They parted ways by the energy bar, where Vitamin B drinks were keeping people going as midnight approached. Its bright neon reminded Leah of their glowsticks from the night before. And shirtless Avi, glowing blue under the wave of her light. That first kiss.
She was still saving him that first dance, but the night had already been such a whirlwind. And more amazing than she ever could’ve imagined.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Avi paced in the hallway beyond the salon, drop-tuning and strumming his acoustic guitar absently while waiting for Leah to return with his coffee. He had a miracle to make back on the karaoke stage soon for some lucky winner in gratitude for their donation to Free Arts NYC.
He just hoped they wouldn’t request “True Love For Now,” because he’d hate to disappoint them.
“Shabbat shalom.” A deep voice, the accent British, brought Avi back into the moment. “Didn’t think they let our kind in here.” He felt a bump to his elbow. “Depraved rockers and their great bloody egos.”
Avi laughed. “Good to see you, Riff!” It didn’t matter how many shows he himself had sold out – he was always a front-row fan when he got to meet his own childhood rock idols, every single time. Turned out the upper echelon of the rock and roll iceberg was a small one, and he found himself time and again in the presence of Riff Rottenberg and the rest of his celebrated band on the festival circuit. “First time for everything, right?”
“Quite.” The older rocker chuckled, shaking up his rocks glass. “My wife’s had the Baller on her wish-list for a while now. Easy Hanukkah present, especially since I was off the road.”
Avi couldn’t imagine adhering to the same grueling schedule and siren’s song of the road for as many years as Corroded Corpse had. And now with the Rotten Graves Project, Riff was still going strong. The 80s music machine was built from different metal, for sure.
“If you’re in the city for a while, hit me up. We’ve got a two-week lockout at Dream Depth studio after the new year. Adrian and I are always up for a jam session…injecting some fresh blood into the mix.”
Avi cradled his guitar, nodding with a grin. “Would love that, man. It would be an honor.” They each lifted a hand in farewell.
“Oh,” The wizened rocker turned back with a grin. “And remind me later to tell you about the timeIgot oil-spotted in Argentina. Happens to the best of us!”
“What’s happening?” Leah asked a man hurrying past, careful not to spill Avi’s coffee. The revelers along the route back to the karaoke stage buzzed with heightened energy. Phones lit up the scene and people were waving them around, calling out excitedly to one another.
“It’s a game of Telephone to find the winner of Avi Wolfson’s auctioned set!” He flashed his phone with a popular social media app on screen at her. “We’re looking for Alana Robinson, pass it on!”
Leah practically laughed in the guy’s face. “Oh my God, sorry! But…oh wow. I totally believe in kismet now! I know her…and I know where to find her!”
She rushed into the dessert room, where she had just seen the recipients of her and Jaz’s original Matzo baller tickets, polishing off some very messy but delicious-lookingsufganiyot.Alana and her mother had transformed since their latke frying and serving stint at the JCC’s Latkepalooza, all fancy dresses and shining eyes. “My mother Betsy is here too,” said Jill, who had formally introduced herself by the coffee station. “She scored a ticket from a woman in her Mahj group who couldn’t come. So three generations, on board!”
“I’m Leah, and I am so glad,” she had replied, no longer feeling the need to be Esther Rosenberg.
Now, she prefaced the good news with “You’re not going to believe this…”
It took a moment of convincing them she wasn’t joking and that she had nothing to do with picking the winner…and another moment and about fifty napkins to make sure all sugar and raspberry buttercream had been wiped off their faces.
Alana had practically hiked up her dress and went running to the karaoke room. Betsy, the oldest of the three, took it in stride. “Back in my day, I used to dance on stage with the Grateful Dead while an artist painted the entire thing,” she laughed.
“We each picked three favorite songs, pooled our funds, then bid – never dreaming we’d win,” Jill enthused. “Of course, we put Alana’s name as the winner because middle-aged ladies should not be behaving like fan girls!”
“Oh, you can totally fan-girl,” Leah assured. “He’ll love it.”
Avi was standing at the side of the stage with his guitar tech Tobin and a few other people. His face lit up at the sight of her striding in triumphantly, coffee in hand, and the women flanking her.
“Spitting image…” Jill breathed, laying eyes on Avi. “But I had been hoping for the leather pants.”
Leah laughed. “If you can raise the funds, I bet he’d donate a leather pants performance at next year’s Latkepalooza.”
“Can I hug you?” Alana squeaked, and Avi opened his arms. “Youaretall enough to be the real Avi.” She squeezed himextra tight. Avi threw an amused look over her shoulder at Leah, quizzical.
“Later,” she mouthed back.
Avi posed for a few photos with all three together and separate, slugged the coffee and then rubbed his hands together. “Alright, ladies. Lay it on me. What’s first?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They 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.’”
