Page 87 of Bless This Hot Mess

“It’s really important because, well, we’re on a listener upswing with the Trinity Radio Hour and it’s possible some people on our team could disappear if we don’t get this wrong–righted,” Japheth explained. “These music labels and artists are saying we can’t borrow their music for our show without their permission.”

“True,” Micah replied.

“What?! You told us we were in the clear!” Japheth yelped,betrayal compressing his pitch. “You said our cover was catchy!”

“KKKKK… kkkkkk… oh my. This is a bad connection. I’m about to get in the company helicopter. Kkkkkk… KKKKKK…. WHOOOOSH!!! WHOOOSH,” Micah insisted, while Ronald followed his instincts and bullshit detector right down the hallway and to a closed office door. As the theatrics inside continued, he waved to Trinity and Betty, signaling them to join him.

Ronald toed the door open. Inside an office panelled in frightful fake oak and diplomas of questionable origin, a man stood with the phone to his cheek, making helicopter noises with the artistry of a seven-year-old and the shamelessness of someone with nothing to lose. The nameplate on his desk read STANFORD WEINUS, ESQ. The window blinds made zebra stripes across an aged man with a potbelly pushing out his cardigan.

“Japheth, write it all down and send me a letter, okay? By post. To the Manhattan office. Gotta go! KKKK…. Kkkkk… WHOOOSH!! WHOOOSH,” he bleated as he swung his arms around wildly above his head imitating the helicopter blades.

“Who are you?” Ronald demanded from the doorway, as they all quickly piled into the small office.

“Japheth? Can’t… WHOOOSH… hear…. WHOOOOSH….”, he took on a childlike voice and held the phone at arm’s length away from himself, “Sir! Sir, Esquire? We’re taking off Esquire, sir. WHOOSH!”

He hung up the phone, let out a big breath and smoothed down his tie. He turned from the window, and realizing he wasn’t alone in his office, plastered on a smile that had passed the bar exam in 1978.

“Hello there. May I help you? Have you had a slip-and-fall accident? Are you seriously hurt? Betty, is this my eleveno’clock? Sorry, I was just finishing up with another client,” Stanford Weinus said, already searching his desk calendar for a triple booked appointment.

“Japheth? Rebekkah? I think I found Micah but he’s not who I think he was!” Ronald announced, pointing an accusatory finger at the paunchy lawyer.

“Who is this?” Rebekkah asked, narrowing her eyes and darting a questioning glance at Betty.

“NotMicah? He’srighthere! He’snotin Manhattan. And he does not look like he doesanyweekend warrior activities!” Ronald said, incredulous.

“Mmm… mmm… Micah? What happened to you? How did you get so, sooo old?!” Japheth asked, mouth agape and staring in bewilderment.

“That’s Stanford,” Betty huffed from behind them. “I don’t know who Micah is. We don’t have a Manhattan office. Am I onCandid Camera?”

“Looks like the jigs up Stanford/Micah, Weinus, Weinus or Ware–whoever you are! That is, if you evencanjig, after all that arm flapping and legitimizing. You must be utterly exhausted by your bullshit,” Rebekkah said, planting a hand on her hip, hair flap cocked like an exclamation mark.

Japheth and Ronald quickly turned on her in astonishment. Rebekkah almost never cursed, though it was becoming more common lately; to be specific–since this morning. It was not unbecoming. It gave her a bit of a rocker edge, especially with the new hair. The guys exchanged a glance and looked back at Rebekkah, nodding their approval. All three wheeled on the wheedling man behind the bureau.

As a villain, Stanford/Micah Weinus, Weinus or Ware was not particularly brave though he was certainly brazen. Nor did he possess a threatening quality that inspired chills or the urge to look over one’s shoulder while running away. Hisdemeanour was more of one that resulted in his present company donning expressions of pity, anger, and befuddlement. Betty, for example, was still scanning the room for cameras while tucking strays into her chignon in case they really were being filmed.

Weinus rolled his desk chair between himself and the mob protectively and snapped at them, “I would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”

“We domedleysbut meddle wedo not!” Japheth corrected him primly. His heart was breaking with each passing moment, knowing without wanting to know that his chance at romance was nothing but an elderly man masquerading as the real Micah. If therewasa real Micah. With each donning realization, his heart caved into itself further. He had truly believed that maybe, against his wildest hopes, that he and Micah were really and truly meant for each other. Like some kind of Prince Charming meets Prince Eric fairytale. He blinked back the tears welling up and threatening to fall, embarrassed at his stupid, childlike fantasy. When would he grow up and realize that fairytales were not built for boys like him?

“I’m so confused. Who and where is the real Micah?” Ronald asked, palms up and scanning the room again, as if the six-foot-four male model could have been misplaced somewhere.

“On a cereal box. Or a dandruff shampoo bottle. Cresting a snowbank on a snowmobile–probably shirtless, tan and with that megawatt smile,” Weinus sighed.

“More confused,” Ronald admitted.

“Micah is made-up! He doesn’t work here,” Weinus said, flinging the confession like a spoiled handkerchief.

“So, if he’s not a Weinus, a Weinus or a Ware…who is he? Areanyof the credentials on that billboard even true?” Japheth pressed.

“A stock photography model! I paid $19.99 to use his photos on that billboard and on our new website which we were going to be launching today. And I would’ve gotten away with it too! If it weren’t…” Weinus shook a fist for emphasis.

“Yeah, we know,” Rebekkah waved him off.

“Wait! What about Ware Wear & Wares? We did a commercial for Micah’s new fashion line. And he emailed me after, saying I was his message andhis muse!” Japheth wailed, his romantasy a tower of Jenga blocks teetering under the gravity of the precarious pile of prevarications.

“You were great, Japheth. And if you hadn’t sniffed out my cock and bull story, Micah would have… well, I would have hired you for an exclusive brand deal. But youruinedthat plan!” Stanford sniffed. “I never wanted to be a lawyer! Do you think I like filing cabinets? Do you think I’m enamoured by manila folders? No! There’s so little colour, so little panache permitted in an attorney’s attire. Micah and I could have been the next Dean and Dan Caten. Weinus & Ware Squared. But you squandered it!”

“Thereisno Micah! And don’t you dare compare yourself to DSquared². I may have considered it before, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Ware Wear & Wares terry-cloth satin robe or a razzmatazz kimono blazer. I’ve got a reputation in this town; people expect me to show up and impress! You’re just an old man who went to his closet this morning and selected a dowdy, cerulean cardigan that you’d previously fished out of some tragic clearance bin while day dreaming about being someone bigger and better than you’ll ever be,” Japheth snarled, the heartache spilling out frothy and fierce.