Page 82 of Bless This Hot Mess

“Typical!” Emma-Lou, Suwarna, Rebekkah andCarrington sang together.

“They must have run out of ink. Again,” Rebekkah shook her head in dismay.

“Speaking of the patriarchy, Methusaleh lived to nine hundred and sixty-nine years! Which is so cool. But like, not as cool as if they’d also let us know how old Eve was,” Ronald shied. “That would be cooler.”

“Rebekkah, there are…” Carrington ventured.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to you, Carrington,” Rebekkah said, palm hovering defensively over the lone ear flap of hair.

“Let me try,” Ronald said. “Rebekkah, I think the Bible lists all those old people’s ages because life is worth celebrating! A party for every year we get, you know? So, let’s celebrate those centurions and multi-centurions and near millennials.”

“I don’t like that word. Millennial,” Carrington shivered, crinoline rustling like a warning. “Puts a shiver down my spine.”

“Because of Y-2K and how we may all go back to being cave people when our computers, bank machines, clocks, watches, Game Boys, cars and blenders stop working or turn into human hunters?” Emma-Lou asked, eyes wide and growing wider.

“No… that’s not it. But I just had these like premonitory tingles all over my body. Millennial. Ehhhh eeeek! It just happened again. Nope. I don’t like it,” Carrington said, rubbing their forearms as if the word were an icy draft.

“Back to me? If that’s okay, Carrington?” Rebekkah asked, still dazed, but unabashedly regal even with her hack-job haircut.

“Of course!” Carrington said quickly. “You know, fromthis angle, with the fluorescent light behind you casting a bit of a halo–you kind of look like Shiri Appleby.”

“FromRoswell?!” Japheth and Ronald yelped in stereo.

“Yes,” Carrington said.

“You do!” Japheth gasped.

“She does!” Ronald agreed.

“I do?!” Rebekkah blinked, briefly looking from friendly face to friendly face to confirm she wasn’t being punked. “She’s gorgeous!”

“Don’t move,” Carrington warned. “When you move out of the light it stops the illusion.”

“Yeah. Gone now,” Ronald said, shaking his head. “But that was really cool. I loveRoswell.”

“Ronald, you were trying to cheer me up by saying something about celebrating life?” Rebekkah prompted, gently tugging the narrative back from outer space.

“Right! Shoot. I forget,” Ronald laughed. “Every time I look at you, I lose my train of thought. It’s like I don’t even know you. Or I expect you to turn to us and say, ‘Hey, you wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world? EEEEEEEEEEEE!’”

“Ow! My ears! Why would you do that?!” Rebekkah cried.

“Because you look like…” Ronald gestured at her hair.

“Jim Carrey. InDumb and Dumber,” everyone supplied in unison.

“But with the one ear flap of hair,” Carrington added clinically. “Should I… fix that?”

“No! Yes! I don’tknow!” Rebekkah groaned. “How can I be the face of this radio station if I look like this?!”

“Let’s all look on the bright side,” Emma-Lou said, clasping her hands into a prayer pose as if to bless a tuna casserole before dinner. “The Trinity Radio Hour is a big success. We’re tracking listeners in the double and occasionallytriple digits regularly now. This could really turn into something big!”

“And we’re getting advertisers!” Carrington said, tapping their fingers together. When Carrington smelled money, their pupils dilated slightly; they were fully owlish now.

“People love what you all have to say and sing about!” Suwarna added, pleased that the projections for the show were on a slow but steady incline.

“You’re our star, Rebekkah,” Emma-Lou said simply, placing a hand on her shoulder and dusting off a few stray dismembered locks.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Rebekkah whispered. “I’ve waited thirty years for someone to call me a star.”