Chapter Five #2
It occurred to him then that he hadn’t checked his texts yet—he had left his phone on Do Not Disturb while working—and he had a feeling that if he did, he’d find at least a few from Lev.
He grabbed his phone and found it was absolutely flooded with notifications, including texts from not just Lev but also his dad, Mikey, Akiva, and most notably, a couple of guys he’d barely spoken to since Kol Sasson days.
Remember this?? Shlomo Friedman asked above a video of the two of them, Azarya Frankel, and Joel Goodman belting out solos in a spirited version of “Moshiach.” It was one of Judah’s most popular solos, even leading to another group trying to poach him, but it hadn’t even been a question that he’d stay with Kol Sasson and its leader, Mordy Jonas, as long as they’d have him.
It was a group text, and Azarya and Joel had already enthusiastically joined in to reminisce, but all Judah could think about was how strange it was to have his past dragged up for public fodder, to wonder if at every wedding they’d all start picturing him in the white satin shirt he was sporting in that video, doing the ridiculous choreography.
For one absurd, inexplicable second, he wondered if Arielle Becker had seen it.
Was that what Sarina Rogerson at Noted wanted to discuss?
Did he want to discuss it? It wasn’t as if he had bad memories or was embarrassed about his time in the choir.
But there was a big difference between all of this being dragged out for a Jewish audience that was entirely familiar with these parts of his life and the world out there with which he rarely contended.
He let his gaze drift around his apartment, a neat studio in which only his jackets hung in the narrow coat closet, only his dishes filled the cabinets, and only his books filled the shelves.
Not for the first time, he thought about how different his life would be if he simply had someone he could turn to and say, “Hey, what should I do?”
Of course, he did have Lev, and he knew exactly what Lev (who was fresh out of college and barely understood consequences) would say—he’d be a schmuck to pass it up.
And, he reasoned, it was probably just a tiny little story, one of those two-paragraph “Notes of Interest” in the front of the magazine.
“Chatting” probably meant asking him a couple of questions via email.
What harm could there possibly be in that?
He clicked Reply and typed a quick response before he could change his mind.
Hi Sarina,
Sure, happy to chat.
Best,
Judah
There. That was nothing. His head approximately 5 percent clearer, he returned his attention to the task of changing out of his suit.
But he’d barely gotten his shirt off when his computer pinged with the sound of a new email, and he couldn’t help glancing at the screen in case it was a reply from Sarina.
It was.
Hi, Judah,
Great! You live in the city, right? How about we meet up for coffee so we can talk and get a date for a photo shoot on the books as well? I assume you keep kosher, so feel free to pick the place and I’ll come to you.
Warmly,
Sarina
In-person meetup? Photo shoot?
For the second time that night, Judah was filled with regrets.
Nothing made Judah’s skin itch like being late, but he was seriously considering it as he peered through the window of the coffee shop where he’d agreed to meet Sarina for the interview.
It felt strange enough going to sit in a nonkosher establishment, but the idea of having a reporter from Noted at a kosher place was a nonstarter; there was no way he wouldn’t see several people he knew, and he really didn’t feel like explaining why everywhere with decent coffee also sold pizza, fries, and sushi.
Sarina was already seated. Though her hair was cut shorter and maybe dyed a little redder than in her photo on the Noted website, it was definitely her, nursing a mug of coffee.
At that moment, she glanced up and saw him watching her through the window, and she let out a little wave.
He took a deep breath and headed inside, head lowered like a bull running right toward a red flag.
“Hi,” he said with a brief smile, bracing himself for the inevitable hand extension.
But either she’d done her research on religious Jews or she wasn’t a handshaker, because all she did was nod and smile back.
He released the breath he’d been holding and slid in across from her.
“Great to meet you.” A strand of hair fell into her face, and she shoved it behind her ear, revealing a line of earrings of all shapes, including a cuff molded into the outline of a dragon.
For a brief moment, another heavily pierced ear popped into his head.
“I meant it when I said I was a huge fan. I don’t even understand most of your songs, but I can’t stop humming along.
Please tell me I’m not secretly saying things like ‘All journalists are idiots’ in Hebrew. ”
“You’re safe,” he assured her with a grin. “They’re usually just lines from the Bible.”
“But you do sing pop songs too, right? I saw that video of you that was apparently a date?”
With some distance from that incredibly awkward evening with Batsheva, he was able to laugh at the memory.
“Yeah, that was quite a night. I do sing in English at events sometimes if I’m hired to.
When I was learning how to play different instruments, I used to watch and listen to as many different things as I could to pick up different styles.
I’ve listened to far more Hendrix than people would guess. ”
“And do you play like Hendrix?” she asked, lifting her coffee to her lips.
“Does anyone?” They both laughed, and Judah felt his shoulders relax a little.
It was perfect timing, since that was when Sarina pulled out a slim black recorder. “Do you want to get anything before we start?”
Judah gestured at the glass of water with a straw in it that was already waiting at his seat. “This is good, thanks.”
“Okay if I record?”
“Sure.”
She pressed the button. “So, Judah Klein: child star, wedding singer, and internet phenom. That’s a pretty fascinating trajectory.”
He laughed. “I don’t know what’s a bigger overstatement—child star or internet phenom. I was one of probably fifteen guys on stage at any given time in Kol Sasson—”
“But you had more solos than any of them,” she pointed out.
“And I’ve been in a couple of videos that went viral. That’s it.”
Her smile twisted into something he couldn’t read. “You’re either incredibly modest or you don’t spend much time on the internet.”
“Well, it’s not door number one,” he said with a self-effacing grin.
“I beg to differ,” Sarina said, looking down at her phone, “but more importantly, do you know that videos of you have been viewed more than twelve million times?”
Judah reached for his water, clutching the glass but not taking a drink. “That doesn’t—”
“And that there are three different BuzzFeed articles about or featuring you?”
He rubbed his thumb into the moisture on the outside of the glass, keeping his gaze on the table. “Haven’t seen those, no.”
“How about that the Kleinatics Facebook group is nearing fifteen thousand members?”
At that, he wrenched his eyes up to meet hers. “What’s a Kleinatic?”
She smiled wide enough to reveal a crooked bottom incisor. “That’s a member of your fandom.”
“My fandom?” Judah felt mildly dizzy. “I, uh, did not, no. That’s … nice.”
“You really didn’t know.”
He shook his head but remembered she was recording and that Lev would kill him if he squandered this opportunity to court said fandom.
“I really did not. But I appreciate that people are interested in my music. The response to my Chanukah album definitely exceeded my expectations, and I just hope I can deliver again.”
“Does this mean you’re looking to hang up your hat as a wedding singer?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Judah replied, although he’d certainly thought it plenty.
It was hard to maintain your joy at chuppah after chuppah when you’d spent years coming to the realization that you might never have your own.
But “weddings feel increasingly like salt in a gaping wound” probably wouldn’t play well with his fans.
Anyway, they were the most reliable part of his livelihood, and they did occasionally come with a bright spot.
Not that he still pictured Arielle Becker’s pleading eyes and teasing smile when she asked him to pretend to be her boyfriend for a night.
He must’ve been easier to read than he thought, because Sarina folded her arms on the table and sized him up with an investigative look in her eye. “You’re single, right?”
Judah winced and immediately regretted it. “I am.”
“How’s that go? A single wedding singer? And it’s pretty common for Orthodox Jews to get married on the younger side, right? How old are you?”
“I’m just fine being single,” he lied, wishing she would get back to music already. “And I’m thirty-two.”
“But you were on a date in that video.” Sarina’s eyes sparkled, as if she had him trapped. “So you date. A lot?”
Judah looked back down at his water, feeling a bit like the ice cubes shrinking by millimeters with every passing second. “I really don’t think Noted readers are interested in my dating life. But I’d love to talk some more about my musical inspirations—”
“Are you kidding? The wedding singer who’s finding fame on the hunt for his own wedding? I think that’s gold. Don’t you?”
He absolutely did not. “You know,” he said instead, “I read some of your articles after you reached out. I loved the deep dive into Rolling Stones cover bands.”
“Ah, that was a fun one. I don’t think my shoes ever fully recovered from the floors of all those dive bars, but there’s not a lot I won’t do for a truly excellent take on ‘Paint It Black.’”
“Love or hate the one by Vanessa Carlton?” Judah asked. He tipped an ice cube into his mouth and rolled it over his tongue.
“Are those the only options?” Sarina’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
“You know they are.”
She nodded, a pleased smile of acquiescence on her lips.
“Love. Love Ciara’s too. It’s a song that feels made to be covered by women.
” The smile dropped as she looked down at her notes.
“You don’t perform with women though, right?
Your choir was all boys. The bands you sing with are all men. You’ve only appeared on albums by men.”
Judah contemplated steering the conversation back to dating; it would probably be easier to discuss than this.
“One of the many laws relating to interactions between men and women in Orthodox Judaism is ‘Kol Isha,’ the prohibition against men listening to women sing,” he said carefully.
“There are certainly famous Jewish women singers, but no, observant men and women generally do not perform together.”
“You listen to Vanessa Carlton though.” Her smile returned, though he had the distinct impression this one was at his expense.
Again, he weighed the response in his head.
It was impossible to explain the way he made his choices, how he decided which of the commandments to give more weight to than others.
It was easy to criticize and say that you shouldn’t “pick and choose,” a favorite phrase of seemingly every single one of his rabbis in yeshiva, but didn’t they all?
Music had been his biggest love for as long as he could remember, his greatest comfort in an unhappy home.
He’d never been able to exclude Stevie Nicks or Amy Winehouse or Whitney Houston from that narrative.
Then again, it had never really felt like it mattered when nothing elicited a response of attraction in him. The fact that he now knew what it was like to be turned on by a throaty laugh or a playful wink made him feel like he should probably reevaluate everything.
“I contain multitudes,” he offered in response, and Sarina laughed, looking a little disarmed.
As if to confirm, she cocked her head and looked him straight in the eye. “You’re surprisingly charming.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “You’re only about … seventy-five percent what I expected.”
“Where does that percentage go if I jump up and start dancing on the table?”
“Back up to eighty-five.”
“You really do have strong journalistic instincts.”
She huffed another laugh, then rested her chin on her fist, scrutinizing him through squinted eyes.
“So, charming, talented, witty, obviously handsome, and on the market. Why are you still single, Judah Klein? And before you get any ideas about me hitting on you, let me be clear that I am happily taken.”
“Noted. No pun intended.” He wrapped his hands around the cold glass and stared down into its depths.
“Just haven’t found the right person, I guess.
” He smiled wryly, not quite meeting her eyes, as an image of Arielle Becker glaring at him filled his mind.
“Not everyone finds me as charming as a happily taken journalist.”
She laughed, tapping a few times on the tape recorder. “Trust me, Judah. They will.”