Page 85 of Bless This Hot Mess

“We areprobablynot gonna die,” Japheth said, unbuttoning his topaz lamé blazer as he spun around and out of the way of a teen on a skateboard, using the sidewalk like a playground to practice ollies. “Rino Ferrari is an imposing man. Can he come across as demanding or even a little scary when he’s making requests? Sure.”

“This is a mess! We have advertisers pulling out…” Rebekkah began.

“Rino Ferrari pushing in. I’m starting to sweat,” Japheth said, tugging at his collar.

“From the thought of Rino pushing in?” Ronald elbowed Japheth with a cheeky grin, unable to curtail a dreamy innuendo even with their lives in potential peril.

“No! Because Rebekkah is like an Olympian level speed walker. Even with that paper bag on her head. How can you even see where you’re going?” Japheth shouted at his friend who was weaving drunkenly on the sidewalk but more or less finding her way with startling accuracy.

“Can’t we just call Micah?!” Ronald complained, accelerating his trot to try and keep pace with Rebekkah.

“Oh yeah!” Japheth skidded to a stop, proudly producing his chunky Nokia. “I always forget I have this thing holstered to my belt.” He punched in the numbers and held it out between them. It rang and rang. “He’sstill not picking up.”

“Must be with another client,” Rebekkah said.

“Or playing shinny,” Ronald offered generously.

“Doesn’t matter. Look!” Rebekkah said, stabbing a finger at a modest two-story home that had been converted to a business. The eaves were buckled where they overhung the porch and the whole place would benefit from a little lipstick application to pretty up the pig. “Weinus, Weinus & Ware LLC. We’re here, let’s just go in and ask the Canadian chambers to call Micah in the Manhattan office. If they page him and say it’s an emergency, he’ll get off the ice.”

Bells chimed as the door opened and Trinity stepped into the law office. The aged wood floor groaned with the grievance of a centurion, shelves bowed under the weight of leather-bound books, and the faint smell of lavender signalled someone had recently aimed to disguise their humanity in the washroom. A phone rang shrilly, like an accusation.

“Weinus, Weinus, and Ware. Have you had a slip-and-fall accident? No? Please hold,” the receptionist, Betty, said into the receiver, then set it down like a clattering teacup in its saucer when she looked up and saw Trinity. She stood up like this might be a bank heist with her hands in the air. Her reaction likely had more to do with the paper bag over Rebekkah’s head than the arresting good looks of Ronald and Japheth, but you could never be sure. Realizing the bag was in fact distracting and perhaps disconcerting, Rebekkah reached up and pulled it off.

Betty took one look at Rebekkah and shrieked. She then quickly composed herself, assembling her features into a reassuring smile. She clicked toward them on high heels across the old floorboards. She drank them in, one at a time with an assessing gaze, hair in a lacquered chignon, glasses on a rhinestone chain, lipstick the colour of pomegranates. “Well, hello there! I’m Betty. How may I help you? Parking tickets?Vandalism?” She turned to Rebekkah, “Did someone do that to your hair? Assault?”

“No, I mean yes. It’s intentional. I asked for it,” Rebekkah said, both hands flying protectively to her shear mistake.

“My dear, this is not your fault. No one asks to be assaulted,” the receptionist said, pen plucked from a pocket and poised to take notes. “Where did this happen?”

“At work,” Rebekkah said, mortified.

“Work-place harassment is one of our specialties, along with slip-and-fall accidents. Now, did you report this to someone in your HR department?”

“She was there,” Rebekkah said, pointing vaguely back toward the radio station. “She witnessed it.”

“This is good. Well, good for us, not for them. Tell me more,” Betty gasped, scandalized on principle. “Someone from your HR department witnessed the assault?”

“The haircut, yes. She said I looked like a Winter Wren. Like a mousy, brown blob,” Rebekkah confessed, “with a stubby tail.”

“But you sing like an angel!” Ronald added loyally.

“And you two? Did you witness it as well?” Betty’s eyes darted between Japheth and Ronald.

“Yes, we were both there. I wanted to warn her but there was just so much happening!” Japheth wailed, hands conducting a traumatic symphony as he unsuccessfully tried to paint the picture in the air with scissor strokes and hands clapped around Ronald’s eyes.

“They told us to keep our eyes closed, so I didn’t see much,” Ronald admitted with a shrug.

“I’m not a lawyer but I type up everything around here and it sounds to me like you have a solid case. Shall I open a discovery file?” Betty asked, already reaching for a manila folder.

“We’re already clients. Our entertainment attorney is…” Japheth began.

“Entertainment?” Betty echoed, intrigued.

“Yes, we host the Trinity Radio Hour on WWJD,” Rebekkah said, trying to stand where the fluorescent light might flatter her and create that illusion of being a Shiri Appleby look-a-like.

“I’ve heard you!” Betty said, delighted. “You’re good! Some provocative ideas but I think this town could use a little shaking up. So, your lawyer is Stanford Weinus?”

“No, we’re clients of Micah. We’re not sure if he’s a Weinus, Weinus or a Ware?” Japheth queried, glancing around the lobby as if their modelesque legal eagle might pop out from behind a filing cabinet at any moment.