffed.
"'He'?" Gertie inquired.
"My husband. Actually, my fiancé."
"Fiancé?" Hilary chorused.
"Is there an echo in the room?" Celia remarked exasperatedly.
"Fifty-six!" Betty threw her hands in the air, not knowing what else to do.
"Who's the lucky old geezer?" Hilary asked.
Celia narrowed her eyes in vengeance. "He's not an old geezer. I mean, he looks much younger than he really is."
"Yes, but Scotty here looks like an actor. It doesn't mean a thing," Hilary pointed out with great satisfaction, smiling sweetly at her prey. Scott rolled his eyes in response.
"So why are we hosting again?" Maple entered the conversation, getting caught up in the excitement.
"Well, Miss Mellon apparently ran from the altar," Victor informed them. The others reacted with silence. Celia bit her lip and played with her hands.
"No," Hilary said, finally breaking the silence. She addressed Celia with a smug look. "How unbelievably predictable of you."
"Thank you so much, Hilary," Celia replied sternly. She eyed Jeff out of the corner of her eye. "But I suppose you understand, Jeff. Marrying someone so much older, you know."
Hilary seethed.
"That's enough," Victor mediated. "Miss Mellon needs to hide from the media until things settle down."
"Hide?" Hilary laughed. "This was all probably a publicity stunt."
"Hilary," Victor warned. Hilary cleared her throat, but remained silent.
"Speaking of publicity, Vic," Scott piped up, "this could really work out good for us. WENN, hideout for celebrity Celia Mellon."
"You're not going to call the papers, are you?" Celia became desperate, standing straight up.
"Of course not. Not until this is all over," Victor added in afterthought.
"Oh." Celia slumped down in her chair in relief.
"Very exciting," Scott crowed.
Everyone looked at him doubtfully.
***
The front entrance opened. Mr. Eldridge, filling in while Gertie ran an errand, glanced over his newspaper in its direction. He saw a foot quickly catch the door before it closed completely. Little by little, Mr. Eldridge saw Scott’s body squeeze through the door, dragging a large suitcase after him. Scott set it against the wall while he plopped down in a chair and mopped his brow. Mr. Eldridge looked at him rather curiously. Scott met his amused gaze, and smiled sheepishly.
"I’d forgotten how heavy women’s suitcases are," he explained. "What do they carry in these things, anyway? The Statue of Liberty?"
Mr. Eldridge appeared worried. "Oh, dear. We’d better tell the authorities," he said.
"I was being sarcastic, Mr. Eldridge," Scott assured him.
"Now, Scott, this is no time to be sarcastic. We’ve got a national crisis on our hands," the elderly man said, shaking his finger in disapproval. Scott was speechless for a moment, then quickly recovered. It was not a rarity for Mr. Eldridge to become baffled or to baffle someone else.
"We’ll call them later," Scott promised. "I’ll take it to the Green Room for safekeeping."
Scott stood up and drew in a long breath. He exhaled slowly, not eager to meet his luggage foe once again. He picked up the suitcase with a grunt, and hauled it off with great effort. He met Maple in the hallway. She gave him a questioning gaze. He managed a small shrug, hurrying to the Green Room before his arms could give away.
Celia and Betty were sitting at the round table, sipping cups of Ingram’s Coffee. Scott tried to hide his fatigue, to save his sensitive sense of masculine pride, but the women were at his side before he could mask anything.
"Are you okay? Do you need water?" they asked, as he dropped the suitcase on the floor. He checked his arms, which felt as if they had been elongated. He rubbed them, telling himself his arms were fine. He glared at the suitcase in contempt.
"Piece of cake," he told the ladies with a confident grin. They looked unsure.
"I had to have two men help me load that thing," Celia said. "I’m impressed."
"All in a day’s work," Scott replied, with a smug look.
Betty only rolled her eyes. Getting back to business, she informed him, "Celia’s told me that we have to be on the lookout for private investigators."
"Aw, those people can’t fool me." Scott folded his arms against his chest for emphasis.
"Takes one to know one," Betty said, smiling innocently.
"You don’t understand. This isn’t just a private investigator. This is my fiancé." Celia sat back down in a chair with a furrowed brow. She of all people had not expected to become engaged to a private detective. She was a movie star. Movie stars married movie stars, not sneaky detectives who weren’t quite policemen.
"Your fiancé is a PI?" Scott said in obvious surprise. "How did that happen?"
"Long story," Celia replied.
"Oh, look, I just happen to have some time here in my back pocket," Scott said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out some air. He grinned, pulled up a chair, and turned it so that he could set his arms on the backrest. Celia looked at Betty, who shrugged and pulled up a chair of her own. She was caught up on scripts for the time being.
With a despondent sigh, Celia began to tell her story. "Well, I kind of hired him to do a job for me..."
***
The door opened a second time and Mr. Eldridge looked up again. Too many interruptions. He would never get through the first section at the rate people kept coming in. He saw a handsome, dignified-looking man in a sharp navy suit. He removed his fedora hat politely and asked,
"Is this WENN?"
"That’s what they tell me," Mr. Eldridge replied.
"Is it possible to speak to the executive?"
"Oh, I think you’re in the wrong place, young man," Mr. Eldridge said, putting down his paper and shaking his head. "This is a radio station."
The man frowned. "Yes, you said this was WENN," he reasoned.
"Oh no. It still is WENN."
"Right. And I asked to speak to the executive."
"And I said you’re in the wrong place." Tired of the game, Mr. Eldridge picked up his paper and began to read from the front page again. He had forgotten what had happened on page one. The old memory wasn’t what it used to be.
"Excuse me?" the man nearly squeaked.
"You’re looking for Mr. Roosevelt, and he doesn’t live here," Mr. Eldridge kindly informed him.
"Mr. Roosevelt?" the man echoed.
"Yes, the executive. I believe he’s in Washington DC." Mr. Eldridge triumphantly turned to page two. "Quite a ways from here, but if you hurry and catch the train, you can make it before dinner."
"No, no. That’s not what I meant." The man appeared exasperated. "Is there anyone here I can speak to?"
"You’re speaking to me right now," Mr. Eldridge pointed out.
"Is there anyone else I can speak to?"
Hilary marched out of the studio for a drink. Mr. Eldridge motioned in her general direction. He smiled, glad to be able to help a poor, confused young man.
"Thank you," he said hesitantly, approaching Hilary at the water cooler. The actress noticed him out of the corner of eye and prepared for confrontation. He was quite a good-looking man, qualified flirting material. Where was Jeffrey when he need to be infuriated?
"Excuse me," the man said.
"Yes?" Hilary stood up straight, plastering a sickly-sweet smile on her face.
"I was wondering if you could help me out."
"With an autograph? Oh, you must be one of my many adoring fans. I am," Hilary said, with a wave of the hand, "Hilary Booth, of course."
"Yes," the man said rather impatiently, not wanting to bother with names. "I’m..."
"You may have seen one of my many performances on Broadway," Hilary interrupted. "The Rivals, of course, among my extensive credits."
"That’s great," her conversational companion said unenthusiastically, "but..."
Hilary did not recognize that he had spoken, and continued rattling off her resume, adding a nostalgic comment regarding each one. The man sighed desperately, paying no attention. He glanced into the studio, where Jeff, Mackie, and Maple were doing a program.
"....and we did an extensive tour around the country, bringing joy into the lives of hundreds - no, millions..." Hilary continued, reviewing a rather exaggerated thought of her career in her mind.
"Excuse me," the man said, rushing into the studio, leaving Hilary with her visions of unrealized grandeur. The actors and crew were taken aback. Interruptions were the norm around WENN, but major fiascos had been limited to about one per day. The man signaled fiasco number two.
"We interrupt this program for a special announcement," he said, grabbing the microphone from Mackie, who responded with a objection. The man waved it off, and Mackie quieted down, looking at his bewildered colleagues with a hopeless frown.
"It is believed that Hollywood personality Celia Mellon is hiding out in Pittsburgh. Under current circumstances, it is imperative that she return to California. Celia, if you’re listening, I need you back. Everyone knows now." The man paused, then added, "You don’t have to run anymore."
He lifted his downcast eyes, as if sensing something, then turned around. Celia stood in the doorway, fragile-looking and beautiful. He held his arms out to her, and she ran into them, becoming enveloped in a fierce hug.
"Everything’s okay. I’ve told them everything," he whispered. Celia let him go, and faced her friends, staring in confusion at the couple. Jeff quickly took hold of a microphone and said,
"And now, um, music with Eugenia Bremer."
The organist gaped in protest, not wanting to be left out of the action. Jeff urged her to start filling air time, clasping his hands in a begging motion. She began to forcefully play a piece she had had one of her students play in a lesson earlier that day, thoroughly displeased. Jeff, Mackie, Maple, Mr. Foley, Celia, and her mystery man filed out of the studio, where Scott, Betty, Mr. Eldridge and Hilary waited expectantly.
"So this is the infamous Johnny," Betty said.
"You were right, Celia. He doesn’t look fifty-six," Mackie observed. "What’s your secret?"
"Oh no, this isn’t him." Celia wrapped her arms around Johnny’s waist. "This is his son."
Johnny smiled sheepishly. "My dad’s not very pleased," he said, "as you could probably guess."
"I didn’t tell you guys the whole story," Celia apologized. "I said my fiancé was divorced with two kids. What I didn’t say was that I fell in love with one of them, and wouldn’t admit to it until I was supposed to marry the father."
"The press is going to have a field day with this," Scott predicted.
"We’re going to stay low for a while," Johnny announced.
"Which is achieved by broadcasting all over Pittsburgh," Mackie said sarcastically.
"It doesn’t mean anyone was listening," Hilary retorted. "This is WENN, after all."
"Oh. Right." Mackie shrugged.
Betty ignored them, offering Johnny a friendly handshake. "Well, we hope the best for both of you. If you ever need us, you know where we are."
"Oh, by the way," Scott spoke up. "What are you going to do about the suitcase?"
"Turn it into the police," Mr. Eldridge replied. "It’s the American thing to do."
He was met with baffled looks. Scott rolled his eyes.
"It’s a long story," he said.
The End
Fanfiction Library
Back to the Fanfiction Library
