Page 93 of Bless This Hot Mess

“Well at least give us some details. Set the scene. Where are you going with Rino? That way I can guide you from a sartorial perspective,” Carrington huffed, their status as stylist to the stars at WWJD now tenuous due to a few overzealous scissor snips. People were so fickle.

“I’m not going anywhere withRino. You just accused him of arson, of boss-napping, of…” Japheth held up his fingers as he counted off the number of ways his might’ve been boyfriend was being accused of criminal activities.

“We don’t know any of that with certainty, actually. But your dinner is the perfect opportunity we need to get the facts. You’ll simply continue to win him over with your wit and wheedle out the details. Like, why did he burn down our radio station? And where did he hide Emma-Lou? And what really happened to her parents?” Suwarna placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder with the subtlety of a hydraulic press. “So, where are you two going?”

“It’s umm… it’s a family dinner?” Japheth searched the faces of his friends.

“Familydinner!?” Rebekkah squeaked. “Like a big gnocchi dinner with his parents? Or a gathering where someone ends up with their feet in cement?”

“Rebekkah! You werejustsinging his praises. You said he’s agoodguy!” Japheth hissed in a deadly whisper.

“That’shugemy man! Very cool. Family dinner for Italians is like… you know, super important. You two really might get married!” Ronald grinned and gave Japheth a brotherly shoulder bump.

The WWJD employees searched each other’s faces for answers to questions that kept piling up in their minds. Without a boss, without a radio station, what would they do? And with their beneficent benefactor suddenly without his financial funnel and with his benevolence in question, just how would a man with the characteristics of a muskie react to the news? If he didn’t already know. And if he was behind it, what was the end game? They took a collective gulp.

The sun kept doing its best to shine with optimism, but the sidewalk had acquired the unsettling illusion of a fun house tilt. Far down the block, a siren wailed on its way towhat might remain of WWJD. The bakery bell jangled obliviously as a customer left with a paper bag of buns and sniffed the air and then their goods, having smelled the smoke.

Unspoken questions opened like trapdoors in front of them: if the station had burned down and Emma-Lou had truly vanished, what was in store for Trinity? Fame and five-door hatchbacks? Or front row tickets to their own imminent vanishing act?

Chapter 13

Truly, Madly, Deeply

If love was a leap of faith, Japheth decided this jump felt less like a game of leapfrog and more like swan-diving blindfolded into the mouth of a volcano.

Japheth’s apartment had never hosted so many people or so many opinions at once. Usually, the space was a sanctuary of thrift store serenity–a patchwork quilt thrown over a hand-me-down sofa, a stack of dog-eared exercise magazines on the coffee table, a candle that smelled faintly of cinnamon even when extinguished.

But tonight, Carrington swept in, arms laden with garment bags, hangers clacking like sabres, and the look of someone with something to prove and indeed, they did. After the last makeover mayhem, this one needed to go just right. The preservation of Carrington’s unchallenged reputation as the only opinion that mattered when it came to what not to wear, but also the preservation of their lives and occupations, seemed to hang in the proverbial balance.

“Everyone out of my way!” Carrington declared, kicking the door shut behind them with the authority of a soccercoach showing the team how it’s done. “We have approximately,” they checked their watch, “an hour and twenty-five minutes to transform Japheth from nappy-time camp counsellor to Italian stallion bait.”

Ronald looked up from Japheth’s denim beanbag chair where he’d been eating a sleeve of saltine crackers with an unsatisfied look on his face. It was the closest thing to junk food he found in Japheth’s pantry; his band mate was a health nut. There were plenty of almonds, but Ronald was fearful he may have developed a latent adult allergy and didn’t want to risk it. He brushed off the cracker crumbs flecking his shirt like confetti and whispered reverently, “We get to watch another makeover?”

Carrington marched straight to Japheth’s bedroom, and after hearing the rustle of fabrics torn from hangers, returned with his laundry basket overflowing. “We’re burning everything in here. We’re starting over. Tabula rasa. A blank slate with fewer vests. In fact, no vests.”

“I like the denim one,” Japheth protested weakly, scooping out and clutching the one poking out the top of the laundry basket to his chest. “It’s sturdy andlookat this structured stitching. It makes my arms look good.”

“It makes you look like a lumberjack. Do you chop down trees for a living? Do you dance on logs floating down a river with a pick-axe baton for balance?” Carrington shot back without looking up from the zipper of a garment bag they were opening like a magician revealing a tiger, with reverence and respect.

“I assume,” Suwarna said, “that we are opting for something classic. Understated. Subtle. Nothing to draw too much attention, you know, considering recent events.” She stood with her arms crossed, inspecting the proceedings as though she were appraising a suspect in an HR investigation.

Carrington barked a laugh so sharp it might’ve cracked a full-length mirror. They paused with the zipper half-way down the garment bag, and everyone’s eyes were glued to it in hopes of catching a Peeping Tom’s glimpse of what was hidden inside. Carrington disappointed them all by drawing out the tease.

“Suwarna, dear,” they said, “has Japheth’s fashion ever beensubtle? This is a plus-one date with Rino, the heir to the Ferrari family auto empire, not a Mennonite potluck lunch. You’ve seen what Japheth wears to work, right? It’s like he shops in the costume department of the musicalCats. We can’t let on thatwe’re in the know. We can’t let this critically important moment reveal that we’re onto Rino’s scent as we drape Japheth for his date. This is the part where I’m the expert and you’re all here for moral support. Comments are welcome–if they’re complimentary.”

Carrington crossed to Japheth and with a flip of their wrist, unrolled a measuring tape and quickly began sizing him up. “The trick will be in elevating Japheth’s brave but often stab-in-the-dark boho sidewalk chic style for a cultivated look that could have marched right off a catwalk in Milan and into the Ferrari’s foyer. It’s got to give elegance, cultivated charisma, daring a little danger, all while preserving his modesty. They’re Italian Catholics after all.”

At last, they pulled the garment bag open, and the room stilled. Even the saltine cracker crunching stopped.

Out shimmered the ensemble: the black silk slightly oversized blazer with gleaming gold Greek-key embroidery; the sheer mesh mock-neck that whispered temptation; the charcoal brushed wool trousers that had been tailored to hug Japheth by angels, the square-toed black boots so polished that Rino would be able to see himself frowning back. If he could keep a frown on his face for long with this look.

Rebekkah clapped a hand to her chest, “Oh my goodness. Ohhhh my goodness. Japheth, you’re going to look like you’re a 3D print out fromGQ Italia.”

“That’s the idea,” Carrington smiled.

Japheth lightly touched the gold Greek-key embroidery. His hand hovered over the sheer mesh mock-neck, nearly stunned into silence, “Am I… allowed to wear this? It’s not… too much?”

“You’rerequiredto wear this,” Carrington corrected. “Trust me, I’ve calculated the exact skin to silk ratio and it’s perfect for princely seduction and parental approval. Now strip.”