Knot My Type (Paperback SIGNED)

Frankie

Today was a good day. No, it was what I liked to call a best day. The sort of day you'd remember weeks or months or years from now. The kind where at some point in the distant future you'd pull the memory from the dusty bookshelf in your mind, and still experience the same rush of emotion. 

It was that kind of day. 

One didn't generally wake up expecting to experience a best day. Save for weddings and births, best days weren't planned affairs. They just occurred, falling into your lap like little blessings sent from the gods. 

In my life I'd now experienced a total of five best days. Being told I was cancer-free, my parents surprising my brother and I with a trip to Disneyland, receiving my doctorate, getting lost in Florence and discovering the best pastry shop in Italy, and now today. 

I stared at the email, fingers trembling as I scrolled down the screen of my cell, reading the email for the fourth time. 

Dear Dr. Kenton, 

On behalf of the Association of Broadcasting, I am delighted to formally congratulate you on your nomination for a Poddie Award for the All Access podcast.

All Access is an exemplar in inclusivity, and your commitment to breaking down stigmas, changing perceptions, and challenging thinking around sexuality and sex-positivity is to be commended. 

We have enclosed the details of the nomination process and the awards festival. 

Congratulations once again. 

Sincerely, 

Luke Hamilton President

Association of Broadcasting 

"A Poddie?" I asked, trembling. "I've been nominated for an actual Poddie?"

My producer, Christine, nodded frantically. "And not just any Poddie. Frankie, you've been nominated for the Poddie."

I sucked in a breath, my hands pressing against my cheeks. "Podcast of the Year?" 

She nodded again, sending her riot of brunette hair flying. "Along with—and babe, this is unheard of—Best Production and Sound Design, Best Podcast Host, Best Knowledge, Science or Tech Podcast, Best Society and Culture Podcast, Best Wellness or Relationship Podcast, and Best Entertainment Podcast."

I sucked in a breath. "That's—" I quickly counted on my fingers. "Seven nominations. What the fuck? Seven, Christine? Seven!"

"I know!" My producer squealed, her hands rubbing together greedily. "Can you believe it? You're a fucking star, Frankie. This is our chance to take this baby to the next level."

"Talk show?" I asked, something fluttering wildly in my gut.

"Talk show," she confirmed, her expression looking distinctly sharkish. "Can you imagine? Your own talk show. Prime time. This has the potential to be huge for you."

I couldn't imagine. I couldn't even contemplate what my life might look like in that scenario. 

"Let's not be too hasty," I said, scooting my wheelchair closer to the desk. "I mean, for all we know I might not even make it to the finals."

Chrissy snorted, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Babe, no one gets nominated for seven awards. Hell, the Wicked Women podcast only got two and they have a listenership of millions. You are killing this." 

I tucked a stray chunk of pink hair behind my ear, my mind whirling. 

"The next few weeks will be critical." She searched through the contents of her tote bag. "Where are the—ah! Found it." Withdrawing folded sheets, she smoothed out the papers to lay them on the desk between us. 

"What's this?" 

"The criteria for the competition. The judging takes place over the next three months and includes a panel of five who will examine a sample of your episodes from the past year."

I frowned. "Why do I feel like there's a 'but' coming?"

"Not a 'but' so much as a 'be aware.'" Christine pointed to a highlighted passage. "The criteria for Podcast of the Year is rigorous. From the twenty-first they'll be listening to every episode you release in addition to the sample episodes we've submitted. The assessment criteria is top secret, but from my listen of the previous years' winners I'd say it's a combination of engaging content, consistency, and sparkle."

I chuckled. "Sparkle?"

Christine grinned. "Yep. The X-factor that sets you apart from the rest of the pack." She leaned in, her eyes twinkling. "And you, my dear Frankie-girl, have the spark."    

I held up a hand for a high five. "Yeah, I do."

We slapped palms, both of us beaming.

"You worked hard for this Frankie. Be proud."

"It's all thanks to you."

Chrissy brushed my praise aside, but I caught her flash of pleasure. 

I'd met Christine through a mutual friend at a party two years ago. Vibrant, larger than life, and hilarious, I'd been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. At the time, Chrissy had been single and contemplating IVF, bemoaning the state of the male dating pool, and on a rant about feminism and the power of single parents. Being what I liked to call an observer of human behaviour—translation, psychologist—I'd been obsessed with her and our conversation, both of us pounding red wine and talking late into the night. 

As we'd rolled drunkenly out to our respective Ubers, Chrissy had handed me her card. 

"If you ever feel like producing a podcast, call me." 

I'd brushed off the suggestion, but a few months later over a frustration-laden video call with friends, the idea for the All Access podcast had been born—and Chrissy had loved it. 

I refocused, moving the competition papers to the side of my desk and reaching for my notebook. "We'd better work out some kick-ass content for the next three months." 

My lips curled into an amused grin. "And this is different to a regular week, how?"

Christine waved off my teasing. "We received a listener letter and it's one I want you to seriously consider." She delved back into her bag placing a pacifier, lactation cookies, and an apple on the desk before pulling an envelope free. 

"Should I be scared?" I joked, accepting the letter. 

"You tell me."

I scanned the contents, my eyes catching on three words. 

Accessible rope play. 

"Well, this is unexpected," I murmured, rereading. "She wants help with shibari." 

"You know it?"

I nodded then shook my head, shrugging. "No. Well, sort of. Maybe? I know of it—I've read about it and have some info about the theory but I haven't had any personal experience." 

"Do you have any contacts who could help?"

I pursed my lips. "Not anyone I can think of. But I'll make some calls." 

Christine leaned in. "I think we should spin this into at least a three-episode feature."

"Bondage?"

"Accessible bondage. This could be like the time you profiled the accessible sex toys and the podcast went viral."

I tilted my head to one side, grinning as I teased Christine. "Is this to help our listener or to win the Poddie?" 

"Both. We can't win if we're not true to your listenership."

I sobered, once again grateful I'd chosen Christine as my agent and producer. 

"You're right. Our values can't change." I looked down at the letter. "If she wants help with accessible rope play, we should go to the source—find a rigger who can help us."

"Rigger?"

"The name of someone who ties the ropes. They're the tops, bunnies or model are the bottoms."

"Well, I for one am already incredibly intrigued by what this feature might uncover." The engagement ring on her finger twinkled as she held her hand up. "And I'm sure my fiancé will be as well."

I rolled my eyes, throwing her a grin. "You selfish cow." 

"You greedy goat."

We laughed, holding up coffee mugs in a toast to each other. 

"To the All Access podcast." 

"No, babe." She tipped her mug my way. "To you. And to your success. You deserve everything coming your way."

"I'll drink to that."

We clinked mugs and sipped, both of us savouring the rich coffee. 

"Now." Christine set her cup aside, opening her laptop. "Let's get planning. We have a show to run and awards to win."

I took a moment to file away every part of this best day.

With a grin, I nodded. "Alright. Let's win this thing."