Kookshow, Chapter 5: Reconnecting

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-25)

 

 

After the video call from Kookshow Baby, I was stunned for several days. Though Tiffany DuFoe had promised to give her my contact information, the thought of having an actual, long-distance meeting had been difficult to imagine. So, when it actually transpired, I found myself dazed by our chat. After being somewhat reluctant to trust me as a newfound friend, her quick change to a mood of uninhibited candor came as a surprise. When she talked about her origin story, it overloaded my senses. It was too much information to process easily.

 

Still reeling from that point of revelation, I guessed that she might never be so bold again.

 

Yet the truth proved to be more complex in nature. About a week later, the Messenger app on my cell phone defiantly chirped with that familiar sound. I had just taken a seat on my front porch, with a chilled 12-pack of brew. The temperature had moderated a bit, from our temporary flare-up of 90-degree days. I still had a sharp edge of sobriety to fortify myself, when answering. But felt ornery in the moment.

 

“Hello? You have reached the Swindle Shack! Press one for English...”

 

A burst of giggling filled my ear. The rebellious, southern filly snorted and sputtered with amusement.

 

“Oh hell naw, Rawd! Don’t y’all give me a damn menu of options, I want the real Mr. Swindle!”

 

I took a swig of refreshment before continuing.

 

“Kookshow, it seemed like maybe your last call was a one-off deal. I really didn’t expect to hear from you again. I figured on getting a text from CRAGG central at some point, you know, an explanation and maybe some expression of regrets...”

 

The scream queen was slightly insulted.

 

“Whaaat, is that how I sound? Like a damn airhead out playin’ tricks on old men?”

 

 I had to mentally regroup after her question. But stammered weakly, like a child caught stealing cookies.

 

“No, no, I just figured that... well... perhaps... we hadn’t really made a strong connection. I’m a writer, not a promoter. I never do well trying to sell my work, or myself. Age has made me more reclusive than ever.”

 

Now, she was laughing with a throaty guffaw that made my wireless device buzz.

 

“Okay old feller, never mind making excuses. I don’t need ‘em! See, after we chewed the fat, I sat here in my trailer, thinkin’ and wonderin’ about yer connection to Cult Radio. I know they’ve got millions of listeners all around the world, but there are just a few who’ve gotten close. People who earn that place have to be special, right? So, at first, I had a little fun reachin’ out. But then I started to think that if my daddy and half-sister brought y’all to their inner circle, then by goodness, maybe I ought to do the same!”

 

Her admission of the genetic bond with CRAGG still made me breathless.

 

“There’s an old saying, ‘game recognizes game.’ I’ve put a lifetime into pursuing the craft of creative writing. But more than that, in the newspaper business, I learned to observe things carefully. Details matter. Competence matters. Now, a lot of people apply that to business, or politics, or whatever chosen field they enter. But being a fan of literature and pop culture, I see that discipline in odd places. I saw it in the music of Davie Allan, the Rock guitarist. Who is the reason I discovered the DuFoe family, originally. I recognized it in Marilyn Mayson, who used to do plus-size modeling, but eventually revealed herself to be an adult video creator. I also found it while researching recipes for a weekly column written here in the Cleveland area. One source I encountered online turned out to be a humorist, spoofing rural culture and cuisine, while also advocating for the LGBT community. She is Jolene Sugarbaker, the trailer park queen. A queen as in drag queen, if you understand. I’ve rubbed elbows with all sorts of people that probably wouldn’t speak to each other if they were in a room together. That has always kept things interesting...”

 

Kookshow sighed and tapped her phone with what sounded like long, painted fingernails.

 

“Well, that’s a story-and-a-half there, Rawd!”

 

I wallowed in shyness, yet forced myself to keep participating, vocally.

 

“In journalism, it’s about getting the story, not being the story. I’m boring on my own. But those around me have always been decidedly interesting. That’s the vibe I got, listening to your appearances on Cult Radio. You sounded like someone with a fascinating story to tell...”

 

She breathed heavily while pondering. I must have touched a nerve, somehow.

 

“Rawd, when y’all grow up like I did, life takes on angles ya might not expect. Mama Harlequina was a dancer back in the day, which really pissed off her churchy fam. But when she got pregnant, that changed everything. She made sacrifices. That woman waited tables at truck stops, and cleaned motel rooms, anything that would keep us fed. She never asked fer a damn penny of help! And that’s where I got my backbone. That’s why I know how to fight fer a livin’ and handle big-talkin’ bruisers. I ain’t scared of nothin’ in this world! But I reckon there was always a hole in my heart. I never had a man around, to love his little girl. I never knew about what happened with my ma, or anybody. At least, not until I figured out how to track down my real papa! Even then, I’ve still been wanderin’ so to speak. But every now and then, somebody comes along who I can feel is on the same wavelength. Y’all get it? Somebody who is, as Tiffany says sometimes, ‘one of us.’ Like in the Freaks movie, and the Ramones song. ‘We accept you, we accept you, one of us!’ That’s what I’ve-a-been lookin’ fer I guess. More members of the circus troupe that raised me from a little, barnyard chick!”

 

I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Once again, I had elicited a tone of naked honesty from my new contact in California, that was unexpected.

 

“I umm... don’t know what to say. The neighborhood where I live in Ohio often feels like a circus. It’s a show that never ends, as Emerson, Lake & Palmer described...”

 

There was a whisper of amusement on the line. Then, the show host brightened with certainty.

 

“I’m gonna call again, real soon, Rawd. Yer a funny old dude! I like listenin’ to yer voice. Take care, buddy! Y’all be good, and if ya can’t be good, at least be good at it!”