“Two more idiots to go,” Kara had crowed happily, after last year’s blockbuster. “Then it’s all eyes on Vanta, baby.”
The movie Tzipi’s seatmate watched was this year’s release, another idiot down. And so now only one – in the movie they had just wrapped – was the last to go. She was so happy for Kara. But she didn’t envy that life one bit.
“Snack?” The basket was offered to one side of the aisle, then bobbed toward Tzipi’s row. “No limit.”
And no doubt, anything left would be tossed into an incinerator due to hygiene policies.
“I’ll take some of those artisan cheese crisps,” her seatmate said, eyes flicking briefly off his screen. “And a LÄRABAR.”
Tzipi took hold of the entire basket and dumped the contents into her Neverfull bag between her feet. She might not be able to change the system up here, but she could rescue as many snacks as possible from the abyss. “Thank you,” she said sweetly, handing the empty basket back to the shocked stewardess.
She tossed the requested bag of crisps to her seatmate, but kept the energy bar for herself. Lorne always kept one in his gym bag, and Blueberry Muffin was his favorite flavor. “You’re right, Vanta,” she said around a jam-and-nut mouthful. “We can’t save them all.”
The guy gaped; probably not, Tzipi realized, due to her abhorrent tray table manners. No, he was fixated on her eyes that, even without makeup, mimicked her twin sister’s cavernous green ones. Just as her nose, too strong by Hollywood standards but still delicate enough to be the envy of her Hebrew school female classmates, was an identical match. And her apple-shaped face, just as familiar…even when partially obscured by her large hood.
“Has anyone ever told you –”
She hastily pushed the heavy fleece material from her head. No one would mistake her boring, dishwater blonde hair in its raggedy pixie style for Kara’s honey-toned mane. Amazing how a hairstyle could change an entire look. Her sister’s stylist had created voluptuous, face-framing blonde ribbons that had become her signature look. With nothing of the sort framing her own face, the effect was thinner-looking lips, hollower cheek bones, harsher-looking brows – in other words: Tzipi’s face.
“Oh. Never mind. My mistake.”
He looked away, embarrassed. Tzipi looked away too, for a whole different reason.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
She drew in a breath, steadying herself. Kara and New York and Hanukkah were waiting – but some parts of her weren’t ready to be folded into all that brightness just yet.
Chapter Two
Jonah scanned the sea of faces as travelers streamed from the secure area toward baggage claim.
Families reuniting with squeals and hugs, guys with briefcases and overcoats rushing toward or away from work, old ladies in wheelchairs pointing the way with their canes as harried-looking skycaps pushed them along. And children, toddling and darting everywhere. All set to the soundtrack of Springsteen’s “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town.”
Newark airport during the holiday season – there was really nothing like it.
Jonah plucked his shades from his overcoat pocket and slipped them on. The sign he had hastily made, taking full advantage of his sister’s school craft supply closet, read BONO in big red letters. He grinned in the direction of Arrivals, standing with all the chauffeurs in a haphazard row and keeping one eye on the clock. If they didn’t hit the Turnpike by four, it was going to be major gridlock getting back into town.
Gone were the days of Avi taking New Jersey Transit into Penn Station with his guitar and duffel bag on his back, all by himself. Or just showing up on Jonah’s stoop looking like he needed a good meal and a week-long nap. These days, it was mostly stretch limos and black Escalades.
Jonah didn’t have either, but he had a Jeep. One big enough to fit the enormous amount of luggage Avi’s girlfriend Leah was bringing this time from Ohio. Their co-habitation was officially official, now that Avi had closed on his Brooklyn brownstone. And Jonah was totally looking forward to claiming a mortgage interest deduction on behalf of his best friend’s taxes. Oh, and their housewarming party the night after the Baller.
“Very funny.” Avi punched Jonah in the arm, before gripping him in a hug. “Like I need any more attention.”
“It’s me,” Jonah admitted, waving the sign behind Avi’s back with one hand as he accepted the brotherly love. “I’m the attention whore. Where’s your lady?”
“She’s already stalking the baggage carousel. Worried about her art supplies. Come on, let’s grab a couple of those cart things.”
“Hire a porter, ya cheapskate!” Jonah called after him. “I’m just paid to hold the sign.”
“Is that – ”
Uh oh. It had begun. The Recognizing, as Jonah had come to call it.
Two women, possibly early forties, were encroaching. Casting furtive glances in Avi’s direction. Jonah flapped his sign; the poster board making a crack like thunder. Deflecting them from their investigative mission.
“Wait. The Bono?”
“The one. Possibly the only?” Jonah gave a calculated shrug. “I think I saw his guitar case coming around that baggage carousel.” He pointed to the very far corner, and the women scurried away.
