Page 84 of Bless This Hot Mess
“Oh my…” Carrington breathed, recalculating a life plan and eyeing the exits.
“Oh fuck,” Emma-Lou muttered, then crossed herself by reflex.
“Rino! You look extremely…mmm… and you smell so…” Japheth chirped, unable not to fawn in the man’s presence.
“Come sta il mio piccino?” Rino asked, voice honeyed whiskey.
“Still don’t know what you’re saying but love when you speak your romance language!” Japheth beamed.
“What’s this about pulling the Trinity Radio Hour? Losinglisteners? Advertisers? And what happened to your hair, Rebekkah?!” Rino asked, equal parts investor and concerned aunt.
“Nothing to worry about Rino! It’s all under control. We’re fixing it!” Emma-Lou said much too fast.
“Her hair?How?” Rino blinked.
“That can’t be fixed,” Emma-Lou admitted, then rallied. “But the listeners, the advertisers, their show–it’s all gonna be fine! I promise, this is just a little set-back.”
“I was in such a good mood,” Rino said, his smile tightening. “Coming to see some of my favourite people.”
“Ronald, Rebekkah, Japheth,” Emma-Lou said, voice firm in the way a mother lets her children know in public that now is not the time for shenanigans. “Call your lawyer. Now!”
Japheth fumbled his Nokia like a bar of wet soap, Ronald mouthed the number by heart to help his bromantic partner out, “One-eight-hundred, AXI-”, and Rebekkah, keeping an eye on Rino, reached blindly into her purse and fished around in the hopes of finding a scarf or a stack of napkins she could origami into a headdress that would be less shocking for anyone who might glance in her direction. She settled on using the worst-case-scenario paper bag. Using her fingers, she poked two eye holes in approximation of where she figured hers would be and plopped the bag over her head.
Japheth cratered as he heard the familiar beep-beep-beep of the line signaling busy. “I can’t get through just now; he must be on a call with an orphan. Or blocking out a scene with a hockey costar.”
Just then, the fax machine rang, sputtered, and coughed up a single page. Carrington trotted over and ripped the perforated page from the tray. At the top, in beautiful graphic design, was the letterhead of Weinus, Weinus, & Ware, LLC.Underneath, in bold type and all caps was a brief notice addressed to Trinity and WWJD.
WITHOUT PREJUDICE
NOTICE OF REPRESENTATION CHANGE.
WEINUS, WEINUS, & WARE, LLC REGRETTABLY WOULD LIKE TO INFORM YOU THAT DUE TO A CHANGE OF HEART, WE WILL NO LONGER BE ABLE TO REPRESENT YOU.
SINCERELY,
WEINUS, WEINUS, & WARE LLC
P.S. WARE WEAR & WARES WOULD LIKE TO IMMEDIATELY CANCEL ALL SCHEDULED COMMERCIAL SPOTS DURING THE TRINITY RADIO HOUR.
P.P.S IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S US.
P.P.P.S. BUT ALSO, YOUR STICKY SITUATION.
GOOD LUCK.
Chapter 12
You’re Not Who I Think He Is
Some messes are spiritual, others administrative or legal. Some are best remedied with prayer, and others with a call to the fire department.
If Trinity was going to keep its miracle money maker of a show on the air, they would need to iron out a few new relationship kinks with their handsome lawyer, Micah Ware. Trinity spilled out through the glass doors of the WWJD lobby, the bells above them clanging as if to wish them God speed and good luck.
Outside, Greater Napanee performed its wholesome daily opera. The small-town traffic hummed and a pickup truck rumbled past with bales of hay stacked high and tight in a friendly nod to half of Rebekkah’s hair-don’t. Trinity began to pound the pavement and the sidewalk under their feet radiated the day’s warmth. People stepped out of their way, either through small town politeness or fright at seeing two men and a woman with a paper bag over her head jogging toward them. They darted around the sidewalk displays of flower stands, tables of fruits and veggies, and bins of upright rakesand upside-down umbrellas unlikely to be used on such a glorious day.
“Are we gonna die?” Ronald asked, keeping pace and then falling behind when he needed to hurdle a fire hydrant when it was clear the three of them could not remain shoulder to shoulder to shoulder and pass the obstacle.
“I don’t think so?” Rebekkah ventured, speaking in a panting patter as she speed-walked with arms pumping with the graceful chugging motion of a train.
