Chapter Twelve
L iv took a quick look at the clock as she stood in the hallway just outside the auditorium. The force of conviction in Artur’s voice alone was enough to make her want to do things to him.
None of those things were appropriate to think about; all of them could derail her life before she got started.
Not everybody was Jerry McManus and yet Artur was…
Artur Rabinovitch was good at his job.
He was also smart enough to be able to bypass the wall of her concerns and force her to remember the thoughts she’d had before Burton Squires’ email had arrived.
That? Made her weak in the knees.
No.
She was a professional woman, an elected official, prepared to leave one elected post for another. She couldn’t be derailed by the way someone’s sense of professional responsibility made her feel.
Resolute and clear, she signaled behind her and headed toward the stage. She didn’t turn to see whether he was behind her; hearing his footsteps against the tile floor was enough.
After she walked through the curtain, she sat behind the table and podium that had been prepared for her and Artur’s use. Microphones, pads, pens were all prepared.
On the front of the podium was the village seal. Reminding her what her purpose was.
Disciplined by a symbol, she shoved her feelings aside and turned her attention toward the documents in front of her. Everything was ready to go, and in usual Briarwood fashion, the list of people wanting to speak at this meeting had grown since she last saw it. Even flipping through the stapled pages was an exercise in anxiety.
But Artur sat next to her, ready for target practice. If he was ready to make something out of this, she needed to be as well.
“Hello and good evening, everyone,” Liv began. “I want to thank you all for coming to tonight’s special session. Mr. Artur Rabinovitch is here to listen to all of your concerns. All I ask is that you voice them in an orderly fashion as we call you to the microphone. I now turn the microphone over to him.”
She watched him, doing her best to be mayoral or political or something professional, but failed miserably. The man looked too good in a suit, and wrapped as he was in the kind of conviction that appealed to her sense of justice made him impossible to resist.
“I want to thank Mayor Nachman and every single resident of Briarwood who came tonight and those who sent their concerns in by email or by petition,” he said amidst the total silence in the auditorium. “I’m looking forward to listening to your concerns and then helping you create and build an event you can be proud of.”
He paused, and she wondered as if he was allowing his words to sink in.
“Remember. Every single concern, no matter how small you think it may be, is welcome tonight. If something is important to you, it is important to the future of the event. We want a success, and an event won’t succeed without your support.”
“I want to make one quick note,” Liv added after he stopped speaking. “I don’t believe any direct questions need answers tonight amongst the comments we hear or have received.”
The room started to rumble, but Liv was clear. “If there are questions that do arise, Mr. Rabinovitch can answer the questions that are within his purview, and at his discretion.”
The rumbles continued and she turned toward Artur. The raised eyebrow was the only sign of his reaction; she didn’t think she’d gone too far, but it was clear both he and the residents did.
“Comments are the priority,” she said, attempting to clarify her own comments and defuse the tension that seemed to rise up around them. “Questions should come later but we’ll talk about it if they come up. The goal of this meeting is to figure out what you think is wrong and what has gone wrong, so we can make an honest attempt at fixing what broke.”
“More importantly,” Artur said, as if he’d felt the break in the moment, “I want to make it clear that our interest is in creating something that will do Briarwood proud.”
Do Briarwood proud.
His sense of justice was going to send her into sensory overdrive. Every single time he spoke about the event, he made it clear that it wasn’t the team he was protecting or assisting.
It was the town.
Not only that, but he was making it clear that the town and its residents deserved better than what they’d been given. And that it was his job to help make sure they got better.
If nothing else, that was going to be her undoing, and before she could analyze his words yet again, she reminded herself she had a job to do.
“Now, let the meeting proceed.”
And with a bang of her gavel, that’s just what happened.
*
Artur decided it would be easier if he broke down the comments into categories, and halfway through the first part of the meeting, he’d gotten into a system.
The first few comments were concerns about lettering on signs and spelling.
“I saw three dreidl graphics that had been placed on the PowerPoint,” said one concerned resident, “and if this organization is sponsoring a dreidl sculpture for the town, I would be very concerned about how it’s going to end up looking. Those graphics had the wrong letters on a few different sides, none of which could potentially be on a dreidl.”
The next comments were about the proposed set of food items to be sold and served.
“Could you even have a Hanukkah festival without the traditional foods?” one resident wondered.
“Not even one drop of oil can be found anywhere in this proposed menu!” complained another. “It is SACRILEGE.”
Three other people spoke specifically about some of the events planned. “We don’t hunt gelt,” said one annoyed man as he adjusted his glasses. “The only things we hunt are chametz before Passover and the afikomen during Passover. Where are the dreidls? Where are our customs ?”
“Dreidls are probably spelled wrong,” yelled one of the residents who’d complained about the lettering earlier in the meeting, “and confusing everybody.”
Spelling was important, so were dreidls. He wrote a few notes and then let things continue.
“What bothers me,” said the next resident, “is the disrespect on top of everything else. Not every Jew in Briarwood observes Shabbat the same way; heck some even go to the congregation in Rivertown because it’s got more Hebrew in the service, and they read Torah on Friday nights, and others go to Hollowville because they love the music and the choir. Who knows why people go to different synagogues? But we all respect the way the others observe. That does not include staging an event that CONFLICTS with services ON THE TEMPLE GROUNDS. That’s not us. That’s not Briarwood.”
Artur nodded, remembered the idea he’d floated of a stage set up by the sculpture in the center of town, and took notes to see how he could make that happen.
But as the night went on, the temperature of the responders went up. More and more people were angry and felt free to express that anger. Which was both a good and a bad thing.
Good because they were comfortable and felt that their anger could be both heard and understood. Bad? The fact that they were this angry made him realize that nothing he could have done would have prepared him for how badly Flaire had messed everything up.
He also firmly believed that what saved him and kept him here was his intention to let the population speak and genuinely listen. With a generous assist from his lack of desire to defend anything Flaire had done, his Judaism, and his years in Rivertown. Without any of those, he’d be a melted marshmallow on a smore of anger.
And yet there were still more comments coming.
Thankfully, he’d gotten inspired.
He scribbled a quick note, and passed it to the mayor. He felt like a little kid in school, passing notes to the teacher.
And yet it couldn’t be helped.
She unfolded the paper and nodded.
“Ten-minute recess,” Liv…Mayor Nachman said before banging the gavel authoritatively.
Which was exactly when he wanted. He nodded to the audience, stood, and followed Liv out of the room.
*
A recess.
What was going through his mind as he called for a recess?
Liv had absolutely no idea what was going on as they left the stage and walked into the backstage hallway; the man was a mystery. Which meant she had to actually ask the question. “You called for the break,” she said as she stopped in front of the bank of lockers. “What’s up?”
“Give me a second,” he replied, throwing up his hand, palm out.
“Okay,” she said.
He closed his eyes, as if he was gathering his thoughts.
Liv nodded, took a deep breath. Her anxiety, her concern wasn’t meant to be his issue and she wasn’t going to break the silence he clearly needed.
When he opened his eyes, the focus she saw almost scared her. “I think we’re going to need a second meeting.”
What?
Why?
But letting the thoughts run through and around her brain like mice in a maze wasn’t going to do her any good. She had to use her words. “What’s your reasoning here?”
“It’s very obvious that the temperature of the meeting has gotten closer to boiling as we continued on,” he began.
“Which means we need to stop. I don’t want angry pitchforks.”
“And,” he said with a smile that melted her knees, “I’ve already decided I don’t want to feel like the inside of a smore.”
“So we’re in agreement,” she said as she prepared to head back through the door to the stage.
“No,” he said, before she felt his fingers close around her wrist. “Wait…”
She stopped and turned as quickly as she could toward him. “Waiting. What’s going on?”
“They’re going to need to let this all out before they can give productive suggestions,” he said. “And we’ve already told them we’re looking for their suggestions.”
“Okay…?”
He looked at her, as if he believed she’d lost her mind.
“What did you think this was going to be? Did you believe me when I said I’d let myself be covered in lattes or tomatoes or anything?”
“I expected you’d deliver some kind of alternative plan. I mean you were talking already about the stage set up by the sculpture…”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I mean yes I had ideas, and I’m continuing to have ideas. But I can’t deliver an alternative project for a bunch of different reasons, the first of which is that you can’t randomly come into a place and assume you know what the people want.”
“You can’t,” she said, nodding her head before looking back up at him. “You’re right. But then why a second meeting?”
“Let them talk today,” he replied. “Then let them step away long enough to give us the constructive suggestions that we can use as a basis to create something that will make them happy.”
“So, you’re making them plan this event?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m asking their opinion as to what they want. Nobody’s coming to a festival or event or exhibition where they have no part in it. They want hands and hearts and voices in it, not some random thing made by and for someone who is not them.”
She nodded. “I like this,” she said. “They’ll let out some steam and then make suggestions, and then we’ll use the suggestions to plan the event as best we can.”
“Exactly,” he said, and the breath she let out sounded like the end of a hot-air balloon.
“Okay then. We go back out there, let them finish the list, before setting a date for another meeting.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “I like this plan.”
“Also,” she said, deciding to push things a little. “You and I need to strategize and figure out things and the comments before we take any strategic steps.”
“Before the next meeting,” he asked, “or just as a postgame?”
“Postgame. I want to make sure you and I are on the same page.”
He nodded. “Good thing. No strategic steps, no outside voices, until we’ve settled the game plan. When do you want to have this postgame?”
The words flew out of her mouth before she could think about their impact. “Tomorrow morning at Greenblatt’s?”
The seconds she waited for his response extended way too long for her sake. But his answer was simple.
“Yes,” he said. “I need breakfast knishes in my life.”
“I’m glad to hear,” she said, grinning. And as she walked back toward the meeting room, she took his hand in hers.
It felt as if they were ready to conquer anything.
Together.