“Would you have gotten the job if you’d applied for it, you think?”
She relaxed her eyes but didn’t open them. “Yeah. Probably. Almost definitely.”
“And you’d have liked the work?”
“Yeah.”
“Then yes, you fucked up, Becker.”
“Shut up, Klein.” She winced at Judah’s last name coming from her mouth, and God, howstupidwas she to hook up with one of her best friends’ brothers? “You know what? It is very fucking annoying that you can’t stop things from changing, because someone else will just go right on ahead and spin the globe forward, and you’ll have no choice but to move with it.”
“I don’t think globes move for—”
She growled, shutting him up. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He drained his bottle and placed it down on the table. “And it sounds like, if you know the globe’s gonna move forward anyway, maybe it’s time to move with it. On purpose.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll just—” But Ari’s snarky response died on her lips. Maybe it was the midday beer on an empty stomach, but for the first time in a long time, it occurred to her that there was no reason she couldn’t try to seize a little of her own destiny. Yeah, she’d missed the opening Millie left behind, but she knew full well everyone thought Erik sucked. Just because she couldn’t getthatjob didn’t mean she couldn’t try to work something else out.
And maybe she’d missed the boat with Judah, but—no, the idea of dating still sounded terrible. Work first; social life later.
“Thank you, Keaver Beaver. You’ve inspired me, somehow. Probably with alcohol. I’m gonna go send some emails.” She finished her drink, tossed the bottle in the recycling bin, and took the doorknob in hand. “Thanks for the drink, too. I needed that.”
“Anytime, Becker. Anytime.”
Chapter Nineteen
In his decade-plus of living there, Judah still hadn’t become a die-hard Manhattanite, but right now, he was desperately missing its unique brand of apathy. Which was to say, meeting Mira for dinner in Queens had been a mistake.
“I don’t want to disturb you,” said the fifth woman to share that exact sentiment while very clearly disturbing their date. “I just have to tell you how much I love the song you posted earlier this week. I’ve been humming it all day! You have to ask my husband—he’ll tell you. Irv, c’mere.”
“I believe you,” Mira said warmly, just as she’d received all the other fans. At first, he’d assumed she was just being sweet, but somewhere around fan number three, he realized she was genuinely enjoying the attention, even (especially?) when people commented on how they recognized her from those creepy videos. While he was stunned people actually copped to watching those little stalker films, she accepted “You’re even prettier in person!” with a bashful smile.
He shifted into gracious artist mode until the woman finally took her leave (post-selfie, of course, because her daughter wouldneverbelieve they met otherwise).
“You’re really not comfortable with praise, huh?” Mira said with a grin once the woman was safely out of earshot.
Praise, celebrity, generally being perceived… all true. “I never really know what to say other than ‘thank you.’”
“What’s wrong with ‘thank you’?”
“It feels like people want more.” Peoplealwayswanted more. The way Mira wanted him to be the consummate celebrity, andLev wanted him to learn to love social media, and his dad wanted him to have a fallback job, and his mom wanted him home more often, and Akiva wanted him to be more “normal,” and Arielle wanted him to be…
Well, Arielle didn’t want him to be anything anymore. But come to think of it, in their brief time together, he hadn’t actually gotten the feeling she wanted him to be anything different from who he was. At no point did she suggest that she wished he’d been more experienced or less observant or anything else, and she hadn’t seemed any more interested in his fame than he was.
So maybe Arielle wasn’t a good example.
Hell, Arielle was never a good example. He had a feeling she’d be the first to say that.
“Well, of course they wantmore,” Mira said, with no small amount of pride in her voice. “Not everyone’s gotten to see you in concert, or at a wedding, or in a hotel lobby.”
“If anyone thinks I’m going to pick up a guitar in the middle of a restaurant—or spontaneously perform in a public place ever again—they are sorely mistaken,” Judah said dryly.
“Oh, you’re no fun.” He knew it was a joke, but her disappointment was palpable as she dropped her gaze to her chicken and sawed off a bite. “You know, I’d never actually seen you perform in person until Pesach. My friend Margo tried to get you for her wedding last year, but you were already booked.”
“The calendar does fill up fast,” he said apologetically, as if he should’ve known he’d be dating Margo’s friend a year later.
“She wasn’t even engaged yet when she tried to book you.” Mira’s eyes twinkled. “She was that determined.”
