Disclaimer: Remember WENN and all its characters were created by Rupert Holmes, is produced by Meltzer Productions, and is broadcast on American Movie Classics. No copyright infringement intended.
Author’s note: This story is set before any of the Happy Homecomings mess that ensued. Victor’s still gone. C. J.’s still there. Ah, the good old days...
Betty’s Broadcast
by Ally K.
"What do you mean she’s sick?" Betty demanded.
The receptionist looked at her matter-of-factly. "She’s sick. Ill. Diseased. Bed-ridden. Unable to come. That’s what I mean," Gertie replied sarcastically.
Betty’s shoulders sagged. For almost a week, the radio station had been planning for the visit of rising singer Ellie Johannsen to kick off their premiering episode of a new music program. It was the day of the broadcast, and Ellie’s manager had just phoned notifying the station of her sudden bout with the flu.
"This is terrible! What are we going to do?" Betty moaned. Surely the new sponsor she had attracted for this program was going to bail out. They would be there to watch the first broadcast, which scratched the idea of merely playing records for the duration of the program. It was going to be impossible to find an available replacement.
"Don’t look at me. I’m just the receptionist," Gertie said, proving her point by going to the switchboard to answer a call.
Betty sighed. During her tenure as head writer of WENN Pittsburgh, she had managed to survive several major scrapes. It was a wonder the station was still in business. Hopefully it, and she, would survive yet another iceberg.
"Betty, Betty, Betty!" crowed Scott Sherwood, appearing impeccable as always. His clothes were well-pressed, his silver-and-black hair was slicked back, and his face sported the trademark Sherwood grin. "What’s up?"
"What’s down is more like it," Betty replied. "Ellie Johannsen’s manager just called saying she’s sick and won’t be able to make the broadcast tonight."
"Oh. That’s bad," Scott said, stating the obvious.
"It’s very bad. And it’s going to get worse if we don’t find a substitute by tonight." Betty looked genuinely worried.
Scott appeared as down as Betty. Suddenly, he glanced at his watch and perked up. "Oh, would you look at the time? I’ve got a show to do. I’m sure you’ll think of something."
He patted Betty on the shoulder and strolled off to the studio. Betty sighed again. She had somewhere else to be, too. She headed toward her sanctuary, the writer’s room, to begin another script and plot a scheme to save the day once again. Betty paused and reevalutated her plan. First, she needed a cup of coffee.
***
"It’s just as well," Hilary Booth remarked. "She didn’t have a nickel’s worth of talent."
"Compared to your penny?" Maple retorted smartly. Hilary threw an evil glare in her direction, but Maple was already deep into the latest issue of her magazine.
Betty stirred her cup of coffee whimsically. "I don’t know what we’re going to do. The sponsors will drop us for sure, and we really need their money."
"You know, dear, I could certainly fill in. I am Hilary Booth, after all," Hilary offered graciously.
"Which is exactly why you can’t fill in," Maple interjected, calmly turning to the next page of her magazine. Hilary glared at her again.
"It is a good idea, Hilary, but you already do so many shows I couldn’t possibly ask you to do another one," Betty said, fumbling for an excuse. The sponsors had clearly stated they intended to target a younger audience. Hilary appealed to the...seasoned.
"I heard overworking causes wrinkles," Maple offered. She grinned at Hilary. "Oh, but in your case I guess it’s too late."
"Speaking from personal experience?" Hilary counteracted quickly.
It was Maple’s turn to glare. She irritatedly turned back to her magazine. The page narrowly missed its death from tearing. Maple’s expression suddenly went soft.
"Hey Betty, have you ever even seen this Johannsen girl before?" she said, contemplating the page.
"No," Betty admitted, "but I have heard her sing."
"You don’t happen to have a twin sister, do you?" Maple inquired, her face breaking out into a slow smile.
"No...why?" Betty used a cautious tone. She was experienced enough to know when someone was about to suggest an idea.
Maple held up her magazine. "Look," she commanded. Betty’s jaw promptly dropped.
"Well, well," Hilary said amusedly.
Betty felt as if she was looking into a mirror. She saw herself in that magazine, only much more made up and glamourous. The same large, brown eyes stared back at her own. Even the smile was similar.
"You thinking what I’m thinking?" Maple said mischievously.
"You’ve been around Scott too long," Betty replied with a smile. When Maple gave her an incessant look, Betty knew she was serious. "I can’t! Isn’t there a law against that?"
"Law, shmaw," Maple proclaimed. "Come on, Betty, it’s for the good of the station! Just think of it as the performance of your life."
"I’m a writer! I don’t perform," Betty reminded them.
"Certainly hasn’t stopped you before," Hilary muttered under her breath.
Betty sighed. "I could never pull it off. I could never look like that! Where am I going to get the right clothes?" She pointed to the garb that Ellie Johanssen was wearing in the picture. Then she looked at her own attire. As different as night and day.
"That’s where we come in," Maple said, putting one arm around Hilary’s shoulder in a sisterly manner. Hilary eyed the arm suspiciously, then wiped it off with one fluid motion. However, she did offer Betty a smile. It was not a bad idea, considering it did come from the loud-mouth, orange-haired Brooklyn tramp.
"We’ll make you look like a star," she proclaimed.
Betty bit her lip in indecision. Maple and even Hilary looked ready to act. It was for the good of the station...
***
"They must be doing something drastic to that poor girl. I don’t think she can do this," Gertie sniffed, but rather worriedly, sitting with her arms sternly crossed. Showtime was drawing closer and closer. Betty, Maple, and Hilary were holed up in the women’s lavatory preparing the star of the show for her performance.
"Betty can do anything," Scott replied confidently. "She may look like the innocent farm girl from Indiana, but I know there’s a vamp inside her ready to emerge."
"She’s already got you under her skin," Gertie murmured under her breath, smiling knowingly.
"Are they still in there?" Eugenia inquired, approaching with Mr. Foley on her heels.
"Yes," came a duo of simultaneous replies.
"This is very exciting, don’t you think?" Eugenia commented.
"As exciting as you’re going to get around here," Gertie replied dryly.
"What’s going on here?" Jeff demanded. He had just exited the studio and wondered at the commotion around the women’s lavatory.
"Betty’s going to pose as Ellie Johannsen," Eugenia interjected before Mr. Foley could answer the question. He shut his mouth glumly.
"What’s wrong with Ellie Johannsen?" Jeff wanted to know.
"She got sick," Gertie said, beating Mr. Foley to the punch.
"Oh," he said. The cast and crew remained silent for a while, then Jeff became impatient of quietly standing. "I’m going to get some coffee," he announced. "Anyone want some?" The others remained oblivious to his pronouncement. He shook his head. There was no crazier set of people anywhere else.
Scott checked his watch. "They’ve been in there for ages," he whined. "They have twenty minutes left."
The front door swung open, and a well-dressed, middle-aged couple entered. They stood at the empty receptionist’s desk for a little while, then peered down the hall to see the employees standing still.
"Excuse me," the man called. Everyone spun around to address the stranger.
"Can I help you?" Gertie queried, reluctantly leaving the bathroom door to return to her desk.
"We’re the sponsors for tonight’s show - Mr. and Mrs. Holliday," the man replied. He removed his hat. "We’re here to watch the broadcast."
"Oh, the sponsors," Gertie said loudly. The cast’s ears perked up. Scott jauntily strolled toward Gertie’s desk to greet the visitors.
"Hi, I’m Scott Sherwood," he said charmingly, offering a hand. Mr. Holliday accepted it politely, if not after a moment of thoughtful hesitation.
"We were supposed to meet with Miss Roberts," he explained, motioning for his wife to join him.
Scott’s mind quickly fabricated an excuse. "Oh, Betty...she was...beside herself today. We sent her home, so I’ll be filling in," he said, flashing a bright grin.
"It must be that flu that’s going around," Mrs. Holliday mused.
"Exactly." Scott nodded eagerly. "Let me show you to the control room."
Mr. Holliday glanced curiously down the hall. Eugenia, and Mr. Foley waved and smiled, bunching up against the lavatory door as if to hide it.
"Just some cast bonding," Scott quickly answered. He opened the control room door ushered the confused sponsors inside. "C. J. will keep you entertained." The engineer gave him a surprised look, but before he could protest, Scott had closed the door behind them. He glanced at his watch and frowned. Fifteen minutes.
"Eugenia, will you tell them to hurry it up?" he asked the plump organist.
"Okay," she relented, carefully opening the door enough for her to slip inside. Scott and Mr. Foley tried to peer in, but Eugenia had shut the door before they could catch a peek.
"It’s like a government experiment going on in there!" Scott huffed, crossing his arms.
"Patience is a virtue, Scott," Gertie reminded him.
"Yeah, and it’s not a virtue I have," Scott sniffed.
Mr. Eldridge witnessed the commotion and dawdled over. The elderly man scrunched up his face in inquisition. "Are we having a party?"
"No, Mr. Eldridge. We’re waiting for Betty and Maple and Hilary," Scott answered kindly.
"Did they go somewhere?" Mr. Eldridge asked.
"They’re in here, Mr. Eldridge," Scott replied.
"Not much of a place to go," the grandfatherly man remarked disappointedly.
Eugenia returned promptly, her eyes wide and shining. She held the door open a crack.
"Ladies...I mean lady and gentlemen, may I present Miss Betty Roberts?" She pushed the door to reveal an elegant woman in an extravagant gown that hung beautifully on her slender body. Her brown hair had been pulled up, and her face painted in soft colors. Her lips were a rosy red, and they smiled shyly.
"B-betty?" Scott stammered. He blinked, wondering if his eyes were working correctly. Gertie’s eyes became large with shock. Mr. Eldridge squinted, trying to recognize who this exquisite young woman was. Even Mr. Foley was speechless.
"Ta-da!" Maple announced jubilantly. Hilary amusedly took in her colleagues’ expressions. She had quite outdone herself this time.
"Well, what do you think? Do I look like Ellie Johannsen?" Betty inquired as she twirled around once.
Scott’s eyes were blind to everything else but Betty. She had always been beautiful, but this was a different kind of beauty he had never seen Betty radiate.
"Betty Roberts, you look amazing," he breathed.
Betty smiled rather uncomfortably. "Thanks, Scott," she replied with a shrug.
"Well, you look the look, but now it’s time to talk the talk," Maple said. "We got ten minutes." Betty’s voice lowered into a seductive purr. "The show must go on," she crooned.
The men were enjoying every minute of Betty’s metamorphosis. Scott Sherwood, most of all, who wore a perpetual and stupefied grin. He gentlemanly offered his arm. "May I have the pleasure, Miss Roberts? Or should I say Miss Johannsen?"
The addressee looped her arm through his. "It’s Miss Johannsen tonight," she replied.
***
Betty entered the studio with her heart beating like a racehorse. A solitary microphone was waiting for her. Mackie raised his eyebrows in surprise, almost forgetting that he was wrapping up his program. She didn’t know why she was so nervous; this show was only for the benefit of the sponsors. An Ellie Johannsen record would actually be broadcast from the other studio, thanks to the efforts of Gertie, who had unwillingly agreed to miss Betty’s broadcast.
Mr. and Mrs. Holliday, along with C. J., Maple, Hilary, Jeff, and Mackie, were watching from the control room. Eugenia on the piano and Mr. Foley on percussion and other miscellaneous instruments would be accompanying Betty in the background. Mr. Eldridge curiously peered through the glass windows of Studio A’s doors.
Scott leaned in close to her ear.
"Good luck, Betty," he whispered.
Grabbing the microphone, he announced, "Now for your listening pleasure, WENN Pittsburgh is proud to introduce Miss Ellie Johannsen..."
Betty took a deep breath. This was, as Scott might say, a piece of cake. It was no more than a simple, cozy recital. Scott looked at her expectantly, motioning to the microphone as if to say, "It’s all yours."
It was now or never.
***
To everyone’s amazement, the hour had nearly gone by without a hitch. Gertie monitored the broadcast from Studio B, and the equipment had all stayed intact. Mr. and Mrs. Holliday seemed to be buying Betty’s Ellie Johannsen act, and Betty seemed to be having the time of her life. The cast had never heard her sing so sweetly.
Just as Betty began her final song, WENN’s front door opened. A tall, stately-looking man entered. The receptionist’s desk remained empty. The mysterious man removed his fedora hat and looked at the peeping Mr. Eldridge questionably. He walked toward the studio’s doors and peered over the two employees, his eyes widening at the sight of Betty and the sound of her ringing voice.
"Oh, my God," he breathed.
Mr. Eldridge jumped and spun around to face the stranger. "Who the hell are you?" Mr. Eldridge demanded.
"Who the hell is she?" the stranger retorted. "I could swear that was Ellie Johannsen."
"Oh, but it’s only our Betty pretending," Mr. Eldridge offered happily. "Isn’t she quite good?"
"Pretending?" the man echoed.
"Yes, isn’t that what I said?" the elderly gentleman replied impatiently.
"She’s pretending to be Ellie Johannsen?" the stranger asked.
Mr. Eldridge threw up his hands in exasperation. "Young people these days don’t know how to listen anymore."
The stranger and Mr. Eldridge watched Betty sing a little longer, until Gertie emerged from Studio B, hoping to catch at least the last few minutes of the braodcast.
"May I help you?" she inquired crossly.
The stranger turned around and saw the receptionist with her arms crossed, standing in the hallway. She looked very cantankerous.
"Hi, I’m John Peterson. I’m Ellie Johannsen’s manager," he said, good-naturedly offering his hand. Gertie drew in a sharp breath and shook his hand nervously.
"Oh. Hello."
"I was wondering who the lady performing in the studio was," John Peterson said. "She bears an uncanny resemblance to Ellie."
"Oh, yes, well, um..." Gertie stammered.
At that moment, Scott escorted a very delighted Holliday couple out of the control room. He noticed out of the corner of his eye a frustrated Gertie subtly motioning jerkily towards the stranger in a trenchcoat.
"Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr. Sherwood," Mrs. Holliday said graciously. "I’m sure we’ll be looking forward to a long future with WENN."
"No, thank you, Mrs. Holliday," Scott replied, trying to figure out just what Gertie was so upset about.
"I would like to say hello to Miss Johannsen, if you wouldn’t mind," Mr. Holliday said.
"Miss Johannsen?" John repeated. He looked at Mr. Eldridge. "I thought her name was Betty."
Gertie panicked. "Her name is Betty Johannsen, of course."
"I thought her name was Ellie Johannsen," Mrs. Holliday said with a frown.
"The only Ellie Johannsen I know is sick back at the hotel," Peterson interceded. "I’m her manager; I should know."
It was yet again Scott’s turn to do some quick thinking. He directed the frowning Hollidays into the studio and closed the door behind them, then addressed the stranger.
"We can explain," Scott said, practically pushing the manager into the Green Room. Gertie and Mr. Eldridge shrugged at each other.
***
"Quite the scheme," John Peterson remarked, impressed, stepping out of the Green Room.
"And here’s our star," Scott announced, motioning to the brunette who was still in full makeup and costume, pacing anxiously in the hall.
Peterson took her hand gently, kissing it. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Roberts," he said. "That was quite the show you put on this evening, though I only saw five minutes of it."
"Thank you," Betty replied with a frown, unsure of what else to say.
"Mr. Sherwood has persuaded me not to press any charges," Peterson said. Betty glanced at Scott, who beamed back at her. "But I must say, Miss Roberts, that you had much to do with my decision as well. You have the makings of a successful singer. You have the looks and the raw talent that can get someone places."
"Well..." Betty said, wringing her hands but glimmering with pride.
"Your talents shouldn’t be wasted in a small-time place like this," Peterson remarked. He reached into his pocket and drew out a rectangular piece of heavy paper. "My card."
A vision of the possible future flashed before Scott’s eyes. WENN would be in ruins if Betty were to leave. They would have to find a new writer. Worse, he could lose Betty forever to the seductive prospect of big-time show business...
"I’m very flattered, Mr. Peterson..."
"But?" Peterson interjected.
"Even though WENN may be small-time, it’s like a second home to me. As foolish as it may sound, I don’t think I could ever leave."
John Peterson was escorted to the front entrance, where he gesticulated a parting motion with his hat. "If you ever change your mind, Miss Roberts, you know where to reach me. Good night," he said, then exited the station.
"I gotta hand it off to you, Betty," Scott said. "You blew everyone away tonight. That guy really thinks you could go places."
"Oh, I couldn’t leave. Whose capable hands could I leave this station in? Certainly not yours," Betty teased.
"Ouch." Scott playfully grabbed his breast in mock-pain. "But seriously," he added, "you’d miss us too much." He surveyed her carefully, to stonecast this image of her in his memory forever. "This new look could really work for you," he joked.
Betty rolled her eyes. "Ha ha," she said sarcastically. "It was nice being a star for one night, but I think I prefer being plain old Betty Roberts."
"Betty, you could never be plain," Scott replied seriously. "Would your hinus consider coming to dinner with a lowly actor?"
The diva-for-a-night smiled. "I’ve already dared to dress like this," she said, motioning to her gown. "I guess I could dare to accompany Scott Sherwood to dinner."
Scott could only flash his trademark grin.
The End
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