He clicked Reply and typed a quick response before he could change his mind.
Hi Sarina,
Sure, happy to chat.
Best,
Judah
There. That was nothing. His head approximately 5 percent clearer, he returned his attention to the task of changing out of his suit. But he’d barely gotten his shirt off when his computer pingedwith the sound of a new email, and he couldn’t help glancing at the screen in case it was a reply from Sarina.
It was.
Hi, Judah,
Great! You live in the city, right? How about we meet up for coffee so we can talk and get a date for a photo shoot on the books as well? I assume you keep kosher, so feel free to pick the place and I’ll come to you.
Warmly,
Sarina
In-person meetup? Photo shoot?
For the second time that night, Judah was filled with regrets.
Nothing made Judah’s skin itch like being late, but he was seriously considering it as he peered through the window of the coffee shop where he’d agreed to meet Sarina for the interview. It felt strange enough going to sit in a nonkosher establishment, but the idea of having a reporter fromNotedat a kosher place was a nonstarter; there was no way he wouldn’t see several people he knew, and he really didn’t feel like explaining why everywhere with decent coffee also sold pizza, fries, and sushi.
Sarina was already seated. Though her hair was cut shorter and maybe dyed a little redder than in her photo on theNotedwebsite, it was definitely her, nursing a mug of coffee.
At that moment, she glanced up and saw him watching her through the window, and she let out a little wave. He took a deep breath and headed inside, head lowered like a bull running right toward a red flag. “Hi,” he said with a brief smile, bracing himself for the inevitable hand extension. But either she’d done her researchon religious Jews or she wasn’t a handshaker, because all she did was nod and smile back. He released the breath he’d been holding and slid in across from her.
“Great to meet you.” A strand of hair fell into her face, and she shoved it behind her ear, revealing a line of earrings of all shapes, including a cuff molded into the outline of a dragon. For a brief moment, another heavily pierced ear popped into his head. “I meant it when I said I was a huge fan. I don’t even understand most of your songs, but I can’t stop humming along. Please tell me I’m not secretly saying things like ‘All journalists are idiots’ in Hebrew.”
“You’re safe,” he assured her with a grin. “They’re usually just lines from the Bible.”
“But youdosing pop songs too, right? I saw that video of you that was apparently a date?”
With some distance from that incredibly awkward evening with Batsheva, he was able to laugh at the memory. “Yeah, that was quite a night. I do sing in English at events sometimes if I’m hired to. When I was learning how to play different instruments, I used to watch and listen to as many different things as I could to pick up different styles. I’ve listened to far more Hendrix than people would guess.”
“And do you play like Hendrix?” she asked, lifting her coffee to her lips.
“Does anyone?” They both laughed, and Judah felt his shoulders relax a little.
It was perfect timing, since that was when Sarina pulled out a slim black recorder. “Do you want to get anything before we start?”
Judah gestured at the glass of water with a straw in it that was already waiting at his seat. “This is good, thanks.”
“Okay if I record?”
“Sure.”
She pressed the button. “So, Judah Klein: child star, wedding singer, and internet phenom. That’s a pretty fascinating trajectory.”
He laughed. “I don’t know what’s a bigger overstatement—child star or internet phenom. I was one of probably fifteen guys on stage at any given time in Kol Sasson—”
“But you had more solos than any of them,” she pointed out.
“And I’ve been in a couple of videos that went viral. That’s it.”
