Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Jonah scanned the sea of faces as travelers streamed from the secure area toward baggage claim.
Families reuniting with squeals and hugs, guys with briefcases and overcoats rushing toward or away from work, old ladies in wheelchairs pointing the way with their canes as harried-looking skycaps pushed them along.
And children, toddling and darting everywhere.
All set to the soundtrack of Springsteen’s “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town. ”
Newark airport during the holiday season – there was really nothing like it.
Jonah plucked his shades from his overcoat pocket and slipped them on.
The sign he had hastily made, taking full advantage of his sister’s school craft supply closet, read BONO in big red letters.
He grinned in the direction of Arrivals, standing with all the chauffeurs in a haphazard row and keeping one eye on the clock.
If they didn’t hit the Turnpike by four, it was going to be major gridlock getting back into town.
Gone were the days of Avi taking New Jersey Transit into Penn Station with his guitar and duffel bag on his back, all by himself. Or just showing up on Jonah’s stoop looking like he needed a good meal and a week-long nap. These days, it was mostly stretch limos and black Escalades.
Jonah didn’t have either, but he had a Jeep.
One big enough to fit the enormous amount of luggage Avi’s girlfriend Leah was bringing this time from Ohio.
Their co-habitation was officially official, now that Avi had closed on his Brooklyn brownstone.
And Jonah was totally looking forward to claiming a mortgage interest deduction on behalf of his best friend’s taxes.
Oh, and their housewarming party the night after the Baller.
“Very funny.” Avi punched Jonah in the arm, before gripping him in a hug. “Like I need any more attention.”
“It’s me,” Jonah admitted, waving the sign behind Avi’s back with one hand as he accepted the brotherly love. “I’m the attention whore. Where’s your lady?”
“She’s already stalking the baggage carousel. Worried about her art supplies. Come on, let’s grab a couple of those cart things.”
“Hire a porter, ya cheapskate!” Jonah called after him. “I’m just paid to hold the sign.”
“Is that – ”
Uh oh. It had begun. The Recognizing, as Jonah had come to call it.
Two women, possibly early forties, were encroaching. Casting furtive glances in Avi’s direction. Jonah flapped his sign; the poster board making a crack like thunder. Deflecting them from their investigative mission.
“Wait. The Bono?”
“The one. Possibly the only?” Jonah gave a calculated shrug. “I think I saw his guitar case coming around that baggage carousel.” He pointed to the very far corner, and the women scurried away.
“Thanks so much for helping, dude.” Avi’s voice dripped sarcasm as he struggled to keep the bags Leah was piling onto the cart from toppling.
If you only knew, Jonah thought. Although not resentfully.
He was glad to be able to deflect and de-escalate anyone hell bent on invading Avi’s privacy.
Whether using his brawn, or his brains. As the years went by and his best friend’s fame soared, Jonah was happy to lend a hand.
Or sometimes, a very muscular arm. Blocking paths, keeping fans at a distance.
There was a time and a place for meet and greets. For photo ops and autographing body parts. Newark airport, holiday rush? Not so much.
A “tourist” taking a “selfie” that just so happened to have Avi and Leah smooching in the background?
Jonah stared daggers, looming over the guy until he lowered his camera guiltily.
A pilot, discreetly liberating a few top buttons on her uniform as she sashayed up with her rolling luggage? He had a plan for that, too.
“Thank you for your service!” He threw up a hand in salute as he stepped into her path. “Happy holidays, Captain. Great landing.”
“Oh, um…” Flustered, the pilot clutched her shirt at its collar. Then patted her tight bun as she regained her composure. “You’re welcome. Thank you…uh, for flying the friendly skies. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“And a very happy Hanukkah,” Jonah called after her.
“Less flirting, more helping.” Avi shoved a heavy backpack into his waiting hands.
“She was looking to Mile High Club you in the Admirals Lounge, not me. What’s in here, rocks?”
“Mahjong tiles,” Leah chirped, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Jonah’s cheek. “You’re an angel for picking us up, Jonah. Thank you.”
Angels made him think of Kara Koff again. And the utter fool he’d made of himself last year in front of her.
“No thanks necessary.” He hiked the bag over one shoulder. “I hope you aren’t bringing these on the Baller, you’ll sink the ship.”
Leah laughed. “No, huge commission for the Jewish Museum giftshop. My company’s biggest order yet.”
Avi threw an arm over her shoulder, kissing her temple. “My Mahjong Muse,” he said proudly. He also wore it proudly across the priceless real estate of his chest: Leah’s logo for her bespoke game tiles business under the phrase Mahjong – what’s your super power?
Super powers also reminded Jonah of Kara Koff, off and on again the entire drive to Brooklyn. Jeez. What was up with him and his one-track mind today?
She barely existed in the same stratosphere as him, even though they both boarded the same boat the Friday night of Hanukkah each year.
Even though their names existed next to one another on the same VIP list Jay reserved for his found family and the few Jewish glitterati who happened to be in Manhattan over the holiday…
Klein, Koff. Jonah knew, because he had peeked once. Still, worlds away.
“Earth to Jonah…we’re here. You coming up, man?”
Jonah carried the bags up the brownstone stairs, glad to have something to do with his hands while Avi swept Leah up in his arms and carried her across the threshold despite her mild protests.
“Stay and light candles with us, Jonah! I just have to find…there it is.” Leah pointed from Avi’s embrace. A menorah sat in a box on the kitchen island, waiting to be unpacked and lit. A true housewarming.
Jonah had celebrated the first candle with his sister and niece last night before dinner. And now he pictured Avi and Leah readying two candles for the second night.
Two, for the two of them. And three was a crowd.
“You guys go ahead, settle in. I’m good.”
He’d probably head over to Asher’s Bar, the place where Jay had plunked a menorah down two years ago, and where any of their crew, along with the random bar patron, was free to gather. No one counting heads, or feeling like the odd duck.
SOLOKOFF
Leave it to Kara again, Tzipi thought. Sending a driver when she had been perfectly prepared to find a cab. Although it would be nice not to have to struggle with her luggage alone. The driver lowered his sign when she approached.
“Tzipora, I assume?”
Finally, someone who didn’t stumble over her name. She nodded. He tipped his black chauffeur cap and reached for her carry-on. “Did you have a nice flight?”
The best part had been the drink her sister had recommended. Seeing Lorne, alive in her dream? The cruel part.
“Decent, thanks.”
She followed the driver past baggage claim. He seemed to know she had no checked luggage. Safe to say Kara had filled the car service in on all the details to get Tzipi from Point A to Point B as comfortably as that first class bump-up had been.
A sleek, black Jaguar sedan purred up to the curb before them. Its tinted windows gave it a stealth ninja vibe, like the entire thing had been dipped in Vantablack. The darkest substance on earth.
Kara’s alter-ego character had been named as an homage to the light-absorbing stuff. Shadow-slick, impenetrable, swallowing you up and leaving no trace behind.
The guy stowed her carry-on in the popped trunk, then ushered her with a sweep of his arm as he opened the car door. “After you, Miss Solokoff.”
Wait, if this guy helping her wasn’t the driver, who was –
“Tizzy!”
She practically summersaulted across the backseat as her sister peeled away from the curb and floored it, brakes screeching through the tunnel-like underbelly of Newark’s arrivals zone. “Karmit Michaela, what the hell?”
The presumed chauffeur guy was now riding shotgun. Laughing, Kara grabbed at his hat and dropped it onto her own head.
Tzipi clawed to buckle her seatbelt as her sister maneuvered the Jag past honking taxis, its engine’s rev echoing off the concrete walls before they burst onto the roadway under the night sky. “Seriously, what the hell! Do you have a death wish?”
“See? I told you she’s dramatic.”
“Says the award-winning actress. Hilarious,” Tzipi grumbled, leaning back.
“Welcome to the East Coast, Tizzy.” Kara had eased off the gas, coasting along with the traffic toward a glittering skyline. She glanced into the rearview. “I’m so happy you finally got to meet Shel.”
The guy turned to look over his shoulder, winking a blue eye in her direction. He tipped an imaginary cap, now that Kara had absconded with his. “Sorry, Tzipora. She made me. Herschel Ackerman.”
He extended a hand, and she shook it. Strong, smooth, lifesaving.
Her sister’s Jewish doctor boyfriend. Now fiancé, Tzipi now corrected herself, as she spied the pear-shaped, glittery diamond solitaire on her sister’s steering wheel hand.
The ring looked even more impressive in person than it had over video chat last month, when her sister had announced the happy news.
“Call me Tzipi. And I don’t blame you.” He looked better IRL, too – admittedly, seeing him in person and out of context, she hadn’t recognized him.
Kara and Shel had been dating for a few years but as far as she knew, neither had introduced either to their respective families.
Until today. “Mazel tov. And good luck with this one.”