Chapter Seven
A rtur’s marbles had just been shot out of position, colliding with each other as he tried to focus on the most important item of the evening: business. He needed to help the mayor placate the Cohens, not let his concentration waver.
Not to mention, the mayor was perfectly capable of doing her job and didn’t need him watching over her like a mother hen. Not trying to see if she was nervous, not trying to make silly comments to take her mind off of whatever was…swirling inside there.
And definitely not thinking about what she looked like in his jacket.
Which she wasn’t wearing.
Better to focus on the five-second reunion with Peter Cohen, who did remember him from Comic Con and insisted on posing in front of the Chris Emerson signed jersey he’d gotten during an Empire Bridge charity event a few weeks later.
While he was holding a babka.
“But I don’t want to completely derail the evening,” Peter said after catching his wife’s expression. “Go sit, dinner will be ready in a minute.”
And it smelled fantastic.
“I have,” he said, as he stopped awkwardly by Jennifer on the way to the table, “a babka that I’ve brought.”
“Oh great.” Jennifer paused, looking at the babka in his hand as if it was radioactive. “Thank you so much.”
Her lips were pursed, and he could read the strained politeness that radiated from her.
And then he remembered.
Kosher.
She didn’t know it was kosher. Parve.
“I brought it from Geirowitz’s in Rivertown,” he replied, giving an explanation she didn’t ask for, but needed nonetheless. “They just started selling products in store that aren’t meat.”
“Oh yes,” Jennifer replied visibly relieved. “I love their meat and I really love that they’re expanding their repertoire. I’ve been meaning to try Moshe’s wife’s baking.”
“It’s good,” he said, glad she got the message. “One of my best friends swears by them, and I swear by this.”
“Good,” she said, and as she spoke, he could see the invisible tick mark going up on his side.
Meanwhile, the mayor had just emerged from the bathroom, looking radiant, nodding with approval Artur couldn’t help but feel inside of him.
*
Liv had returned to the room just in time to see Artur pass the babka off to Jennifer without incident, which was a relief.
So was the dinner; it was relaxed, with good food and great conversation.
Until the break between the salad and the main dish, where Jennifer took a long drink of her wine and looked between her and Artur. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve invited you both here.”
Artur looked at her, carefully, and didn’t say anything.
Which was smart; she wouldn’t have either.
“Smart man,” Peter said with a laugh. “Man’s probably busy enjoying the break before we dive into the delicious dinner I’ve made.”
“Tomorrow night is the meeting,” Jennifer continued, gesturing toward her husband, who nodded before leaving, presumably to get the main course. “I need the two of you to reassure me that we’re not going to end up in a public fight over something that is supposed to bring both pride and joy to the community and the town.”
And this is what Jennifer was worried about.
She didn’t want a bloodbath in town hall. She didn’t want the connection she’d offered with the Empires, her son’s team, to be shattered and broken before the people who’d been chosen to mend the fences had even had a chance to start.
“It’s in nobody’s best interest to come searching for a fight,” Livvy said, after taking a moment to formulate a statement. “Especially if the idea is to be working together and creating something big.”
“But it’s got to be important to defend the team you represent?”
This last came from Peter as he put the cutting board filled with perfectly cut slices of London broil down on the center of the table. Liv could barely concentrate but she knew the question he’d asked was directed at Artur. Of course, she had no idea what he was going to say; at least he was too focused on dinner to respond immediately.
That, or more likely Peter’s words were swirling around Artur’s head as he took in the amazing smell of the dinner to come. Because as she spent time with the man, she was starting to realize that he was censoring himself.
She wondered what he’d say if he didn’t think about it first.
“I wouldn’t be here,” he finally said, “if the team’s representative hadn’t screwed up enough where they needed someone to fix the mess. I’m here to fix the mess, not defend the team or its employees.”
Which by this point didn’t surprise her. He’d talked about marinara and lattes before; he was just confirming he was ready to take whatever the town threw at him.
“I’m glad you’re here to fix what was broken,” she began before turning to the Cohens, trying not to catch a glimpse of whatever expression had perched on Artur’s face. “We’ve had some interesting conversations over the past few days, and I want to make sure you know he has my support.”
Jennifer nodded, and the relief was clear in her shoulders and the look on her face. “I’m glad you think so, Mayor…Liv. Things have been difficult over this, and I want to make sure they’re going to be smoother moving forward.”
“I think this situation is not as dire as you think it is.”
“Which is a good thing too.” Jennifer looked back and forth as she served herself some slices of meat. “It’s a dicey business when the community finds itself at odds with the rest of the town.”
Liv understood the concerns. The Jewish community in a small town was a community of its own, and its relations with the larger community could go from good to bad in seconds. Especially over an event that wasn’t the easiest to organize, or even persuade the town to have.
“Thankfully,” Liv replied. “For everybody’s sake, as large as things have gotten, it’s mostly an intra-community dispute. Most of the problems stem from the content, not the subject of the event.”
Now she caught a glimpse of Artur’s expression, in the slight lift of his eyebrows. “No opportunistic locusts with beards coming to plant decorated trees where they don’t belong?”
Liv bit her lip to keep from laughing.
But now she understood.
This was why Artur censored himself; if he didn’t think, didn’t rephrase what he was going to say before he let it out, this was what would come out. Glib and descriptive sentences that mixed metaphors better than the original and bypassed rules that suddenly didn’t apply.
His uncensored dialogue lit up a conversation brighter than a shammash and struck right at the center of a point.
If someone was willing to unravel the web his words wove.
But she knew.
She understood.
And she was about to respond when the man himself shook his head, a slight blush on his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m glad this dispute over content hasn’t been hijacked by those with concerns over subject matter.”
“No,” Liv said, rushing in to keep the conversation on an even keel. “People have been pretty good. But my guess is that it’s not all altruistic. The residents see Hollowville and Rivertown with successful Hanukkah events, and as much as Briarwood residents would like to think they’re not influenced by any of the other towns in the Hudson Valley, they’re influenced by the popularity of their events. They want a piece of the gelt themselves.”
“Good.” Peter nodded, satisfied, which made Liv sigh in relief. But she couldn’t help but notice the smile that appeared on Artur’s face for a brief second before it was erased, as if it had never been there.
*
Artur stood up and walked the length of the dining room toward the place where their hosts had decided to set up the coffee and dessert before heading off to…
Prepare.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them.
Blintzes.
Sweet dessert blintzes made parve without sour cream, placed just next to the babka.
His fingers twitched, reaching for the sour cream he usually carried with him. The worst time to reveal a culinary obsession was absolutely when someone you wanted to make a good professional impression on was watching you, so he shoved his fingers in his pocket, hoping nobody would notice.
Thankfully, there was no sour cream in his pocket; after learning the Cohens kept a kosher home, he’d left the tubes in his car, locked in that special fridge Jacob and Abe had gotten him.
And yet what he wouldn’t give for a mouthful.
“Hey.”
The mayor’s voice ripped through his concentration; suddenly his concerns about the food were gone, suddenly his focus was on her. And whether it was the light or the concern in her expression, he could barely gather enough words together to speak. “Yes?”
“Can we talk?”
There were a billion things she could possibly want to discuss, and hopefully none of them had to do with condiments or sports cars.
And other more personal items.
Business. Business.
“Sure,” he said. “But at the same time—” he gestured toward the hallway where their hosts had vanished earlier “—is it not a good time?”
“I think they’re prepping a bit longer for dessert to make sure we do, you know, talk.”
“Like they think we need help getting on the same page or something?”
She nodded, and he wondered why she was blushing. But all the same, he let her lead him to a closed porch area, then waited as she turned toward him. “You had a look on your face.”
Did she see his expression when he saw the dessert table? He shoved the concern down his throat, raising an eyebrow and going for as nonchalant as he could manage. “What look? It’s my face.”
“No,” she said, a tinge of laughter broadening her tone. “I’ve seen your face before. That was a look.”
Right. Okay. She saw something. He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
Confusion and a little bit of…not full surprise, but something he couldn’t define emerged from the depths of her eyes. “You went from denying it was a look to saying it was nothing. Can’t be nothing.”
“I’ll tell you later,” he said, hoping she’d forget it but knowing she’d be like a counter-surfing dog who just scented the dinner leftovers within her reach.