5. Filling the Gap
Filling the Gap
For Ronald, the line between fitting in and squeezing in was as distorted as the music blaring through his headphones. He entered the building like he was about to drop a solid gold single, but Carrington was about to remix his reality.
The bells on the door chimed softly as Ronald strolled into WWJD radio station, lost in his own world. His iPod mini pumped out Rakim’s When I B On That Mic, a blurry beat blaring through his headphones.
Oblivious to the low hum of Gregorian chant that slipped unassuming through the speakers of the radio station lobby, Ronald rapped along with Rakim, layering on a little extra swagger, “Get respect in the hood, credit is good. Knock it down lumberjack style, baby, extra wood. Rock it all night long, the bang-athon baby, keep hangin’ on, we like it with the lights on! ”
Behind the front desk, Carrington looked up, their expression a mix of bemusement and authority.
Carrington’s appearance was nothing short of striking, a non-binary fashion chameleon, dressed in a perfectly tailored plaid suit with a contrasting bold, floral tie, hair sleekly styled, and an air of someone who could command a room with just a glance.
The soft tap of polished nails on a keyboard contrasted sharply with Ronald’s carefree entrance.
The interruption in concentration was unfortunate as Carrington had been busy trying to make sense of the financial statements, business strategy and overall trajectory of WWJD–all of which were currently on a nose-dive.
“Hellloooo!” Carrington clapped, drawing Ronald’s attention. “Hello!”
Ronald tugged off his headphones, pausing his music reluctantly, and smiled, “Hey, what’s up? I’m Ronald.”
Carrington tilted their head, offering a sharp, polite smile, “Hiiiieeee. I’m Carrington, secretary to the stars here at WWJD.
” Carrington’s voice was as crisp as the starched blouse under their plaid blazer, “While I appreciate your music choices, not everyone around here will. You might want to consider something a little more… WWJD appropriate for work.”
Ronald blinked, still hyped from his Rakim track, “I’m just getting in the zone, you know? That’s Rakim, When I B On Tha Mic. I’m about to be on the mic on my own…”
Carrington raised a well-manicured hand, cutting him off with a knowing smile, “Yes, I know who Rakim is. And I know who you are. But you’ll only stay on the mic here if you learn to fit in.”
Ronald grinned confidently, “I don’t fit in. I squeeze in.”
Carrington smirked, “Mmmkay.” There was a pause as they sized him up. “You came here for a job, right?”
Ronald shifted on his feet, still buzzing with energy, “I won the 1999 WWJD Not Short on Talent talent show.”
“Impressive,” Carrington replied dryly, their fingers now resuming their steady typing, “given the competition.”
They stopped typing just long enough to lock eyes with Ronald, “You know what? I’m going to help you out because I also know what it’s like to be… different in a small town like Greater Napanee, and I know what it takes to squeeze in.”
Ronald leaned against the desk, curiosity piqued, "Because you’re not just this and not just that, you’re everything.”
Carrington raised an eyebrow, appreciating the insight, “Yes, actually. I am everything.”
Their voice softened just a touch as they leaned across the desk conspiratorially, “Do you think it was easy becoming the highest paid employee at a Christian radio station when I don’t fit the mold?”
“Baby, you broke the mold,” Ronald quipped coyly.
Carrington’s lips curled into a small smile, “You’re smooth.”
Ronald winked, “Coco butter, twice a day.”
With a light chuckle, Carrington straightened up, all business again, “Ronald, I want you to do well here. I want you to have a successful show because, well… we kind of need you to.” Carrington’s eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and warning, “So, when you’re at work, maybe shuffle that iPod to a little more This Little Light of Mine and a little less… extra wood and bang-a-thons.”
“Really?!” Ronald’s tone was one of disbelief. He was smooth, but no one readily labelled him quick.
Carrington gave him a knowing look, “Really. I’m not saying don’t be you, just be a different you here. You can switch back at the end of the workday.”
Ronald sighed, a little defeated, “That’s… depressing.”
Without missing a beat, Carrington fired back, “It’d be more depressing if you didn’t have a job.”
As Carrington’s fingers resumed their rhythmic dance on the keyboard, Ronald could feel their eyes still tracking him, even without turning his way. It was unnerving.
“What are you typing?” Ronald asked, side-eyeing Carrington.
With their gaze firmly on the screen, Carrington replied smoothly, “Your contract.”
“Can I see it?” Ronald leaned over the desk.
“When… I’m… done,” Carrington replied in a slow, deliberate cadence, finishing the last keystrokes with a flourish. “I’m done.”
A beat later, they ripped the paper from the printer with dramatic flair, gave it a shuffle and a staple, pushed off the filing cabinet to roll back toward Ronald on their office chair and handed over the contract. He took it eagerly, eyes widening as he scanned the numbers.
“Wait, this is what I make a week?! This is incredible!” Ronald’s grin grew impossibly wider.
Carrington leaned forward, a satisfied smirk playing on their lips, “That’s what you make per day, honey. You’re cute. I’m single. I gave you a raise.”
Ronald blinked, “I haven’t even started yet.”
Carrington’s eyes twinkled, “You gave me a raise, so I gave one to you.”
He laughed, incredulous, “I gave you a… ha! Nice! Wait, you can do that?”
With a little shrug, Carrington replied with calm confidence, “What you’ll learn very soon, you fun-sized Shaquille O’Neal, is that I can do anything.
And I have to do everything around here to keep the money moving–in and out.
Invoices, outvoices. That’s how a successful radio station works.
” Carrington winked, “If you wear shorts tomorrow, I’ll give you a cash per diem for lunch and vacation days for Hanukkah and Christmas. ”
Ronald chuckled, still reeling from the absurd number on his contract and imagining all the new gadgets he could buy for his boat, “But I’m not Jewish… I’m agnostic.”
Carrington’s eyes flicked downward, then back up, clearly teasing, “Could’ve fooled me with those tight jeans.”
Ronald looked down, then up again, unsure how to respond, “Is this… appropriate?”
Carrington’s smile widened, pure playfulness dancing in their eyes, “It’s not inappropriate… yet. I’m on Christian Mingle, find me.”
Ronald grinned, not believing his two strokes of good luck, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” Carrington replied with a wink. “Now, go on. Get ready for your big debut. The mic waits for no one, so you betta be on it. Knock it down, lumberjack style.”
Ronald couldn’t help but smile. WWJD was shaping up to be…
interesting. He leaned casually on Carrington’s desk to flex his triceps unnecessarily but impressively and threw them one last wink before his attention drifted to the lobby speakers.
A smooth-voiced DJ on the air broke through the final chords of the Gregorian chant and the romantic tension that had built up in reception.
“You’re listening to WWJD in Greater Napanee and remember, our listener radio-thon is still on!
We’re thirty-six hours and forty-nine thousand and thirty-seven dollars away from hitting our crucial goal of fifty-thousand dollars to stay on the air.
Call now, we accept credit cards, cheques, and of course, cash.
We have a big gap to fill but we know we can count on you, Greater Napanee!
Be generous and consider WWJD, What Would Jesus Do? ”
The radio-thon announcement hung in the air as the lobby bells chimed. Rebekkah and Japheth burst through the door, babbling and bubbling with anticipation of planning their first show.
“Can you believe it, Japheth?” Rebekkah’s voice was practically a squeal, “We’ve talked about singing a song or doing an interview on WWJD for years, and today, look at us! Our own show! Well, our own show with…”
“Ronald! You’re already here!” Japheth cut in, his eyes landing on the very close but not quite cuddling radio receptionist and their bandmate.
Ronald gave a nod, leaning back against the desk with a lazy grin, “Oh hey, Geppetto.”
“Japheth,” Japheth corrected politely.
“Sorry,” Ronald shrugged, completely unbothered, “I get mixed up with weird White names.”
“It’s actually…” Japheth started again, but Carrington interrupted smoothly.
“R&J!” Carrington’s eyes sparkled as they greeted the duo, “How are you? Or should I say, how are you three? Is it official? Is Trinity on the road to being the next Jars of Clay?”
Rebekkah squealed, her whole body buzzing with excitement, “Eeeee! Can you imagine?”
Carrington tilted their head with mock seriousness, “I’m not sure we’ll hit double platinum in record sales, but fingers crossed for you!”
“What’s a jar of clay?” Ronald asked, puzzled at what archaeology had to do with them.
“Oh! Ha! He’s joking, he’s totally joking,” Japheth jumped in, nerves pushing his voice up an octave.
Carrington grinned knowingly, “It’s okay. Ronald has already shared his secrets with me. People tend to do that.”
“They… they do?” Japheth asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Carrington’s gaze shifted to Japheth, full of amusement, “Oh yes, Japheth. You look full up to the brim. Feel free to stop by my desk later and you can spill. You’ll feel a lot better.”
Rebekkah, confused but intrigued, glanced at Ronald, “What did Ronald tell you?”
“Oh, just that he’s not Jewish…” Carrington replied, smirking.
“Well, of course not, this is a Christian radio station,” Rebekkah laughed, if a little awkwardly.
“And that he’s agnostic,” Carrington added, their tone light but knowing.
Rebekkah blinked, thrown for a second, “Oh. Well, he’s open to Jesus. Right, Ronald?”