Page 128 of Bless This Hot Mess

“It’ll never last,” Carrington whispered. “It’s too convenient. People will always prefer going to a video store, endlessly walking the aisles, unable to decide what to watch, judging each other for wearing pajamas and snow boots in public, then buying way too many bags of Starburst and Skittles and Skor bars.”

“Ask about freebies, ask if they’ll give us a free membership!” Ronald mouthed.

Carrington swatted him away, then turned their professional tone back up to blast, “We’d be delighted. Yes, double the usual rate. Email the copy and we’ll… yes, yes, of course we still have a fax. We’re in Canada. We need to stay in touch with the Canada Revenue Agency somehow. I’ll give you the number and I’ll be on the look-out for the ad copy. Yes, it sounds like a very promising new business. How do I spell the company name? N-E-T-F-L, oh right, yes, when I write it down it’s easy. You bet, we small businesses do need to support each other. Good luck with the new venture and congratulations on your launch!”

They hung up and stared at the phone for a beat, then started laughing, “We have our first advertiser, they’re paying double the made-up rate I just plucked from the air, and I have a feeling about this relationship. I think it’s going to get all kinds of deliciously complicated.”

The fax machine, a donated relic from Diane’s office at Saddles ‘n’ Spurs, sat on a little table near the back of the Ark, plugged into a phone jack they’d rigged through a series of adaptors that would give any IT professional nightmares. As if on cue, it whirred to life, sputtering out paper in jagged little jerks.

“Look at that,” Carrington said. “May the angels in charge of capitalism continue to wave their wands over us.”

Japheth tore off the first page and read aloud, “Bringing Hollywood to your mailbox. And bringing you to Hollywood.What?”

He handed the sheet to Rebekkah. She read aloud, slowly, so the words could land for herself and for the group, “Casting call - local background talent needed. From the creator ofBigfoot ‘n’ Me: A Love Story, visionary auteur director Trenton Sarantino, comes a new feature film shooting on location in the Land O’ Lakes region.”

Ronald tore the sheet from Rebekkah and continued reading, “Be in the movies. Sarantino wants to cast you inJesus, Who’s Your Daddy?”

There was a moment when no one spoke. Even the electric generator seemed to hunker down into a hush.

“Shut. Up.” Carrington whispered.

“Holy…” Japheth started, then caught himself, “...Spirit.”

“They’re looking for local colour,” Rebekkah read on, eyes racing down the page. “Musicians, jugglers, people comfortable line dancing, mimes, or anyone who can speak in tongues. All ages. All backgrounds. For background work. Especially interested in unique faces and traditional fashion of the region.”

“That’s us,” Ronald said. “We’re unique as hell! Sorry. Heaven! Whatever. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

“Open call next Saturday,” Rebekkah said, breathless. “Atthe Greater Napanee and Land O’ Lakes Region Multipurpose Multiplex Centre of Sports and Community Activities. 9AM to 4PM. Bring a headshot if you have one. If not, bring your face ready to be photographed. Oh my God!”

Outside, the river lapped gently at the Ark’s side, as if nodding along in encouragement and whispering words of wisdom as if this too had been ordained.

Carrington clapped once to break the spell, “We need to focus and finish the inaugural broadcast of the Trinity Radio Hour. Then we need to plan your outfits, decide on your ballads and up-tempo numbers, and practice walking into a room with that wow factor until you nail it. We’ve got this and we’re going to find a way to make you not just background performers, but the stars ofJesus, Who’s Your Daddy?.”

“A movie about Jesus? Do you think they’ll get it right?” Japheth worried, tiny creases forking his forehead.

“Trenton Sarantino made a romantic comedy about Bigfoot, and he knocked it out of the park,” Ronald said. “I trust him to handle the Big Guy’s biopic more than most televangelists. Plus, just imagine the craft services. I bet they’ll have black liquorice, gummy fish, and ketchup chips on speed-dial.”

“We have to,” Rebekkah said simply. “We have to. After everything? After the arson and the CSIS investigation and after Ricky Martin basically stalked us aboutLivin’ La Vida Santo. After Micah! After not taking the bus to Los Angeles…”

“Or Toronto,” Japheth chipped in.

“After Ronald not joining the Harlem Globetrotters,” Rebekkah continued.

“After Emma-Lou’s parents disappearing into the Bermuda Triangle,” Suwarna jumped on the bandwagon, “and then emerging we’re not quite sure where but evidently,they remembered to wear their life jackets. It’s okay, we can say that word again. By the way! You should all be wearing yours!”

“We haven’t left the dock,” Carrington shrugged.

Suwarna simply pointed to a sign that read,Life Jackets Shall Be Worn while sailing, docking, eating, drinking, sleeping, singing, broadcasting, shaving…the list continued for a while until it was all very small print.

“After we started to get listeners and advertisers, after we started to gel musically, and after we finally started having fun and believing in ourselves,” Rebekkah continued.

“And being ourselves,” Japheth smiled.

“After all that? This is the universe, no this is God saying, ‘Hey you, hey humans, do you wanna go even bigger?’”

“We just launched a pirate radio station on a boat,” Japheth pointed out. “How much bigger are you thinking?”

Rebekkah grinned, eyes bright with the kind of sparkle that had terrified and delighted Japheth for years. She adopted a nondescript accent that could have been nearly believable as either Tennessean or Yonkers, “Hollywood North, baby! I’m seeing our names in lights! I’m seeing our stars in cement!”