Chapter 1
Chapter One
T welve hours earlier
If Avi had to sit on the tour bus one minute longer, he was going to lose his damn mind.
“This is ridiculous. The hotel door is right there.”
He could see it through the tinted bus window – there was even a ridiculous red carpet leading up to it from the curb they were currently parked against. It would take him twenty paces at most. Fifteen if he was quick about it.
“Security says we wait. So we wait.” Buck put on his tour manager’s face, which meant swapping out his usual bulldog scowl for a deeper grimace and an accusing eyebrow in Avi’s direction. “Not my fault you couldn’t keep it in your pants in Vegas.”
The entourage in the seats behind him – band and crew totaling twelve – erupted in laughter.
“The joke is getting stale now, guys. Enough already.”
“That’s what she said!” Paul roared.
Leave it to the drummer to throw a rimshot. Avi hated them all at that moment, hated that he had ever wanted to be in a band in the first place. Fame and fortune could suck it.
Careful what you wish for, Avigdor.
He had barely spoken to his father in seven years. The man had a lot of nerve to try and take up precious real estate in Avi’s brain.
“We got you, bro.” Vic, the ever-steady backbone of the band as bassist, also tended to be the peacekeeper on tour. “Buck, let us be the sacrificial lambs…decoys for the big bad Wolf.” Jordy and Nate nodded in agreement, already grabbing their bags.
Lambs…ha. More like wolves in sheep’s clothing. The twin musicians shared more than just DNA. Each had a girl or two between them in just about every port. And the road crew was just as bad, dangling afterparty passes like carrots to the hangers-on backstage.
At least Vic, as the only married one in the bunch, knew just how far he could let his ego be stroked before the groupies started reaching for other parts of him. Then, like Avi, he’d make himself scarce.
“Alright, alright. Vic, you’re the welcome committee. You and you. Stay out of the bar.” Nate and Jordy saluted Buck. “Paul, check everyone in.”
Magic words. The motley assortment of road crew leaped to their feet behind the band and also flooded the aisle. No doubt eager to find a real bathroom or a real cup of coffee inside the hotel. Avi was dreaming of an actual bed, not a bunk coffin. A door that locked instead of a curtain. After three long months on the road, he wanted to look out a window and not see –
“Wolfson. You stay.”
Fuck.
He accepted the fist-bumps of consolation from the sound and lighting guys and met the high-five of his guitar tech, Tobin, as each man passed him on their way to freedom.
It’s four-thirty on a weekday afternoon in a working-class Ohio city. Who the hell would be hanging out in the cold for hours just waiting for a glimpse?
A high-pitched shriek set off aftershocks from all directions. In front of the bus, behind it. Fists pounded on the street side of the bus. Joe, their driver, knew the drill. Pulling the lever to slam the door shut behind the ass of the last crew member, he sealed himself in with the other two people left on board: Avi and Buck.
Vic availed himself to the sea of girls, arms outstretched. He tolerated the hugs, the caresses, the tugs on his hair and shouts in his ear, to give everyone else passage unscathed. Avi watched from the safety of the tinted glass as his bandmate was sucked into the undertow, and the crowd undulated like a wave toward the bus once more.
And that’s what they do to the happily married one.
He touched the ring under his shirt like a talisman. The “it” that he couldn’t keep in his pants (pocket) in Vegas two months ago now hung safely on a chain, heavy and warm, next to his skin.
Buck checked his phone. “Security’s on its way. Three guys, five minutes out.”
Avi’s own phone bleated repeatedly from the back pocket of his jeans. It was either the rest of the band, heckling from the five-star paradise of minibars, mini-soaps, and oversized robes…or his Jew Crew back in New York. Five minutes was enough time to check.
Jonah
NO SLEEP TILL brOOKLYN!!!!!!!
Jonah had kicked off the chat in all caps, followed by a flurry of half-emoji, half-word replies from the girls. And Jay’s zero punctuation, all sarcasm one-liners.
Nora
3 sleeps till we’re on the boat!! (heart eyes boat jewish star dance lady)
Libby
Happy almost-Hanukkah - can’t wait to squeeze you all!! (hug hug hug dance lady)
Jay
Pier 83 dude can’t just steer the boat over to pick your ass up in bklyn
Talia
OMG Jonah can you stop at Shelsky’s for me? I have a list! (Food emojis, fish)
Jonah
IT’S A SONG, PEOPLE!!!! Beasties? (Avi help me out here)
Avi bit back a smile. For a moment, he wanted to just crawl into his phone and live amongst the back-and-forth banter that had defined their friendships since the moment they all boarded a plane for their gap year in Israel nine years ago.
Talia
Avi are you in OH yet? (Music note music note heart)
Jonah
HELLO CLEVELAND!!!
THAT’S ANOTHER MUSIC REFERENCE, BTW. (I know he’s not playing Cleveland this tour) IFKYK.
Norah
We miss your face, A! (hearthands kissy-face devil horns)
Jay
Check in when you can bro favor to ask
U2 Eli i know you lurk
Jonah
ACHTUNG BABY!!!!!
Sylvie has left the chat
“You ready, Wolf?”
Buck and a guy twice his size were staring him down. Avi zippered his phone inside his rucksack, wondering if there was a way to zip his mixed emotions up just as neatly.
“I’ll carry that for you, sir.”
The oversized pack looked like a doll’s purse on the security guard’s shoulder. The men did an awkward shuffle between seats and aisle so that Buck was positioned in front of Avi and the big guy behind him. As promised, two others were stationed shoulder-to-shoulder at the bus door. No one was getting through them; they were like the Hoover Dam of bodyguards.
Avi knew the drill to hunch down and use Buck as his seeing-eye dog – he’d been doing it ever since Vegas, after the news had somehow leaked.
SINGER SINGLE!
No…for now.
Painted Doors frontman’s proposal goes awry!
He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and stepped into the fray.
“I’m never going to remember all this. Are you sure you can’t come with?”
Leah Gellman willed herself not to have a panic attack, not with trays of steaming latkes in both oven-mitted hands.
Jasmine leaned against her kitchen counter and rubbed her baby bump, frowning. “No dice, babes. This little kreplach is wreaking havoc. I would puke in the car, and I would most certainly puke on the boat.”
“She’d puke in a bar, and she’d puke in a moat.” Leah’s brother sat at the kitchen island, tapping his pencil against the unruly mustache he had been cultivating since Movember. “Keep going, hon’. This might be it!”
“There are no moats in Manhattan, Seuss.” Leah set down the pans to cool and turned to her best friend. “You sure you want to create little humans with this moron?”
Lucas, in between projects as a children’s book illustrator, had been trying to come up with a story idea of his own for their firstborn-to-be. Pencil hit sketchbook again.
“She’d puke in town, she’d puke in a gown.”
Jaz bit back a grimace at her husband’s prompt. Her normally flawless, golden complexion did have a hint of patina, Leah noticed. “I’m so sad to miss the Matzo Baller cruise. And all that networking.”
“But you’re supposed to be the suit! I was just supposed to be the cute.” Leah pouted. Then scowled, realizing she was now talking in rhyme like her brother. “There to be artsy and aloof. And to scarf down all the legendary food on board.”
“Letty, you’ll be fine . It’s fine .” Jasmine fanned herself with her Baby Names for Jewish Children book. “Is it hot in here? Let’s practice the pitch again.”
Leah took a deep breath. “An American Jew and an Asian Canadian walk into a bar. No, this is not the start of a bad joke, it’s the start of an amazing friendship. And it wasn’t really a bar; it was a dorm room in Chicago, freshman year of college. On paper, the girls couldn’t have been more different. Country mouse, city mouse. Art major, Business major.”
Jaz grinned, prompting with the baby name book for more.
“Night owl, early bird. They didn’t say much more than hello to each other that first week of school. Until…”
“… Mahjong !” Lucas boomed.
“…until they both realized they had each brought Mahjong sets, inherited from their respective grandmothers, with them to school.”
“Goosebumps!” Jasmine trilled, dropping her book. “So fast forward four years!” Lost in the moment, she continued the pitch where Leah had left off, a mile a minute.
“The girls had not only found something to talk to each other about, they haven’t shut up since. They started Kibbitz & Kong, a program connecting older Asian and Jewish adults to combat senior isolation. They also founded the school’s Mahjong social club, a hundred students strong. The Art major realized she had a head for numbers, and the Business major unleashed her inner art goddess and began to paint beautifully intricate designs for modern Mahj. Bespoke tiles, mats, bags, sets, and even a clothing line! After raising eighteen grand in a friends and family seed round, the two best friends are ready to launch – ”
With one hand to her mouth and the other pointing her index finger up, she ran to the bathroom.
“Still no name?” Lucas asked, scrubbing his eraser back and forth.
Leah picked up the Hebrew baby name book and flipped through it. She couldn’t imagine how two people could ever decide on a first and middle name for a child – meaningful yet melodic, complimenting a surname – and not maim each other in the process. At least it was okay if there was more than one Jacob Benjamin or Sarah Rebecca in the world, or town, or Saturday school class. And you had nine months in which to make the ultimate decision.
But a business? Much higher stakes. You had to stand out, and you certainly didn’t want to be sued for any sort of trademark infringement. All the good (and some of the not-so-good) names she and Jaz had dreamed up were already taken.
“Getting there.”
Maybe New York would provide the perfect inspiration. But getting there?
Now, she was going solo. Without her wing woman. Jaz had better navigation sense, not to mention the better car. Now Leah had to rely on GPS and luck. And her dad’s ancient Subaru. With its “I Honk for Hamentashen” bumper sticker.
“Sorry about that.” Jasmine was back, chugging from a water bottle. “Look. You’ve got the eight Mahjong sets to distribute to our list of movers and shakers. They’ll basically build our press kit, organically creating a buzz by the time you board the ship. Then you stick to the script, smile a lot, and, if worse comes to worst, text me. If someone asks about ROI, KPI, or Initial Valuations, get their email addy, and I will handle it. Investors can be interested, even with some uncertainty. It’s more art than science. And you know art better than anyone.”
“Except for me.” Lucas raised his pencil hand. “Hello? Caldecott Honoree.”
Leah snorted. “Luckily, humility runs in our family too.” She hugged them both. “Thanks for letting me use your oven for warm-up.” If she had had to rely just on her tiny range in her downstairs apartment, it would’ve taken her all eight days to heat them.
“See you at Dad’s tonight? Spoiler alert: there will be latkes.”