Monday morning
"So whatcha do on yer vacation, Mikey?" Ken Schrader nudged his tall, sleepy companion who was currently nursing a cup of black coffee in the SpeedChannel studio lounge. The stocky veteran doffed his AT&T pitcap and scratched his thinning pate of sandy hair as he regarded Michael's sly, lopsided grin. The mischievous twinkle in his slate- blue eyes told Schrader that a lost weekend had transpired and the pilot of the Napa Chevy had indeed been up to a bit of debauchery. There had been a week long break in their schedule as the teams geared up for the Pepsi 400. Michael currently sat 5th in points-his best season ever in his long career and he carried the confident air of a championship contender. Continuing to smile the smile of a cat that just ate a flock of canaries, Michael stretched for a moment and grunted with a satisfied smirk, "Let's just say I did a little night- putting up north."
"North? North where? I thought Buffy said she was headin' for the Bahamas..." the third "expert panelist", Johnny Benson sat down with a donut and his coffee along with the sports section of the Charlotte Observer. Long used to Michael's shenanigans, he more or less let most of these conversations go in one ear and out the other.
Schrader arched his eyebrows at this bit of information, "Separate vacations? Miiikeeeey....what have you been up to?" he admonished, playfully wagging his finger. "I'm tellin' Buffy...." he snickered. Actually, he'd never dream of ratting out his old friend's "indiscretions"-the three of them were thick as thieves. Not to mention the fact that both he and Johnny secretly enjoyed living vicariously through their handsome friend as it was a well-known fact that Michael's amorous adventures were often as legendary as they were tantalizing.
Chuckling, Michael shook his head, still smiling "Let's just say I needed a little time off for bad behavior!" Unshaven, thick hair practically standing on end and the tell-tale lusty gleam in his eyes were clear indications that "bad behavior" was something of an understatement; the curvy blonde who drove him wild still vividly in his mind. Johnny looked up from his paper with a look of mock disbelief on his normally somewhat bland countenance, "You?! Surely you jest!"
"I ain't jestin' and don't call me Shirley." quipped the ever- incorrigible Michael, as he ran his hand through his mane; stirring the rat's nest of ebony hair ever higher. The three hooted with amusement over that older-than-dirt comeback. It was a typical start to a typical Monday and as soon as the cameras started rolling, the trio would be in fine form to offer the show's fans their "expert analysis" on the world of Winston Cup racing. Their usually unflappable, dapper host-one Alan Bestwick, joined the group at the table with his notes and coffee.
"Hey-I bet I know who she is...that little blonde I saw ya with at Pocono! Man-did she ever have a rack on her!" snorted Schrader. "I remember her-she used to drive the truck for Hoosier-shit, she can rotate my tires any time she wants to!"
Michael shrugged and smirked; guilt written all over his face. "I'm takin' da fifth!"
"Yer takin' the fifth? What the hell did ya do now??" growled a new voice.
"Hey Junior! Whatcha doin' up so early?" grinned Schrader, Michael's escapades quickly forgotten.
"Butthead here dragged me in for the hotseat guest!" Dale Earnhardt Jr., jerked his thumb at Michael, who cheekily stuck his tongue out at his boss and teammate.
"Another exciting vacation with yer cats?"
"Bite me, Waltrip!" The Earnhardt glare was in full effect now. A week-long publicity tour for Drakkar Noir pretty much monopolized his vacation time and now he had to prepare for the next race and the long second half of the season. The last thing he needed was the teasing by his gloating teammate.
Michael encircled the shoulders of his fuming teammate, unabated and immune to the Earnhardt Glare. "Awww, whazzamatta, Junebug?" he crooned while glancing back and winking conspiratorially at Schrader and Johnny. "All talk an' no action last week? Suffering from Lackanookie Disease?" This last elicited a few muffled snickers from the other two. It was no secret that Junior's popularity did not always sit well with Michael, who often went ignored by the media- even on those weekends he practically carried the DEI team. As much as Michael valued Junior's friendship, he still couldn't resist having a little fun at Junior's expense should the opportunity arise.
Sighing, Junior turned to Michael, "If you weren't so goddamn big, I'd knock that loopy grin right off'n yer face! OK-I had a real shitty week, no time off, 20 appearances with a cast of 10,000 maniacs at each show, and a LOT of quality time with my cats! There! Are you happy?!"
Shrugging with mock indifference, Michael huffed and folded his arms, "Well-ya don't gotta get snippy about it! Just tryin' to be a friend-"
"With friends like you vultures, who needs enemas!" All three erupted into primeval grunts of belly-laughs and even Junior couldn't stay angry at these buffoons as he soon joined them.
"Yer such a shithead!" Michael laughed, wiping his eyes.
"And yer a bigger shithead!" Junior snorted.
Alan rolled his eyes heavenward-this was going to be one of those days-"Ok kids, shall we head into the studio and get this thing rolling?"
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"Hello and welcome to the 'Lost Weekend' edition of Inside Winston Cup." Alan started opening the show as Schrader went into his customary fidget, Benson looked on with bemusement and Michael indifferently picked at his nails and fiddled with his wedding band as Alan introduced them. "Tonight we have a special guest lined up for our hotseat-we've been trying unsuccessfully to get him on for months but he will grace us with his presence now as we welcome the driver of the #8 Budweiser Chevrolet, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Because there was no race this weekend, let's go right into our question and answer with our esteemed panel."
Schrader licked his lips and grinned, "Are we supposed to applaud or somethin'?" He was honestly relieved that he didn't have to make an account of his usually abysmal performance-in fact, he was simply glad to have somebody new for Michael to badger for a change.
"Nah-that will go straight to his head." Michael cut in; eyes bright with mischief. Alan made a mental note to remember to rein in the driver of the Napa Chevy before he got too out of line. Michael gave Junior a quick smirk which was returned in kind. Johnny shifted uneasily in his chair as he had the unmistakable feeling that this show was going to spiral out of control very quickly. Schrader was often the instigator and loved nothing more than to egg Michael on-no doubt hoping that he would land one or both feet in his mouth. In between the two was Junior, feeding of the energy of both Michael and Schrader; ready to trade barbs and perhaps elicit a little payback.
Alan cleared his throat and proceeded onward with a brief summary of Junior's season and then turned the questioning over to the panel. Pleasantly surprised that the group was behaving so far, Alan relaxed a little. The questions presented to Junior were insightful and respectable-all centering on everything from the proposed Nextel Cup to the Sonoma race and touching briefly on the schedule restructuring for next season. The show's producer motioned "Wrap it up!" to Alan. With a sigh of relief, Alan quickly added, "Our producer just indicated that we have to do some airtime for our sponsors-we'll be right back." He briefly entertained the thought as to whether this show was going to be a genuine success or merely the calm before all hell broke loose?
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"You guys ever log on to Nascar Enquirer?" Junior piped up as the others engaged in stretching, yawning, and scratching various parts of their anatomy. Alan closed his eyes as already the jinni was out of the bottle-nothing set the group off like a good round of gossip.
"Uh uh...wazzat?" Schrader grunted, now intrigued. Both Johnny and Michael also inched closer to Junior.
"Sorry Jun-too busy to set in front of a computer." Michael quipped. "Y'all need to get out more and stop playin' with that thing!"
"Shutyer piehole!" Junior growled, proceeding to put his teammate on "ignore".
"Anyway-it's this site that my sister was tellin' me about-kinda a message board where folks can come in and exchange all sorts of interesting tid-bits. A lot of bullshit but it's fun to read."
"Anything good?" Schrader was worse than an old lady-loved nothing better than a good juicy bit trash to pick over. "Any dirt on Mikey?" he grinned as Michael bristled and shifted nervously in his seat.
Aha! Struck a nerve with the fucker! Junior smirked at his obviously now-uncomfortable teammate. Even though he didn't have any real ammunition, he thought, heh! let him squirm! He hadn't even brought out the heavy artillery yet! This will learn that cocky sumbitch!
"Kinda gets around a little bit..." Junior began evasively with a sly grin. "He's a real team player!"
"What the hell does that mean?" snarled Michael-no longer amused with the game.
"Take it easy, Mike-it's only a stupid message board!" Johnny gave him a nudge in the ribs while Michael continued to glare at Junior. "C'mon Dale, what else is on there?"
Before Junior could open his mouth, Alan shook his head, "Guys-head's up-break's over!"
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The mood on the set had suddenly turned very tense as Michael continued to glower at Junior, who now sat with an exaggerated air of innocence about him. Both Schrader and Johnny were practically salivating over whatever tid-bits Junior had yet to divulge .
"So we're gonna be heading for Daytona next week-are you and Michael going to work together or you both going to run separate lines?" Johnny asked, genuinely curious.
Junior's grin broadened-this was just the opening he was looking for- and he sat back in his chair, savoring the moment. "Well-we're both lookin' for a win. I think we'll work together for a little while- hell, ol' Michael don't mind lookin' at my butt. Hell-he was all OVER my butt a couple years ago!"
Johnny-completely clueless as to where this conversation was now heading, continued, "Uhm..what if ...well..uhm you get stuck behind his butt?"
"Hell yeah! Don't mind gettin' on his butt either! He's got a real, nice butt-I'm all over his butt! I could stare at his butt all night!" Junior gleefully cackled. Alan looked frantically at the stunned producer and camera crew; anxiously counting the minutes to their next break.
Schrader immediately cracked up, "That sounded...uhm...well odd!" Still chuckling, he cast a glance at Michael. Michael was not amused and sat stonily glaring at Junior. Still, Schrader couldn't resist milking this one for all it was worth. Casting a casual glance at Alan (who at this point was ready to curl up and die), he paused for a moment, choosing his words with care-ever the consummate professional.
"Well-you know how the draft is out there, ya gotta go for the RIGHT hole! Don't wanna get the WRONG hole and loose the draft!"
"Yeah..but you know Mikey-he NEVER gets the wrong hole!" Junior said solemnly.
"Yep-that's DEI where there is no WRONG HOLE." Schrader collapsed in a fit of laughter as Alan cued for a commercial break.
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The tension was as thick as day-old grits and cheese as Alan quickly debriefed the seething producer. "Uhm..guys? Why don't we take a half-hour break here and kinda chill-out for a bit?" Mentally, he was trying to figure out how much of that interview was salvageable and how much longer it would take for Michael to become completely unglued and start ripping Junior's limbs from his torso.
Cautiously, Alan approached the obviously rattled driver who continued to glare at Junior (now regaling Johnny and Schrader in the corner) with his jaw clenched so tightly the veins stood out in his neck.
"You gonna be ok there, Mikey?" Michael nodded and relaxed a little as he took a sip of Coke. Inwardly, he was seething-how dare that little bastard pull that shit? On HIS show??! Two could play it this way... There was something about his demeanor that chilled Alan to the bone and he put his hand on the lanky driver's shoulder. "Mike- let it go, man."
"I'm ok Alan-really. Just kinda took me aback..." he muttered. That little bastard is so gonna pay for this.....
"You sure? Mike, we're gonna end up dumping that whole thing-don't worry about it."
Michael sauntered over to where Junior stood with Schrader and Benson.
"You ok there, bud?" Junior grinned, "Sorry I put you through the ringer there, but that will learn ya for messin' with me!"
"I'm fine...I feel so much better now that our secret's out." Michael said softly, his hand traveling from Junior's shoulder slowly down to his butt. Junior froze as Michael's large hand completely cupped his left cheek. Schrader and Johnny gazed wide-eyed at Michael as he turned towards the lounge, "I'll catch up with y'all in a bit-I gotta take a break."
After he left, Junior glared at the still-silent experts, "Not one word! I don't wanna hear it!" he snapped and headed for the studio.
Johnny shrugged, "Well-he had it coming! You don't piss off Michael on his home turf! Kinda wonder what else Michael has in store..." he chuckled. Schrader remained pensive, not saying a word. Finally, Johnny nudged him, "Hey-you got awful quiet there-wassup?"
"You ever hear of Nascar Smut?" Schrader asked quietly.
"Not another dumb website?"
"Yeahup-only this is kinda like stories-or at least I think they're stories. I dunno-Annie kinda found this site one day a couple months ago. Some pretty wild shit-but there's a couple about Mikey and Junior uhmm....y'know....getting it on at the Pepsi 400."
"Get outta here! Mikey's just messin' with Junior. He's just puttin' him in his place, that's all."
"So what's this about me an' Junior at the Pepsi 400?" Michael had wandered back over with a fresh Coke in his hand.
Schrader rolled his eyes-here we go again, he thought. "I was just tellin' Johnny about this here new website, Nascar Smut.com-all sorts of x-rated stories about us drivers. There was just a coupla real wild ones about you and Junior...."
"Well-sheeet, me an' Junior have been a couple for years! Don't ya read that message board that the Charlotte Observer puts out? Hell, we're right up there with Jimmy and Jeffy-poo if ya wanna believe all that shit."
"No shit...!" exclaimed Schrader, still wide-eyed. "Yup-like I said, two different authors had you two cornholin' the daylights outta each other!" he broke off as Alan walked up with a bemused expression on his face.
"Uhm..Schrader-was I the catcher or the pitcher?" Michael wondered.
"You were doin' a little of both..." came the snickered reply.
"What on earth are you all jabberin' about?! Guys-we gotta be careful what we say here-I just spoke with Junior about this-I know you're all just kidding around here-but one wrong slip-up and we'll all be looking for new jobs!"
Breaktime was just about over as they headed back into the studio for another round in what was becoming a very long day.
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With a heavy sigh, Alan looked at the camera as the trio of experts and their celebrated guest fidgeted and stared off in different directions.
"Ok-since parity is the buzzword of the year and the similar body styles have all but eliminated the word `aero-push' from our vocabulary-let's talk about engine set-up and the different packages you run. Let's talk about your packages." No sooner were the words out of Alan's mouth when he realized with horror the double implications of his words. He was about to call for a "cut" but his producer was already shaking his head-they were quite behind schedule and there was no stopping now. Swallowing hard, he looked sheepishly at Junior, who's eyes glittered with mischief. Perhaps he took pity on their beleaguered host, but Schrader abruptly kicked Alan under the desk and glanced at Michael, who was sitting bolt-upright in his chair and leaning forward intently.
"Uhm..Alan-I don't think there's anybody out there who can explain the different engine set-ups for the different tracks like Mikey-I'm sure he'd love to talk about his package." With a quick glare, Bestwick immediately retaliated and swiftly booted Schrader in the leg.
Johnny grinned, "We're gonna get a lot of calls on this...."
Adding fuel to the fire, Junior spoke up as he absently picked at a new zit on his chin, "I don't think there's anything objectionable about discussing our packages...hell, some dude on Oprah said we should talk about our packages more often."
Head in hands, Alan quietly countered, "Mikey-would you care to enlighten us on the difference between your package and Junior's?" god-somebody just shoot me.......
"I dunno-we're about the same, I guess-except maybe at the plate tracks." Michael shrugged.
"What the hell are you talkin' about??" yelled Junior, now flustered. "Stop being so goddamn modest! That goddamn thing should be illegal!" Alan's eyes bugged at the thought of Mike Helton and Bill France both contacting him this very afternoon with allegations of DEI cheating on their engine packages and openly seeming to admit it!
"Huh?!...I'm talkin' about our cars-what the hell are YOU talkin' about?"
Schrader burst out laughing, "Mikey...Mikey...Mikey...you are so damn messed up...!"
"I AM NOT!"
"I'm talkin' about your PACKAGE! You've got more inches there than half the teams put together!"
"That goddamn thing is the same as yours and you know it! It passes inspection every week! The officials go over my package every week- sometimes it takes us longer to get through inspection because they`re lookin` at my package!"
"OOOOhhhhh! I bet they are!!" came the surly reply.
Michael furiously stood up and towered over Junior, "How dare you accuse me of having an unfair advantage with my package! If I get fined or busted for cheating, I'm gonna bust your ass! I'll show ya my goddamn package right now!" he yelled.
"NOOOOO!!" came a quartet of howls.
Suddenly it slowly dawned on Michael as numerous wrecks in his past tended to make him a bit on the slow side, "oshit....y'all ain't talkin' bout my car..." Suddenly, he brightened, "We can still talk about my package if ya want to!"
"I think we've dissected your package enough for one day...."
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Walking out of the Charlotte studio, Junior and Michael spoke not a word to each other. This was a day that went down in infamy and a show that would never see the light of day. A hastily prepared "best- of" was slotted to air, while all involved were advised to take a week off.
"Think anyone suspects?" whispered Junior, looking over his shoulder.
"Bout what?"
"Us..."
"Probably...you just had to go on and on about my package...." growled Michael.
"But it is a nice package-I hate it when you sell yourself short..."
"It was about the car, stupid!"
"I just get so carried away....surely I thought you'd of all people would understand...."
Michael sighed and gave his companion a quick slap on the ass. "Bitch...just don't do it again and don't call me Shirley!"