What washappening? “Sure,” he said tightly, because it was so ridiculous that he had no idea what else to say. But he wasn’t going to risk having Batsheva go back to Mrs. Ruziak and pass along that he was unaccommodating.
If Batsheva picked up on his lack of enthusiasm, she didn’t show it. And suddenly, he knew what song she was going to pick a second before she did it, and he closed his eyes in resignation.
Which was how he ended up standing in front of the entire lobby of the August Hotel, swallowing deeply just once before breaking into Elvis Presley’s “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.”
It was a song he’d sung a thousand times before at weddings, and even if he weren’t confident that he sang it well, the entire lobby had stopped what they were doing to watch him, which felt like a pretty good indicator. He pretended not to notice several people filming him, that a couple more had come in from other rooms, and that the entire line at the front desk had turned around to see where that voice was coming from. But glancing at Batsheva was the biggest mistake of all, because despite this having been her request, she was staring at him with the bright, shiny eyes of a Disney character, as if he’d specifically chosen this song to publicly confess his feelings to her.
He was tempted to announce into the mic that this was a first date—a blind date, at that—but he wasn’t sure anyone would believe him.
Thankfully, it was a short song, and he told himself that as soon as he was done, he was going to make an excuse to leave this ridiculous date. But when he closed it out, he was met with hearty applause, and suddenly, requests started flying. He glanced back at Batsheva, whose hands were joyously and proudly clasped in front of her chest, and sighed.
And then he launched into “All of Me” because, apparently, it was gonna be that kind of night.
By the time he finally extricated himself from the August and put Batsheva in a cab, he was exhausted and his throat was dry and he was halfway to searching for Mrs. Ruziak’s name in his phone so he could tell her he wasdone. But before he could make the call, his phone buzzed with a text from Lev.
Lev:I thought you were going on a date tonight?
Judah:I did
Lev:Then where’s that video of you from?
Judah:What video?
A minute later, a link came through, and Judah paused outside the subway entrance to click it. Not terribly surprisingly, it was a video of him at the August; apparently, one of the people who’d been filming him thought it was worth posting.
More surprisingly, it had fifty thousand views and climbing. And he hadn’t even been out of the lobby five minutes.
Oh God.
Judah:How do I get this taken down?
Lev:Why would you want it taken down??
Lev:This is amazing.
Lev:Eitan’s already forwarded me four inquiries.
Judah furrowed his brow. His name wasn’t even in this video, so how were people contacting his manager? No one at the August knew who he was except for Batsheva, and while he was known in the Jewish world—the Modern Orthodox segment of it, anyway, and even then, mostly in the New York Tri-State area—his name would be instantly forgettable to the staff at the August.
Judah:How do they know who I am?
Lev:Check the comments, and consider this an official I Told You So on the importance of keeping your website updated.
Lev:You’re welcome for that, btw
He didn’t spend much time online, but Judah seemed to recall that the number one rule of social media was not to read the comments. Still, he knew Lev wouldn’t have sent him to do so if he thought it was a terrible idea, so Judah clicked on the little speech bubble and watched with widening eyes as the section expanded, and expanded, and expanded.
@h2daLo:Oh my god he is so hot???
@Angeltears718:Sir, I am MARRIED
@MinniSky37:Mellllting
@RavShaul:Whatever, I cd do this
@IronWhine: @RavShaul:yah ok bro
And then:@theysayimcoolnow:Yo I know that guy! He sang at my friend’s wedding. His names Judah Klein.
