Chapter Four
Judah hummed to himself while Dave Werblowsky, guitarist of the Simchatones, casually strummed a slowed-down “Hashem Malakh” as they warmed up in the party room.
He’d always liked this part of performing at weddings: the relative calm before the storm when it was just the clinking of plates being set, the band running tests, and the photographers making sure everything was in order.
He took a sip of the hot water with lemon in his hand, then nearly choked on it as the door to the room flew open.
It was as if just thinking about the quiet had shot everything to hell.
Dave’s instrumental was immediately drowned out by loud chatter, the clattering footsteps of high heels, and above it all, a voice trying to bark them into submission.
“Short bridesmaids in front!” yelled the one Judah knew to be the maid of honor only because she’d crashed one of the many, many video chats the bride and groom had requested.
It wasn’t the biggest bridal party he’d ever seen, but it was definitely a contender, an entire crimson tide. Silently, he counted nine, ten, eleven bridesmaids, all in identical long red gowns with white sashes. No, wait, there was a twelfth …
The straggler swooped in front of Judah to catch up, and his gaze instinctively dropped to the floor, but not before taking in an eyeful of dipped-in waist and curves upon curves; in that red, the effect was not entirely unlike Jessica Rabbit.
As soon as he had the thought, he wanted to slap his own face. What was with him lately? First that stomping bridesmaid in baby blue a few months back, and now this one? Since when did he get distracted by—
The twelfth bridesmaid turned her head just before stepping up to the platform for pictures, and Judah sucked in a sharp breath.
Of course it was Stompy McGlaremaid again, making a chaotic entrance.
It took him a moment to realize what was different about her, why he hadn’t recognized her to begin with—her wild curls had been tamed into stick-straight submission.
The curls suited her better.
Not that he was thinking about what suited her.
Their gazes locked for a split second, and he saw her huff out an exaggerated sigh and roll her eyes. Apparently, he was no more welcome a surprise than she was.
He turned his attention back to the band.
The Simchatones were one of his favorite groups to sing with; he and the saxophonist, Mikey Koplon, went all the way back to yeshiva together.
“Hey, Klein,” Mikey said with a grin, resting his sax across his lap.
“You gonna make us go viral tonight or what?”
Judah groaned. “Not you too. Has everyone seen that stupid video?” He hadn’t looked at it again, but according to Lev, it had literally millions of views, so it did seem that yes, literally everyone had in fact seen it.
“That’s cute that you think there’s only one video,” said Dave. “You know they’re digging up your old performances and sharing them, right?”
He most certainly did not know that.
“Just throwing out there that if you need another guitar for your new album…”
“Noted,” Judah said dryly, his stomach churning slightly at the mention of the endeavor he’d thought would be much further along by now.
He had a handful of singles under his belt, including a Chanukah album that had frankly stunned him with its success, but he still hadn’t quite figured out the direction for this new one, and inspiration seemed reluctant to hit despite Eitan’s insistence that they needed to strike while he was having “a moment.”
He glanced back at the wedding party, which seemed to have devolved into chaos. He had no idea what “It doesn’t matter if you have ‘five-eight energy,’ Lucy! You’re still five-four!” meant, but it looked as if it might make Lucy dissolve into tears at any moment.
“Just let her stand in the back!” cried another bridesmaid. “She’ll stand on her toes!”
“She’s wearing heels,” said another. “She’s already on her toes.”
“Height order!” the bride shrieked, waving her hands in front of her eyes, presumably to dry her tears before they could brim over. “I was promised height order!”
“Do not ruin your makeup, Lauren Elizabeth,” warned the mother of the bride. “Jerry, do something!”
Her husband, a large man in his sixties who even Judah knew was worth approximately twelve zillion dollars, shrugged helplessly. “What exactly would you like me to do, Eileen? I thought we should take photographs outside!”
“We’re not going to the rooftop, Jerry!” She stabbed a finger at her updo, which was held up with so much hairspray it was practically a structural marvel. “Think about my hair!”
“Think about my hair!” demanded Lauren, who was already wiping away black streaks from her face. Another woman came rushing in and started dabbing at her eyes. “I’m the bride!”
“Whaaaat is going on here?” Dave murmured, and Judah realized the entire band was staring and watching, because how could you not?
The bridesmaids, meanwhile, stood still as statues as they watched Lauren get her makeup reapplied, except for one, who was nudging the girl named Lucy to move to the front row.
And then there was Jessica Rabbit, who had a hand clasped to her mouth and, judging by the shaking of her shoulders, was fully cracking up behind it. Despite her best intentions to cover it up, she let out a snort, drawing everyone’s eyes to her.
“It’s … not … funny!” sobbed Lauren, knocking the makeup out of the artist’s hands. “I knew you were gonna be trouble when you refused to take out those trashy piercings!”
Jaws dropped, including his, and another of the bridesmaids rushed in to calm Lauren down. Meanwhile, “Jessica” was biting her lips from the inside, doing her best to stop her laughter as she skated a fingertip over the piercings in question, and Judah found himself swallowing back laughter too.
Unbidden, his gaze slid to the bridesmaid’s hand—specifically, her left ring finger.
Nothing there.
Interesting.
No, not interesting, he chided himself as he yanked out the set list, as if he hadn’t read it over a thousand times.
He didn’t even know what had possessed him to look.
This woman was childish, reckless, and frankly, a wedding menace.
Of course she was single. What kind of man would subject himself to her death glare for life?
He abandoned the Simchatones to refresh his water and do some vocal exercises, and by the time he returned, the photo shoot was nearing its end, all the bridesmaids in perfect height order. “Guess they worked it out, huh?”
“I honestly thought there might be blood, but the bride probably would’ve flipped out at getting the wrong shade of red on her dress,” Mikey murmured back.
Judah smothered a laugh as he watched Jessica Rabbit plaster on a fake smile, looking entirely unrecognizable as the bridesmaid he’d butted heads with.
“Do you know any of them?” Judah asked casually. Jewish Geography was a common enough game that he knew Mikey wouldn’t read anything into the question, but he tore his gaze away from her anyway.
“Third down from the bride is Kira Richman. I think we’re technically second cousins? And that one on the end looks so familiar, but I can’t figure out how I know her.”
Jessica Rabbit.
The photo shoot ended and the bridesmaids came flowing off the platform, with Jessica headed right in their direction. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t resist. “I see you’re doing much better in these heels.”
She stopped in her tracks and whirled around, immediately making him regret ever opening his mouth. “Maybe you should try a pair so you can develop the ability to feel empathy,” she said sweetly.
“They don’t really go with this outfit, but thanks.”
“Neither does that tie, but that’s clearly not stopping you.”
Next to him, Mikey snorted with laughter. “Klein, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl hand your tuchus to you before. How do you two know each other?”
“We don’t,” they said at the same time, although she surprised him by adding, “though you’d think we would, given his brother is one of my best friends.”
Now that caught him off guard. “You’re friends with Akiva?”
“Better friends than you are, I’m guessing,” she said wryly. “I live in the apartment below his. You’d probably know that if you ever accepted one of his million invitations.”
“Yeah, I’ve clearly missed out on many a pleasant social interaction,” he shot back. “Currently swimming in regrets that we haven’t had more of these lovely encounters.”
Her ocean-blue eyes flashed. “You—”
“Arielle!” Another bridesmaid stalked in their direction, and Jessica Rabbit—Arielle, apparently—winced. “Are you coming?”
Mikey snapped his fingers. “Becker, right? Why do I know that? And you look so familiar.”
“I probably hooked up with someone you know,” she said coolly, and it was Judah’s turn to wince, though Mikey took it in stride.
“Nah, I’m sure—oh, wait. Robbie Stern?”
“Winter break in Miami, senior year of high school,” she confirmed. “Well, this has been fun, but I’m needed by the bride. See you at the chuppah. Don’t worry,” she added to Judah, “I fully intend to keep my distance this time.”
Then she sashayed off, as if knowing everyone in the room was watching her walk away.
“Was that Bend Her Like Becker?” Dave asked, bumping Judah in the shoulder with his guitar as he came up behind them. “Man, I haven’t seen her in years.”
Mikey snorted. “And just how much have you seen of her?”
Judah wasn’t sure why he wanted to smash Dave and Mikey’s heads together—it was clear Arielle was just fine with her sexual past—but he had to curl his fingers into his palms to stop himself anyway.
“Unfortunately none, but one of my friends in yeshiva hooked up with her for a few weeks. I hear she’s still single,” Dave said with a rueful shake of his head. “Guess that makes sense; hard to imagine wifing up a girl half your friends have probably seen naked. Feels like a waste, though.”