Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
T hey had come a long way since the Battle of the Bands. Leah was mesmerized as Avi greeted the crowd and said a little bit about the evening’s chosen charity, which provided arts programs to kids in New York’s underserved communities. All eyes were on him as he leaned a little sideways into the microphone, tilting his head so he could see the Robinson women as he announced, “A little Neil Young and Crazy Horse, ladies and gents.” His eyes flicked to Leah as he added “‘Cinnamon Girl.’”
Her whole body felt electrified, despite the song being a stripped down, solo acoustic version. Or maybe it was due to that. Just Avi, and what he knew to do with tightly-wound strings. And lyrics, channeling deeper meaning when his lips formed them.
Slowed down, deliberate.
His eyes were having a whole side conversation with her, it seemed.
She had vowed not to get caught in his traffic jam, had spent fourteen years thinking about him in a singular way. And now?
It felt like he was suggesting a whole other story entirely.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it. She swayed to the music, and decided to just let it carry her, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment.
Avi knew he should be working the entire crowd. Following the advice every mentor gave him. Hell, even Cantor Joel and his father played to the back of the room. Or sanctuary, in their case. But he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Leah as his fingers formed bar chords and his lips sang about her.
Of course it was about her. The song had been in his head from the moment he strapped on his seatbelt with one sock sopping wet and his ego bruised. Just dumb luck that Betsy had asked for any Neil Young track as her song choice.
Luck. Or kismet. Or, dare he say, bashert ?
He almost flubbed a lyric, about to say trapped in a car with a cinnamon girl before his brain snapped him out of it. Okay, Wolfson. Focus .
The crowd didn’t seem to notice or care, they were enraptured and camera flashes were popping off from every direction.
Leah did him a favor, closing her eyes and just letting him play. He let the music pour out, finishing the song to thundering applause.
Jill’s cover choice, he realized, was fittingly perfect as well, as he began forming easy bar chords and Billy Joel’s “You’re My Home” filled the space with melody and meaning.
Now came Alana’s request. The three generations of winners in front all looked hopeful, excited and ready. Riff was watching side-stage with his wife. And Jay stood in the crowd with his assistant, Rebecca – palpable energy zinging between the both of them. He’d raised good money for their auction, and now it was time to pay the piper. Let’s do this .
“Thank you everyone, and thanks again to our generous donors here, right in the front row.” He gazed down at the women, and pulled a few guitar picks from the small holder on the back of his guitar’s headstock and handed them down. “Happy Hanukkah to my big Baller family,” he added, which got a laugh.
“I don’t play this one live all that much, but it’s dear to my heart and the two people I wrote it for will always be, too. It’s about finding your inner diamond. Tonight, it goes out to Alana in the front row.”
The girl swooned back, pressing her hands to her chest, and then made heart hands as her mother and grandmother held her by her shoulders, fussing as Jewish mothers usually do.
Jewish aunts, too.
He’d been left by the two most important women in his life by the age of nineteen – talk about attachment and abandonment issues. The song for his mom and aunt had never reached the charts, and Avi was okay with that. And he loved that it had been adopted as a fight song by many girls, maybe even like Alana down in front.
Tonight, he played it for the back of the room.
Avi’s last song was beautiful, about a girl being like a diamond, who could not be broken. Leah sensed by the shift in Avi’s energy that the song held a very personal note.
How could she already be so attuned? Was spending upwards of fifty hours in someone’s presence non-stop a crash course in their emotional temperature?
He ended the song, holding the last note and something else, a faraway look in his eye. So many in the crowd had been filming on their phone, capturing Avi from every angle. So many mini-mirrors, throwing his broken pieces and his art back at him. Perhaps what he had been trying to say, back in poor broken-down Bertha, was that he really didn’t need Sylvie to do that for him anymore.
Avi was mobbed after the set, so she took the time to hit the ladies’ room and check her phone. Her BFF was the coolest, taking it in stride that Leah had managed to totally mangle most of her promo strategy.
Jasmine
We are official: Mahjong Muses! Check out socials! I’m still using #giftofthemahj to keep things cohesive.
She smiled, thinking about all the press outside when Avi debuted their T-shirt line. Social media would work its magic. In came a text from her dad. Three messages, actually:
One, did you read a good book?
Two, did you make a new friend?
And three, did you have a grand adventure?
She smiled, placing hearts on them all.