Kookshow, Chapter 3: Contact

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-25)

 

Pondering a face-to-face rendezvous with Kookshow Baby kept me on edge, while engaging in a daily ritual of imbibing alcoholic refreshments on the front porch. I rocked on my wooden bench with anticipation inspiring a sense of restlessness. Would it be logical to make a trek across the continent, by air? Or perhaps, to enjoy a more leisurely ride aboard an Amtrak train? These options popped into my head almost immediately, when pondering that the abandoned drive-in theater where Terry and Tiffany DuFoe lived was many hours away. Yet a nagging hint of sobriety diluted the effects of my libation. I remembered that household funds had already been sacrificed to pay bills for the month. With the remainder spent buying food and drink. Royalties from my book sales were automatically put back into the business, so that I could afford promotional copies to be sent out for the purpose of garnering interest from potential partners. Every penny had already been earmarked for some special use. So, the thought of traveling by commercial means did not seem possible.

 

Predictably, this heat of frustration only intensified the temperature outside of my trailer. It was 96 degrees when I opened my first Genesee brew.

 

While I was not particularly tech savvy by any means, it did appear that I could make contact with the media belle, via cyberspace, if some relevant information could be obtained. I guessed that her own mobile home might be located somewhere on the property used as a staging ground for Cult Radio A-Go-Go. Perhaps this longbox refuge might even have its own studio, in some minimalist form, constructed to make her broadcasting adventures easier to accomplish. Once again, I searched throughout the databases available in real-time. Yet found nothing. There were no Whitepages entries, no school records, no personal histories. I was completely stumped.

 

Yarl Trite, a New York associate with better skills as a computer operator, offered to help with my quest. But he too came up empty, after wading in the virtual ocean. I guessed that he must have spent several hours trying to prove his competence. Something I never doubted for a moment.

 

“You’re sure this lady exists, right? I mean, she must be using a stage name on the airwaves. Though you’d think there ought to be something out there, a website, an e-mail address, even an old-fashioned post office box, like yours. But I don’t have a clue about where she is... I get nothing for results. And I’m really, really good at this!”

 

I felt a knot forming in my stomach. Sweat soaked my longish hair, and shaggy beard.

 

“Yeah, I understand. There are show segments in an archive. All were originally on the CRAGG platform. That’s it though. She’s a mystery to me!”

 

My Empire State pal cleared his throat, and made a matter-of-fact observation.

 

“Look, if she did her work for your friends in California, why don’t you ask them how to get in touch? Wouldn’t that make more sense than wasting time and being disappointed?”

 

My face reddened with supreme embarrassment. He had hit the bullseye.

 

“You’re right, you’re right. Dad and daughter DuFoe would be able to hook me up, I reckon. Umm... maybe that just felt too much like being intellectually lazy. I handle things on my own, you know?”

 

Yarl laughed out loud. He was amused by this defensive proclamation.

 

“Quit being an ass, Rodman! Call them up! Or do whatever it takes. Do it tonight!”

 

After our brief conversation ended, I slouched in my seat. The heat index in Ohio was now well over 100 degrees. But I had turned numb while quenching my thirst. Crushed cans sat in an empty box, on top of my Weber grill. I had lost count of their number, and gone past a personal point-of-no-return with regard to comprehension. Still, the suggestion of my distant friend continued to reverberate. I knew his analysis was correct.

 

Though the hour had grown late in my part of the country, I realized that on the west coast, it would be early enough for an attempt at making civilized contact. With care and determination, I fumbled through the steps necessary to open Facebook Messenger on my cell phone. Then, sent a yellow emoji, with a single verse of Beatles lyrics, below.

 

“Help me if you can, I’m feeling down!”

 

Despite my fear about pleading for an intervention, it did not take long for Tiffany to respond, vocally. She sent a series of question marks, and a shrug emoji. Then offered to ease my woeful mood by calling directly.

 

“What’s wrong, Mr. Swindle? We don’t have another live show scheduled until Saturday. Did you think of an idea we might use, on the air?”

 

I babbled with the nervous energy of a schoolboy.

 

“I... umm... have been dreaming a lot recently. Of things that are quite weird, I must confess. These visions come in the dark of night, after I have passed out from long interludes on my beloved porch. Maybe it’s the effect of heat and drink, I’m not sure. Anyway, I receive the same visitor, nearly every night. Someone you know well, I think. She is brassy and bold, perhaps even bawdy at times. Yet the giddy inflections of her voice, with that rural twang, are damned infectious... I can’t get her out of my mind!”

 

For a moment, I thought that my west-coast benefactor had dropped her device. There were hushed words, whispers, and sounds of creaking furniture. Then, Tiffany snorted and whistled.

 

“Terry says you’ve been alone for too long! That kind of isolation isn’t healthy, to be honest.”

 

I reddened even more deeply than before.

 

“Yeah... my social circle has definitely diminished over the years. I get more accomplished that way. But in the wee hours past sunset, sometimes, I do feel haunted, and empty...”

 

The radio entrepreneur sighed heavily, before revealing that she could ease my heartache.

 

“If you want me to ask Kookshow about getting in touch, I’ll do it. But remember one thing Rod, the reality of a chase is rarely ever so satisfying when the run is over. Do you understand? That girl is headstrong. I don’t know of anyone who could tame her wild spirit. She’s young and free, and well... how old are you now?”

 

I had to clutch my belly. A bit temporary bout of nausea made me swoon.

 

“Old enough to know better, when I hear a siren’s call. Yet here I am, enchanted and under her spell!”