Robert L. Rush: The Truth

The Unauthorized Biography of Robert L. Rush

Chapter One

The Presidential Treatment

The sun broke a dirty crimson over the LA basin, bouncing off the roofs of car packed on the freeways, cars carrying workers to their jobs, where they would be packed into cubicles for eight hours before returning to their cars, only then to sit packed together on the freeways once again as the sun set. As Bobby watched the sunrise he knew that today would be the day that everything changed. After today everyone would know who he was. No more small time. No more scuffling.

"Cue intro in five", Lisa's voice broke through as the strains of Dada's Disneeland faded in the headset, "four…three…two"

"AND NOW, THE BAD BOBBY BAKER SHOW, ON FM 86 K.U.M." Bobby snuck in one more snort from his inhaler. The coke rush surged through his head as Lisa gave him his cue.

"This is BAD Bobby Baker, and we are coming to you this morning on a live remote from the Nixon Library in Yorba Linda. With me as always is the luscious producer, Lisa, and of course my personal bodyguard, Mitch. Mitch is a little busy right now. It seems that he and his boys are engaged in some rather delicate negotiations with the local rent-a-pigs." Bobby paused for a moment as the sound of the struggle in the distance grew louder. "With us this morning also is a very special guest, Hollywood most famous hooker, Divine Brown. How ya' doing?"

"Good Bobby."

"I guess this is kind of early for you."

"Actually, it's kind of late."

"Right, I hear you. This is so cool. We are, as we speak, we are actually standing on Richard Nixon's grave. Divine, I gotta ask you, you ever been here before?"

"Naw, it's a ways out of my turf."

"Are you sure? I hear that ol' Dick was quite the ladies man. But as they say in your business, Divine, time is money, so let's get down to business. How much would it cost for you to give me the "presidential treatment right here and now?"

"You talkin' head, I'd want five grand."

"Five g's…ooh, that's steep…but what the hell, it's not my money. I hope the bean counters back at the station sleep late. Of course those losers probably tune in to lite rock. Anyway, let's get to it!  We're talking radio history, people." As she kneels, the commotion in the background intensifies. Suddenly one of the security guards breaks through. As Bobby hits the ground he can hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

*****

As he sits facing the desk Bobby can't help but notice that the sunlight streaming in the window only intensified the crimson glare from Ed Barnard's forehead. In the six month's since Barnard had become station manager he and Bobby had butted heads on almost a daily basis, and these confrontations usually left Barnard red-faced and hoarse. But today the old fatass was reaching shades of purple never before seen on a living person. By contrast, all the color seemed to have been drained out of Neil Schwartz, Booby's rat-faced weasel of an agent. Bobby could detect no change in the facial color of William Murtaugh, the station's legal counsel. Bobby speculated that Murtaugh had a clause in his contract banning garlic and crucifix' from the workplace.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you asshole." Ed's voice had already reached that raspy quality Bobby knew so well. "What the hell made you think you pull off this moronic stunt, which has plunged this station in to a sordid and humiliating incident, without consulting management?"

"If I had consulted you, you would have stopped it, cost me and the station thousands, maybe millions, of dollars in free publicity."

"This incident will cost this station more in litigation and lost sponsors…not to mention the cost of bailing you and your people out of jail and the five thousand dollars paid out to Miss Brown, which we stand little chance of recovering…than we could ever gain in publicity, assuming this were the sort of publicity we desired.

"You'll get you cut, Murtaugh, so what are you bitchin' about?"

"I think we need to focus on damage control. If Bobby were to make a full apology on the air, perhaps after a brief suspension, this whole thing can be smoothed over."

"Fuck you, Schwartz."

"I have already prepared an apology to read on air by your replacement. You're finished at this station. Fired! Terminated! Do I make myself clear? If you not out of the building in five minutes I'll have you thrown out.

*****

As the sun beat down on the asphalt, Bobby and his agent stand in the parking lot.

"If you ever try to put words in my mouth again, I'll kick your ass from one end of this lot to the other. Listen, with all the publicity from this offers should come poring in. I'm gonna want at least double what I'm making now, so get on the goddamn phone and get me some offers."

"Are you insane? After this no one will touch you. And even if somebody was willing to take a chance on you, do you have any idea how much trouble you're in? Trespassing…kidnapping…assault…lewd act…drug possession. You're going away for a while.

"You slimy fag."

"Go to hell, asshole, I'm done with you." With that Schwartz climbs in his Benz and leaves Bobby standing in his exhaust.

*****

To be continued