Start Me Up (Man of the Month 4)

Chapter One

"Goooood morning, Austin," Nolan belted into the mike in his best Robin Williams impression. "It's six am on Wednesday, and if you thought you'd gotten up early enough to miss the traffic, then you're crazier than I am. It's a madhouse out there, but that's okay because it's crazy in here, too. But I'll be here to make your drive just a little more whacked, whether you're heading down the street or all the way across town."

He hit the switch on his console to pull up the Twilight Zone theme song, then leaned closer, deepened his voice, and channeled his inner Rod Serling. "It's the dimension between comedy and stupidity, between humor and idiocy. That's right, folks. I'm your host, Nolan Wood, and this is..." He paused for dramatic effect as his producer, Connor, increased the reverb on the sound effects, then finished on his show's title, "...Mornings with Wood."

He'd been standing--it might only be six am, but Nolan was always revved before a show and he did his best work with a little bounce in his step--but now he fell back into his chair He rolled a few feet to the back wall of the small, glassed-in studio as Connor cued the Satisfaction Sound Effect, a little clip Nolan had put together with rising applause that crescendoed on a woman's satisfied purr of, "Oh, Nolan!"

Then the drive-time show's theme music played, ending with the tag--recorded by one of the station's voice actors--"You're listening to Mornings With Wood on K-I-K-X Austin--kicks FM--at 96.3 on your radio dial. Classic music and classless chatter with your host, Nolan Wood."

In a rhythm as natural as sex, Nolan was back at the mike on cue, his body humming with energy as he slid into his schtick. "That's right, campers, it's a beautiful May morning. The sun is shining. The grass is green. The birds are singing. And there's one hell of a pile-up on southbound Mo-Pac near the Far West exit. Get off while you can, because that ain't pretty.

"And if you don't have an alternate route, well, I hope you like the sight of your dashboard, because other than the rear of the car in front of you, that's your view until you get off that highway to hell. And if that's not a good segue, I don't know what is. So here's a little AC/DC to wake you up and ease your pain."

As Nolan finished, Connor faded in Highway to Hell, and Nolan looked up with a grin. "Damn, but I love my job."

"Good," Connor shot back. "Because I sure as hell don't want it." He glanced down at the yellow pad that was never far from his side. "We're spinning into a commercial next, then where do you want to go? Requests? Naked News? Date-a-palooza?"

That's one of the reasons Nolan loved working with Connor. Nolan's last producer had insisted that he plan out the program in advance. But when Connor had stepped in nine months ago, Nolan had insisted the show would have more energy if Nolan had more leeway. He'd expected push-back, but the skinny former surfer from California had only shrugged and said that so long as he knew what was on the menu, he'd dig into whatever dish Nolan chose.

Honestly, if Connor had tits, Nolan would have dropped to one knee and proposed marriage right then. As it was, he took his new producer out for a drink at his favorite local bar, The Fix on Sixth, then exchanged life stories as they got rip-roaring drunk in that time-honored male-bonding ritual.

As for that marriage thing, it wouldn't have worked out, anyway. Gail--Connor's wife of five years--would never have approved. Then again, maybe she would. After all, unlike Nolan's ex, Gail had a killer sense of humor.

Frustrated, Nolan shook his head to clear out the unwelcome thoughts of Lauren. "Let's go with Come With Me," he suggested, referring to a new segment he'd only recently outlined.

Connor made a rough noise in his throat. "Ix-nay on that one until Mannie gives us the thumbs-up. He thinks you're going to push the line with too many orgasm jokes."

For the most part, the station'

s General Manager, Manuel Ortega, kept a loose rein on Nolan. But every once in a while he got a bug up his butt about a particular concept.

"It's a travel-themed call-in segment," Nolan protested. Which was, more or less, an entirely accurate statement. Heavy on the less side of that equation.

"So you're not going to choose the winner by deciding which of the callers convinces you they're coming right then? And I don't mean in the transportation sense of the word."

"How about we just go with Naked News, after all," Nolan suggested, aiming his most charming smile at his friend in order to avoid the question. "I feel the need to get visible."

Connor grinned, shaking his head in mock exasperation as he reached for his phone. When Nolan had first suggested live video streaming some segments on the station's social media platforms, Connor had been dubious. But the first time they'd tried it--with nothing more than Nolan behind the mike doing a riff--the ratings had zipped skyward and callers had tied up the phone lines for hours.

Never a sore loser, Connor had come to work the next day with a list of segments they could work into Nolan's usual routine. When he'd suggested Naked News, Nolan had clapped Connor on the shoulder, wiped away a fake tear, and told his friend he was as proud as a new father.

Now, Nolan rolled the segment's key prop--a picture of a bubble-filed bathtub painted on plywood--in front of his chair. Then he whipped off his shirt and sat down while Connor positioned the phone on a tripod at a ninety-degree angle to the prop.

Nolan was wearing sweatpants this morning. So for extra effect, he pulled the material up to bare his left leg, kicked off his shoe, and hooked his foot up onto the wooden edge of the fake tub. That put him too far away from his usual mike, but they'd installed pull-down mikes in four key places in the studio. He grabbed the one above him, tugged it down to the proper level, then grabbed the newspaper.

With just three seconds to go on the ad spot, Nolan leaned back into place. And as soon as the ad faded out, he slid in, telling his audience that it was time to get real with Naked News. "We wash away the dirt and leave you with nothing but the hard, clean truth behind the story. And we're doing it live," he added, to the applause and cheers of one of the show's many programmed sound effects.

He turned his head toward the camera as the streaming began, the result being that any listener not currently behind the wheel--and, sadly, probably a few that were--could hop over to the station's social media accounts and see what looked to be a naked Nolan sitting in a tub full of bubbles, with one leg hanging out, and a newspaper open in front of him. The paper, of course, remained miraculously dry.

One of the station's mandates was to keep listeners informed about local news, and even though the news department had that squarely in-hand, Connor reviewed the Austin American-Statesman every morning, then gave Nolan an oral report as part of Nolan's pre-show routine. Invariably, he found something in the news that he could turn into comedy gold.

Today was no exception, and he'd found fodder in an article about the city's recent hiring of a consulting firm to weigh in on the pros and cons of the city acquiring downtown historic property for preservation as museums and meeting spaces. "Don't these guys know that alcohol's a preservative? That makes Sixth Street one of the most preserved historic streets in the country. What the hell more do they want? And while we're at it, let's give away a couple of tickets to the upcoming Pink Chameleon concert in San Antonio. Just a little over a month away."

He held onto the arms of his chair, hidden from view, then pushed his body up so that his chest rose up out of the fake bubbles. At the same time, Connor hit the control for the low, breathy female voice. "Ooooh, Nolan! You're so big and strong! Tell me more!"

"Always happy to please," he said, grinning at the camera as he slid back into the chair and into the illusory bath bubbles. Usually, Connor made sure that Nolan had been briefed on at least five news items. Today, however, the second item on Connor's list had chilled Nolan, and he'd completely zoned out on the final three. Which was why Nolan was now confusing Connor by giving away the concert tickets far earlier in the program than his usual routine.

Well, too damn bad. Right then Nolan needed filler.

"Pink Chameleon's got a bright, shiny Grammy now, and the performance promises to be top-notch. Lead singer Kiki King's a local Austin gal, and I'm sure she'll be happy to be back in Texas for these two new additions to the tour schedule in Dallas and San Antonio. So how do you win? First caller with the original name of Austin's historic Sixth Street is our lucky concert-goer."