“That one may just be my favorite.” A soft voice broke through her reverie. Another passenger had wandered in. Her hair was as golden honey as Leah’s was dark; glossy and practically down to her waist. Leah got the feeling no chemical or flat-iron had ever had the need to touch it, it was so straight. “Yet I kind of hate it, too.” Her laugh was like a shimmering bell she silenced with a sip of her drink.
Leah turned back to the photo, labeled simply“VEGAS,”and nodded her head in agreement. “He’s like…the embodiment of someone who might drive you a little mad, but in the most fascinating, magnetic way possible.”
“Spoken like a true artist.” The woman raised her glass and toasted Leah’s airspace, a smile playing on her lips. “And if you haven’t tried the Hanukkah-lada yet, it’s divine.”
She offered up her glass. Leah automatically demurred, but the woman held it, and her gaze, until she caved. Notes of passionfruit sang through, despite the heavy slug of alcohol. “Thatisgood. I’ll have to find one of my own. Is this your first Matzo Baller?”
“Nah, I’m a lifer. You?”
Leah couldn’t imagine this woman wearing a Baller for Life sweater; she looked allergic to the notion of sequins. Under an oversize cashmere wrap, her top was layers of silk in the lightest blush color, draped in a crisscross pattern with deliberate, delicate ragged hems that covered the top of her thin thighs. Her leggings were ribbed pinstripes of black and rose, tucked into tiny creeper combat boots. She looked artsy, cool and casual, yet right at home on the boat.
“Maiden voyage.” Leah laughed at herself. “Can you tell?”
Talia’s dress hugged her in the right places and hid sins in others, and its shimmering sea colors made her feel like a couture mermaid. Nora had coaxed her curls into a loose braid that wound glamorously over one bare shoulder, and had accentuated her best features – eyes and cheekbones – with a natural smoky glow. The tell-tale red bottoms of Libby’s shoes intimidated her a bit, but were surprisingly comfortable.
“You look ready for anything that comes your way.”
It was an interesting compliment, to say the least.
“Flying solo?”
“I came with a guy but…it’s complicated.” Now that all the driving and rushing was behind her, it felt good to confess this to someone, be it a perfect stranger. “I knew him when we were young but…he’s not the guy I thought he was.”
Her admission was met with a knowing nod. “I know a guy, he’s like that, too.”
Meet me on the main deck?
Ah right, she and Avi could text each other now. How novel.
On my way.
Shouts and cheers floated through the gallery from the bar. “Drink up, Matzo Ballers!” the voice sounded like Avi’s friend Jay’s, but she couldn’t be sure. “Candle lighting in five minutes!”
“You’d better go get a good spot, you won’t want to miss that.” The woman smiled. “It’s pretty magical.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Avi watched as people poured on to the deck from every doorway, crack and crevice.
Would he recognize her if he saw her?
And because his brain liked to play devil’s advocate, it mockedWho? Leah? Or Sylvie?
He hadn’t seen Sylvie in two months. The sound, shape, and movements of her, however, were encoded deep in his neural pathways like a habit, formed and reinforced over time.
Sylvie knew every inch of this boat, having taken photos from just about every angle. Some years, he barely saw her all evening, only to find she’d captured every moment of joy, drama, celebration and excess that was uniquely on brand for the Baller – eight hours distilled into a carefully curated collection that she added to her growing portfolio.
Other years, she made herself available in every way – fully present. Camera forgotten. Or, at least, rigged on some hidden tripod and trigger remote so she could be a part of the photographic proof by night’s end.
Which Sylvie was on board tonight?
His senses lit up like a slot machine as his gaze caught something familiar flitting around the outskirts of the crowd. Nowonder Vegas had been such a trigger for him. Sylvie herself was like that elusive jackpot you kept trying for, even after you’ve been left high and dry and busted, time and again.
She had her camera in hand, but she hadn’t seen him yet. He watched as she paused, lifting the lens in contemplation. Whatever shot she took, she took a quick look at the screen before continuing. Avi had always loved to watch her work – she was practically a work of art herself, a pose catching a pose. She was at her most peaceful and grounded.
“Stop with the photos, Syl. Come here, I want to ask you something.”
“One more…just against that headboard. Move your foot. No, closer not away.”
