Brokker loved his stylised lingo!
“My name is “Marie Septus”. Please play “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen.
The spunster found her voice rather benign. Amory found it somewhat creepy. But he was professional and continued (between stifling laughter at Hobe’s crazy sneakers, hawaiian shirt and naff shorts!).
“OK! Queen, it is!”
The strains of Mercury rising filled the set with echo and raw emotion. Yup – Freddie was one hot singer. OK – Waiter material to boot, but so what!
“Marie” just closed her eyes at her home near Bellingham, Washington State (within the wild realm of Mount Ranier) and listened to the sublime lyrics. Designed to illicit nationalistic sentiment.
“Marie” was like a beach ball! She loved music (to her ears!) and saw no real purpose in watching television over listening to music. She lay spreadeagled on her cream sofa, looking out at the sequoia posing harmlessly outside.
As it was June in the States – the weather sweltered, giving off a heathaze. Lush grass coiffered by human toil swayed lightly in a cool, whispering breeze.
Freddie was really cranking the chorus and testing the acoustics!
Du Brokker took another swig of mineral elixir. He had had a long week. His slot was popular, but not so he knew it. He could not re-negotiate his contract for another year.
“There you go – Queen! Freddie, Roger, Brian, John! All for your delictation!” Amory spooned it on thick on occasions!
“Don’t you just love Brian May’s hot guitar riffs! Stuff of Legend!”.
Marie pressed the phone receiver hard in both hands and angled it against her ear…
“That good – “Marie”?”….the din of Queen was suffocating away….
“Yes. Fine!” “Marie” had a Rubik Cube between her digits now as the receiver was discarded. The phone line had died.
“Marie” span the cube as she pondered. What to do next. She had received the earlier phone call. From the “MG” guys. What next?
Did she want to know the information they had about Amory Du Brokker. He seemed like any other disc jockey. Rather intellectual, but so what?
It was 20-00. Quiz time at SKQAW radio. Prizes included holidays abroad and chances to visit Southern California. Exciting!
“OK, Listeners! Have we got a quiz for you today. Chance to win opulent prizes. How about a stay in San Diego! Or a trip to Tijuana!
“Let’s Roll!”…
“Question One: Who was Rock Hudson? What was his funniest quote?”
At that moment – SKQAW radio manager Wendy Lawn walked by. She was a gargantuan lady, as wide as she was tall. She had curly, broad locks and a rotund, jocular face. She had ruddy cheeks, trunk legs and stocky arms. Her clothes were a mish-mash of catalogue lines and rack-packs.
Du Brokker dived below his Denon console. He was not particularly popular with the bulbous boss. Much as he loved fat women (not especially), he needed to keep his head below the parapet!
Lawn mosied over to Hobe Kalt. He spluttered and coiled some cables (making himself look busy!).
“Programme sounds good tonight!” Wendy was succinct and often averted her gaze. To Kalt, it was disconcerting not to see facial expression from somebody!
The broad silhouette moved towards the console…..
“OK. You have me!” The crouched fan-magnet was caught in headlights!
Lawn crossed her arms! Normally portly women rolled up their sleeves first!
“Yes – on contract. Do not forget that! Your lines are illuminated quite adequately!” Amory saw the neon specks on his phone from the crouched vantage point and shot up like a meerkat! He felt stupid and alone.
Lawn strolled about the studio, testing buttons, tapping mics, sturdying chairs. She liked happy staff. Fruitful workers!
“Alright. See you just before 21-00. Remember – Lacey is up next!” That statement was getting tiresome. Lawn had no idea how tiresome!
The latest caller had requested “Jefferson Starship”. “Nothing’s gonna stop us now!”
The calls were drying up somewhat. It was the time of evening that people were preparing to go out to the cinema, for a meal, to a club.
“Du Brokker was comfortably numb after his latest relevation. Doctor Sian Contraire looked on with the other group of consultants, lay people and hospital staff invited to the “session”. She needed alternative diagnosis – was Du Brokker paranoid schizophrenic? Was he deluded? Had he suffered some form of blunt force trauma to his head earlier in life which he had not divulged to her previously? A brain scan would solve that diagnosis, displaying vital functions such as the cortex, or the paradontal atrium, the meninges and cerebral vortex, as well as tissue composition. The subject had a full set of original teeth, so no extractions would be necessary. Any seeping brain fluid or contusions would also be evident with applied dye solution. A body scan was probably unnecessary.”
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