Page 36 of Bless This Hot Mess

LISTEN to You Gotta Have Friends

Chapter 5

Filling the Gap

For Ronald, the line between fitting in and squeezing in was as distorted as the music blaring through his headphones. He entered the building like he was about to drop a solid gold single, but Carrington was about to remix his reality.

The bells on the door chimed softly as Ronald strolled into WWJD radio station, lost in his own world. His iPod mini pumped out Rakim’sWhen I B On That Mic, a blurry beat blaring through his headphones.

Oblivious to the low hum of Gregorian chant that slipped unassuming through the speakers of the radio station lobby, Ronald rapped along with Rakim, layering on a little extra swagger, “Get respect in the hood, credit is good. Knock it down lumberjack style, baby, extra wood. Rock it all night long, the bang-athon baby, keep hangin’ on, we like it with the lights on!”

Behind the front desk, Carrington looked up, their expression a mix of bemusement and authority. Carrington’s appearance was nothing short of striking, a non-binary fashion chameleon, dressed in a perfectly tailored plaid suitwith a contrasting bold, floral tie, hair sleekly styled, and an air of someone who could command a room with just a glance. The soft tap of polished nails on a keyboard contrasted sharply with Ronald’s carefree entrance. The interruption in concentration was unfortunate as Carrington had been busy trying to make sense of the financial statements, business strategy and overall trajectory of WWJD–all of which were currently on a nose-dive.

“Hellloooo!” Carrington clapped, drawing Ronald’s attention. “Hello!”

Ronald tugged off his headphones, pausing his music reluctantly, and smiled, “Hey, what’s up? I’m Ronald.”

Carrington tilted their head, offering a sharp, polite smile, “Hiiiieeee. I’m Carrington, secretary to the stars here at WWJD.” Carrington’s voice was as crisp as the starched blouse under their plaid blazer, “While I appreciate your music choices, not everyone around here will. You might want to consider something a little more… WWJD appropriate for work.”

Ronald blinked, still hyped from his Rakim track, “I’m just getting in the zone, you know? That’s Rakim,When I B On Tha Mic. I’m about to be on the mic on my own…”

Carrington raised a well-manicured hand, cutting him off with a knowing smile, “Yes, I know who Rakim is. And I know who you are. But you’ll onlystayon the mic here if you learn to fit in.”

Ronald grinned confidently, “I don’t fit in. I squeeze in.”

Carrington smirked, “Mmmkay.” There was a pause as they sized him up. “You came here for a job, right?”

Ronald shifted on his feet, still buzzing with energy, “I won the1999 WWJD Not Short on Talenttalent show.”

“Impressive,” Carrington replied dryly, their fingers now resuming their steady typing, “given the competition.”

They stopped typing just long enough to lock eyes with Ronald, “You know what? I’m going to help you out because I also know what it’s like to be… different in a small town like Greater Napanee, and I know what it takes to squeeze in.”

Ronald leaned against the desk, curiosity piqued, "Because you’re not just this and not just that, you’re everything.”

Carrington raised an eyebrow, appreciating the insight, “Yes, actually. Iameverything.”

Their voice softened just a touch as they leaned across the desk conspiratorially, “Do you think it was easy becoming the highest paid employee at a Christian radio station when I don’t fit the mold?”

“Baby, you broke the mold,” Ronald quipped coyly.

Carrington’s lips curled into a small smile, “You’re smooth.”

Ronald winked, “Coco butter, twice a day.”

With a light chuckle, Carrington straightened up, all business again, “Ronald, I want you to do well here. I want you to have a successful show because, well… we kind of need you to.” Carrington’s eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and warning, “So, when you’re at work, maybe shuffle that iPod to a little moreThis Little Light of Mineand a little less… extra wood and bang-a-thons.”

“Really?!” Ronald’s tone was one of disbelief. He was smooth, but no one readily labelled him quick.

Carrington gave him a knowing look, “Really. I’m not saying don’t beyou, just be a different youhere. You can switch back at the end of the workday.”

Ronald sighed, a little defeated, “That’s… depressing.”

Without missing a beat, Carrington fired back, “It’d be more depressing if you didn’t have a job.”

As Carrington’s fingers resumed their rhythmic dance onthe keyboard, Ronald could feel their eyes still tracking him, even without turning his way. It was unnerving.

“What are you typing?” Ronald asked, side-eyeing Carrington.