Chapter 6
Chapter Six
If last one to the boat was a rotten egg, Jonah was the freshest Grade A in the carton.
He loved boarding the ship in broad daylight to truly appreciate the massiveness of it, before Jay’s sold out crowd made the Matzo Baller the intimate extravaganza it was, year after successful year.
It was also a time to marvel at the undertaking his good friend called his livelihood.
Jay Katz was the embodiment of “never let ‘em see you sweat” balanced with “always leave them wanting more.” Each year the demand grew, along with the wow factor.
But right now, the decks were empty except for the giant menorah waiting.
Jonah’s heavy footsteps thundered up the gangplank like a round of applause for the sparse crew of nimble workers aboard.
They moved through the interior sections; laying tablecloths, rolling out heat lamps.
Bars were being stocked and sound systems tested.
Jonah nodded to a security guard, waved to Jay’s site decorator, Beth.
“Whoa, look at this rock star.”
Avi descended an exterior set of stairs, slow-clapping. In his tux as well, but that was his look every year. “Monte Carlo memories! Looking sharp, Jo.”
Jonah grinned, arms at his side with palms up as Avi circled him. “Hair, tamed. Side burns and neck beard…under control. Contacts?”
“For now.” He tapped his breast pocket, where he kept his trusty hornrims. His eyes had a love-hate relationship with disposable lenses, but he was willing to try. “And look at you, early bird. Did you accidentally set your sundown alarm for AM and not PM?”
“Har, har.” The group’s most devoted Shabbat observer raised a rogue brow.
Avi bent a few rules, especially once Jay had established the Baller’s “first-Friday-of-Hanukkah” tradition.
And he’d made up an entirely different set of others, once Painted Doors started touring the world.
Singing wasn’t work; it was a calling, and he had made peace with welcoming the Sabbath in his own special way.
“I’m atoning for last year. Plus, Leah went to Talia’s to get ready with her and Nora, so I figured I might as well get here sooner rather than later. Missed the entire gauntlet.”
He nodded toward the pier entrance, where TV crews and other media were beginning to set up.
It was the closest Jay would allow. He didn’t give out press passes for any outlet to board the boat, no exceptions.
Not even his mother’s favorite Hadassah Magazine.
The only professional photographer allowed was Sylvie, for obvious reasons.
And that was mostly just to document their immediate friend circle and epic shit aboard.
Luckily, his epic faceplant hadn’t made it onto her camera roll last year. She and Avi had been too busy breaking up for good at the time. Now, Jonah wondered, without Sylvie on board, who would take the annual OG Baller photo that inevitably ended up in their group chat well after midnight?
Jay materialized; he was seemingly everywhere and nowhere all at once on Baller Day. “Perfect, you’re both early.” He rubbed his hands together. “Got a job for –” He looked Jonah up and down. “Damn, son. You cleaning up your act?”
Jonah merely ran a hand through his groomed curls in response and grinned. If he was gonna get the ribbing all night, he may as well space out the witty comebacks.
“Come’re, come’re.” Jay motioned them into a small side room, where a table had what looked like a set of mini walkie-talkies on them. But there were also little molded pieces of silicon with clear tubes coming out of them, and tiny foam balls on clips lying next to them.
“IFBs.” He doled them out like a Vegas poker dealer. “Interruptible feedback, as they say in the biz.” Jay tapped his own pack to demonstrate, and slipped on a small headset.
Avi seemed to know just what to do, clipping the wireless receiver onto his belt under his tux coat and pushing his long hair out of the way to slide the silicon ear piece in place.
“Just like my in-ear monitors on stage,” he explained.
Jonah mimicked his friend’s movements, and heard Beck crackling through his earpiece from somewhere unseen.
“So, why are we going all ‘secret service’ this year?”
Jay affixed the tiny black microphones to each of their tux lapels. “Because it’s a really big boat,” he addressed Beck to the benefit of all of them. “And there’s a very small…something that Asher wants to give to Talia before night’s end.”
“Dick or ring?” Avi was standing close enough for the wisecrack to echo.
“Small? Who you callin’ small?” Asher practically blew out their eardrums, from somewhere on the boat. “It’s an impressive carat size, asshole.”
“Guys, you’re breaking up.” Beck came through with a bit of static on his end. “Press…your carrot where?”
“It’s a ring, and it needs to end up on Talia’s finger, top deck, at midnight tonight.” Jay cut to the chase. “We need to be Asher’s eyes and ears. And help wrangle her, if need be.”
“Aw, congrats, man! Your maximum standard deduction just jumped to $31,500.”
“Thanks, Jackson Hewitt.”
Jonah couldn’t see Asher, but he could picture the bartender’s lopsided smile.
This was a good thing. Talia deserved a guy who would treat her like gold. And all her good cooking never seemed to put excess pounds on the guy. A match made in heaven.
“Mazel tov, brother. Chhhhhheck…check one-two.”
As Jay and Asher began to run down the logistics of Operation Pop the Question between Avi’s sound-checking and vocal warm-ups, Jonah wandered back out onto the deck.
There were always a few VIP-adjacent early-birds that liked to be seen on board; standing around importantly with their credentials hanging.
Jonah half-recognized one of them: a talk show regular, or maybe from some teen reality TV?
Older now, but clearly hanging on to his best twenty-tens look for the ladies he was currently sharing a laugh with.
Jonah nodded out of habit as he strolled to the railing.
Limos were inching down the west side highway and turning toward the pier, one after another, like shiny black ants.
Mesmerizing to watch, as they’d each briefly stop and spill out their colorful cargo onto the pier before gliding away.
Women in glittering packs, or hanging on the arms of their dates in their formalwear.
Heat lamps lined the walkway, allowing people to shed outer layers at a coat-check kiosk prior to boarding.
Every now and again, the paparazzi would fizz and pop like fireworks over someone before settling back down.
Nora and Talia would arrive soon, with Libby hopefully not far behind.
And then the Baller would, in Jonah’s mind, officially kick off.
When his crew and all their plus ones were present and accounted for.
One limo broke off from the pack and, like a slow motion movie scene, Kara Koff emerged from it. Dressed to the nines. Alone.
Jonah had to grip the railing, as he didn’t trust the Jell-O wobble of his normally-sturdy sea legs. Even from afar, he recognized the shape and size of her. Not a stalker at all, he half-reasoned with, half-chastised himself. Just a fan of her body. Of work.
He had, like every other red-blooded comic book superhero fan, seen all the movies.
It wasn’t difficult to detach her character from the child-star of his – and her – formative years.
Vanta Blackmore held barely a shadow of Rosie in her smirk, her lip-bite, her wide eyes.
Hence, why he had barely remembered Rosie until the other day, in his sister’s classroom.
Vanta Blackmore demanded to be noticed.
Kind of the opposite of what Kara was doing now. Jonah watched as the actress skirted the crowd…one shoulder hunched against the cold and perhaps the attention of the paparazzi as she turned her gaze up at the boat.
Where was her doctor guy? Or, for that matter, a bodyguard?
So far she had gone unnoticed, but he could only imagine her swarmed; all it would take would be one person sounding the alarm.
There were always gawkers — people who hadn’t scored tickets but considered standing behind barricades in the freezing cold their idea of a fun Friday night. Ever-present and on the lookout.
Static crackled in his ear. “Hey, Jay?” A new voice cut through. “Jay Katz, what’s your 10-20? We’ve got a greenroom situation, starboard side.” Jonah recognized the Louisiana drawl of Katz Events’ head of security. He sounded like Hank Hill on Red Bull. “Almost at max capacity.”
“Wes, you’re picking up the wrong frequency,” Jay said. “But I’ll be right there. Guys, I gotta run. Sounds like my new assistant may have gotten a little creative with the guest list.”
“10-4, good buddy.” Jonah replied.
The numbers geek in him loved the lingo. He’d memorized just about every numeric code the Baller staff used, plus a few from bad 70s trucker movies.
Jonah scanned the pier’s red carpet once more.
On cue, there was clapping and cheering.
Hands lifting mobile phones. Like a consummate professional, Kara Koff gracefully rolled her shoulders back and tilted her head confidently, winningly.
Smiling, waving, hair swinging. She began to walk through the gauntlet, but not without one last glance up.
For a millisecond, it looked like she was staring right at him.
And like a total dork, he lifted a hand and waved.
Here goes nothing.
I can do this, Tzipi thought, hand on her hip as she turned slowly to the flashes popping. I’ve done it a hundred times before.
Not since she was twelve, but still. It was like riding a bike.
Like when you were twelve and your bike hit the curb in front of Shane Feldman, and you landed on the bar and it felt like you broke your crotch?
Leave it to her brain to re-live that particular humiliation.