Mr. Perfect on Paper by Jean Meltzer

Author:Jean Meltzer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2022-06-17T12:04:51+00:00

19

Food. Water. Sustenance. It became all Dara could think about in those final moments of services, standing at the back of the synagogue, bouncing up and down in her flats.

Trying not to look at her watch, she cursed the Heavens above her. Despite a room full of starving people, the rabbi had the audacity to go over the 7:13 end time with his rousing—oh, he is not pulling out the guitar—rendition of Aleinu. Great. Dara had gone through all of Yom Kippur, atoning for transgressions, only to begin sinning the very second it ended by having homicidal thoughts about the clergy.

Ashamnu, indeed.

Dara rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling. She wondered if popcorn ceiling could be eaten. She dreamed of pipes bursting, water raining down, her tongue outstretched. She prayed for an ending to this nightmare. Until—baruch Hashem—a miracle. The shofar was blown. Yom Kippur was over. Adon Olam exploded from the bima as a wave of relief filled the room. Before the rabbi was even finished singing, half the congregants had already left.

“Dara?” Eli called out to her from the main doors of the sanctuary. “Over here!”

Dara elbowed her way toward the front entrance. With half the shul heading for the exits, and the other half heading down the stairs for Break Fast, the main lobby had become a kosher sardine can. Out of breath, dying for a drink, she touched her parched throat.

“Hey,” Dara said. “Do you happen to have—”

Eli did not let her finish. Holding up a microphone in his hand, wires dangling like bracelets around his wrist, he glanced around the room.

“Any idea where we can get you set up?” Eli asked.

Dara huffed. She didn’t need a freaking microphone. She needed a goddamn drink of water. Still, the quicker they got this over with, the quicker she could dive face-first into a lox platter. Taking Eli by the arm, she marched him down an empty hallway. He affixed the battery pack to the back of her skirt.

“All good?” she asked.

Eli tugged at the wires. “Seems right.”

“Great.” Dara sighed, searching the hallway for a water fountain. “Because I could really use a drink of—”

“Come on,” Eli said, not letting her finish. “We need to get you to hair and makeup.”

The room where Break Fast was being held was crammed full of people. A long line trailed out the back door and snaked its way around a buffet table. Throngs of young Jewish professionals stood in semicircles, shoving tuna fish sandwiches and marzipan rainbow cookies into their mouths. In the corner, set up in a spot with cameras and lights, was Chris.

“Do you mind if I just grab a cookie real quick?” Dara asked.

“No time,” Eli said, pulling her into a side room.

The rest happened in a whirlwind of movement. Dara was thrown into a chair, Sheila moving quickly to get her ready, switching it up between palettes and brushes before nearly asphyxiating her with a giant bottle of hair spray. Once Sheila backed off, Eli returned. With the triumph of angels singing, they returned to the room where they were holding Break Fast.

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