“I do. Does it help if I tell you I absolutely do know that?”
He sighed heavily, already hating himself for the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “Justtonight, just these bridesmaids—and only because I heard the bride snap at you before. No posting on social media, and—”
“No touching, I know,” she said quickly, pressing a hand to her heart as a smile spread across her face. He absolutely despised the way it made his heart flip in his chest. “You’re the best, Judah. Wow, talk about a phrase I never thought I’d be saying.”
“This was an extremely short-lived romance.”
She started to reach for him, and he braced himself for the feeling of her fingers wrapping around his arm, but then she seemed to remember the “no touching” rule he’d never instituted in the first place. “Hey, no, come on. Just gimme one smile, like you’re actually happy to see me. Or whatever it is you do to indicate affection.”
Ouch. Double ouch, seeing as he didn’t actually know. “How about I just go back to the stage and do my job?” He paused. “I’ll wink at you during ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’”
She furrowed her brows. “But I don’t have brown eyes.”
Oh, he knew. But pretending he hadn’t been drowning in the eyes shedidhave during this entire conversation was the closest he was going to get to having the upper hand, so he simply winked and walked away.
By the time Judah got home that night, he was seriously contemplating never leaving his apartment again.
Arielle Becker had been complete and utter torture for the remainder of the night, even when she wasn’t looking at him. Never in his life had he wished he’d had the foresight to wear a chastity belt to a wedding, but that evening had made a serious argument for one. He’d had to hide behind Mikey and his sax more than once.
To make matters worse, it hadn’t taken long for Judah to figure out which bridesmaid was interested, because she spent half the third round of dancing—the one set wholly to English music—wriggling and writhing a few feet away from him while clearly trying to catch his eye. He was exhausted just being in her presence, and he never even found out her name.
He kicked off his shoes, tossed his jacket over one of the dining chairs, and headed to his fridge for a beer. Despite his exhaustion, the late hour, and the fact that his bed wasright there, Judah knew sleepwas anything but imminent. Even if he could manage it, he’d probably have a mess of weird dreams that he wasnoteager to endure.
What he didn’t understand waswhyArielle Becker was taking up space in his brain. Okay, so she was attractive, but all her waves and secretive smiles and little dance floor shimmies were part of some silly ruse,notsomething to keep replaying in high definition. She’d been very explicit that she wasn’t flirting, and if his brain understood that, why couldn’t his body?
He shook his head, as if it would wipe all the memories clean like an Etch A Sketch, and grabbed his laptop. Though avoiding admin work like the plague was usually his MO, nothing would distract him quicker than boring himself to death with business inquiries. He undid his first couple of buttons and carefully extracted his cufflinks while waiting for the typical ten to fifteen new emails to filter in.
But they didn’t stop at fifteen. Or twenty. Or thirty.
“What the…?” He leaned closer to the screen, scrubbing a hand over his face before taking a swig of beer as message after message filled his inbox:Interview Request.Collaboration Proposal.Gala Invitation.Inquiry.Just a note from a fan. And evenI know the PERFECT girl for you. Judah was about to shut his laptop and bury himself under his covers when a single subject line caught his eye.
Interview Request from Noted magazine.
Noted. The magazine Judah read all through high school. The magazine he dreamed of being in when he was a tween in Kol Sasson, taking weekly guitar lessons on Uncle Donny’s hand-me-down acoustic. What could they possibly want to interview a Modern Orthodox Jewish wedding singer about?
He clicked it open.
Hi, Judah,
Hope you’re having a good week! My name is Sarina Rogerson, and I’m a writer withNotedmagazine. I’m a huge fan ofyours and fascinated by both your past musical history and current rise to fame, and I’d love to chat with you about it if you’re up for it.
He skimmed through the rest of the note, which was mostly logistics and background on the magazine, and though his skin got a little clammy at the idea of drawing even more attention to himself, there was no way he could pass up an opportunity to talk toNoted. But he still wasn’t sure what there even was to talkabout. How could she be a huge fan of his? His Chanukah album was already a couple of years old, and his singles were all in Hebrew. Was this really based on that one silly video?
Mikey’s voice came back to him from the night before.It’s cute you think there’s only one video…
It occurred to him then that he hadn’t checked his texts yet—he had left his phone on Do Not Disturb while working—and he had a feeling that if he did, he’d find at least a few from Lev. He grabbed his phone and found it was absolutely flooded with notifications, including texts from not just Lev but also his dad, Mikey, Akiva, and most notably, a couple of guys he’d barely spoken to since Kol Sasson days.
Remember this??Shlomo Friedman asked above a video of the two of them, Azarya Frankel, and Joel Goodman belting out solos in a spirited version of “Moshiach.” It was one of Judah’s most popular solos, even leading to another group trying to poach him, but it hadn’t even been a question that he’d stay with Kol Sasson and its leader, Mordy Jonas, as long as they’d have him.
It was a group text, and Azarya and Joel had already enthusiastically joined in to reminisce, but all Judah could think about was how strange it was to have his past dragged up for public fodder, to wonder if at every wedding they’d all start picturing him in the white satin shirt he was sporting in that video, doing the ridiculous choreography.
For one absurd, inexplicable second, he wondered if Arielle Becker had seen it.
Was that what Sarina Rogerson atNotedwanted to discuss? Didhewant to discuss it? It wasn’t as if he had bad memories or was embarrassed about his time in the choir. But there was a big difference between all of this being dragged out for a Jewish audience that was entirely familiar with these parts of his life and the world out there with which he rarely contended.
He let his gaze drift around his apartment, a neat studio in which only his jackets hung in the narrow coat closet, only his dishes filled the cabinets, and only his books filled the shelves. Not for the first time, he thought about how different his life would be if he simply had someone he could turn to and say, “Hey, what should I do?”
Of course, he did have Lev, and he knew exactly what Lev (who was fresh out of college and barely understood consequences) would say—he’d be a schmuck to pass it up. And, he reasoned, it was probably just a tiny little story, one of those two-paragraph “Notes of Interest” in the front of the magazine. “Chatting” probably meant asking him a couple of questions via email. What harm could there possibly be in that?
