Thursday, 9 am
Washington DC
A carryon, a carrier, and a messenger bag did not help Sam wrestle a door that refused to budge. He sighed, balanced Toby’s carrier on top of his suitcase and pulled his phone out of his bag and called his cousin. Adam answered on the first ring.
“H’lo?”
“Your keys suck,” Sam said, balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he once again twisted the key in the lock.”
“They didn’t suck when I lived there. They might hate you.”
He snorted, made sure the way was clear, and pushed on the door as he twisted the key…only for it to open with a scraping, whining noise. He held the door open with his back, before grabbing his suitcase and toby’s carrier. “I’m getting this fixed while I’m here, you know.”
“Your money. You’re already spending way too much of it. And I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”
“Gift horse, mouth,” he said as he knelt down on the cold tile floor of his cousin’s former apartment. The mewling sound from Toby’s carrier was getting pitiful, and he could hear the scratching sounds. Thankfully, the carrier was easy to open, and soon the black ball of fuzz was streaking across the floor.
“Yeah,” his cousin said, laughing. “I know. I appreciate the hand, and the fact that you’re amusing yourself.”
Sam’s eyes followed Toby as the kitten proceeded to investigate the furniture, making sure he wasn’t getting into trouble. Once he decided to attack a stray piece of bubble wrap, Sam took off his shoes and crossed the floor; glad he’d called someone to take Adam’s furniture out of storage. “Your couch is glorious.”
“The attractions of the couch notwithstanding, I’d have to not be dumb to take you up on your offer. But.”
His cousin sounded, serious, a little out of character. As he sat down on that wonderfully comfortable couch, Sam realized there was something on Adam’s mind. “What’s the ‘but’ for? Also you’re getting better at using your words.”
“So,” Adam said warily. “I’m worried about you. You need to slow down. There’s a reason you built that vacation time into your schedule two years ago….”
“Just because I was sick for a month doesn’t mean…”
“Yes. It does and it should. Seriously. You were boneless and happy on your couch two days ago, and now you’re…boneless and happy on my couch but on the verge of doing…something in DC.”
“Times are different now, dude. I cannot just sit here. I have a platform, privilege. What kind of person would I be, what kind of Jew would I be if I didn’t?” He shook his head, laughing at his reflexive grab for his favorite phrase. “Also, not for nothing? If I don’t, then who, you know? Not to mention, If not now, when? ”
“It’s wonderful that you can quote one of Hillel‘s most famous sayings, but seriously. You’re using your platform. I get it. ”
Adam’s disapproval radiated through the phone, and Sam flinched.
“You still need to slow down.”
Saved by the beep of an incoming email. “Dude, I’m going to have to go because I’m guessing I just got the info about the morning meeting. Talk later?”
“Yeah.” Adam paused. “Just be careful, eh? Don’t push too hard?”
Sam nodded and watched as Toby pounced on the bubble wrap again. “Will do. Later dude.” He ended the call, but before going back into his email, he turned on the video camera.
Then he turned towards Toby, following him as the kitten stalked what turned out to be a tissue. “May you approach your day with as much gusto as Toby here approaches this tissue.”
Right on cue, the kitten leapt on the tissue, and he turned off the camera before yanking the predator off the paper prey. “Alright, little boy,” he told the kitten as he ruffled the soft fur behind his ears. “You need to settle in for a nap, hmm.”
Because he had to organize himself for a meeting that would take place in, he checked his watch, two hours. He sighed, got up from the couch, picked Toby up from the floor and headed into the bedroom, rolling his bag behind him.
2
Thursday, 11 am
Washington, DC
The car service his sister recommended was reliable, and he’d managed to get to his meeting quickly and on time. The building was not far from Thomas Circle; a sleek glass and stone building on fourteenth street, that also housed a scientific lobby.
He braced himself for recognition; thankfully, the doorman kept his expression blank as he accepted the proffered driver’s license.
“Ninth floor, Mr. Moskowitz. They’re waiting for you.”
He nodded, even as he signed his decoy signature-his middle name and his mother’s maiden name, before heading into the open elevator. As he stepped in, the doors closed behind him and the elevator began its ascent.
In the silence of the elevator, Sam wondered what he’d be walking into. What kind of people would he be meeting with? What would they have to say? Would he be able to work with them?
Suddenly, the elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors wooshed open, forcing his thoughts to quiet. He took a breath and made the turn, following the directions sent to him via email. He walked down the hall, past the large, clear glass entrance and stood in front of the small rear door. A blind hung over the glass window from the inside, and a white button stood clear against the black plastic speaker. He pressed the button, the buzzer flicked on and the door in front of him clicked open.
“Come in, come in.”
As he opened the door, he caught a strong whiff of coffee and ink, the smell of offices everywhere. All the outlets he could see were full, the open counter spaces contained computers of various sorts, cameras, and lights, and there was tons of other equipment he recognized from various movie sets. There was a conference table in the middle of it all, mismatched chairs filled with three people. The office felt professional and yet…it felt comfortable.
“Welcome,” one of the people said suddenly. He stood up, revealing a t-shirt with a fun slogan. “Thank you for coming.”
He put his hands in his pockets and smiled back at the group. “Thank you for having me.”
“I’m really glad you liked my movie,” said another, the woman who had to be Lisa, the director. Her dark curly hair was streaked with grey, and her eyes were bright. “I mean…it’s…”
“Whoa,” said another woman. He didn’t miss the way her hand took Lisa’s in her own, nor did he miss the matching rings that clinked as their fingers touched. “My name is Elizabeth Silver - I’m the producer. Nice to meet you…Sam?”
He nodded. “Yes, Elizabeth,” he said, putting out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, and you too, Lisa. “
Elizabeth shook his hand and smiled back at him. “Call me Liz,” she said. “Welcome to the production company’s base of operations. This is where we do some of our best work. I’m glad your schedule was free enough for you to come.”
“I can’t believe you came here because of my movie,” Lisa interrupted.
“And I can’t believe you haven’t offered him a chair.” The dude with the salty shirt laughed and gestured towards an open seat at the table. “Sit down, here.” He turned to Lisa, “Then you can ask him about the movie and we can talk about things.”
“You also didn’t introduce yourself,” Elizabeth said as Sam sat down. “I’ll do it for you. That’s Marcus Goldblatt. He’s a finance guy, he does…”
“He does what needs to be done,” Lisa interjected. “Now. How did you see the movie?”
Sam smiled, glad to be a part of this small group. “I subscribe to the BlueChorus. When my schedule allows, I check the list, I follow what’s going on and I donate when I can. It’s important for me to do my part.”
Marcus smiled as Elizabeth and Lisa continued to talk. “I just can’t believe you’re a subscriber to the Chorus. They’re…”
Sam shrugged. “They do good work. Anyway, there was an email from the list all about the film, and I was ho
me on a weeknight, got the email and I had time to watch. It was amazing. I figured that I’d see if you guys were open to my help, whatever I could do.”
“And,” Liz tapped a pen on the table. “You didn’t hear about it before the list?”
“No, actually.” He tried to remember back to when the email said the film had premiered. “I think I was on set when it premiered, so I didn’t really see or hear much of anything because I only really talk to family when I’m on set. It’s easier that way. However, that also means no email. So I was radio silent until last night when I was lying on my couch in New York.”
There was a whispered discussion he could not follow; he suspected it had something to do with the advertising campaign.
“Very good to know,” Liz said. “We’re not getting the traction we need, obviously. We had some initial interest, but our main backer had to back out suddenly, so we’ve been scrambling. What are you looking to do and how long do you have?”
“I’ll go back to New York a bit for American Sukkot…Thanksgiving. Then I’ll be back and forth until Chanukah. I’m pretty open otherwise.”
That was when the room got silent again. Sam felt the nerves rise in his stomach, and braced himself for whatever he was about to be asked.
“And,” Elizabeth added. “What do you think you can do for us?”
That was an easy answer. He shrugged. “Whatever you think can help.”
“What do you mean?”
They wanted details and he could give those. “It all depends on what you’re looking for, really. I can narrate, I can invest, and I can ensure contacts of mine see it. Basically, I can do whatever you think will help the movie the most.”
Liz and Lisa turned to each other and smiled, making Sam feel at home. On the other hand, the look on Marcus’s face made him feel like he was standing in front of Mount Rushmore. Marcus was impassive, doubtful. Which was understandable coming from the finance guy. But there was something underlying the doubt, some other feeling he couldn’t identify.
“You aren’t worried you’re going to hurt your career?” Marcus asked, finally. “Difficult times, you know. Politics and Hollywood aren’t friends these days, and a lot of people are staying on the sidelines. Which is fine, just not for someone who works with us.”
Sam huffed out a breath and sat back in his chair, searching for some kind of composure. “What you need to understand,” he began once he found some, as well as his customary soapbox, “is that my career, my life, my brand as they say, is political. I’m famous for standing up to anti-Semitism on screen. What kind of a person, what kind of a Jew, would I be if I didn’t stand up to the politics that created an atmosphere that fosters prejudice in general and anti-Semitism in particular? What kind of a Jew would I be if I didn’t use the platform I was given to highlight people and places that are fighting, too? I have privilege and a platform, and I’m going to use it to help those who are hurt daily by the nonsense President Crosby and his administration are pushing.”
“Then all I can say,” Liz said, beaming as Lisa wiped tears from her eyes with a tissue, “is welcome to the team.”
5:30 pm
Deb sat down on the lowest step of the temple entrance as the car carrying the last kid left the parking lot. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the wind kissed her cheeks and blew her hair around. She shoved her hands in her pockets, fighting the onslaught of winter into her thirty seconds of calm as best she could.
She felt the chill on her lips as she reached thirty and headed inside to clean the day’s chaos. As she headed into the classroom, she hung up her coat and noted what had gone awry. Then she got to work, putting the toys back where they belonged and pushing chairs into their assigned spots.
Thoughts of her sister were what kept her going. The real reason why she was going to a wine and cheese reception she didn’t want to attend. That and maybe to eat some of the winebar’s famous fig and feta appetizers. Suddenly overwhelmed, she paused for a moment and checked to see if she had an email from her anonymous SchoolFund donor.
Those notes had been a collection of light when she thought she’d failed. When her best friend had to go into hiding a few months before, she lost both her best friend and her benefactor in one fell swoop. The belief that her kids wouldn’t have to suffer had sent her onto SchoolFund in the first place.
She’d been terrified, afraid nobody would notice what she was doing amidst the big, brilliant projects that benefitted so many others. Then the first email came. It wasn’t long, wasn’t wordy, but it said exactly what she needed to hear.
‘I’m sending you this email because what you’re doing gives me hope on a dark day. Keep doing what you’re doing and know that I support you’. It was signed E.C.; two initials, needle in a haystack impossible to find.
Somehow, her donor knew just how to find her, and where. Boosting her when she was lost, making her smile when she couldn’t. The emails weren’t deep or intimate, but made her feel like what she was doing had an impact. And these days, that was the most important thing.
You’re teaching the next generation of leaders, the ones who will make sure our strides to fix the damage won’t be for nothing.
That was the last message she’d gotten, over a month before. That was, until this morning.
You inspire me to be the change I wish to see. I’m stepping into something and I have no idea how it’s going to work. Nevertheless, I have to try. Because who would I be, what kind of person would I be, if I didn’t make the effort?
She wondered what her benefactor was trying to do. More importantly, she wondered whether he needed someone to inspire him the way he inspired her.
Deb finally left the temple and walked the short distance to the party venue. It was still cold, but this time she was ready. She also needed the exercise, the solitude and the thinking time that went with it.
As she turned the corner and opened the door, the blast of heat from inside the bar hit her hard. She went in quickly, closing the door behind her. She could hear her sister from the entranceway, the loud, boisterous gathering filling the store as if it was the only group there.
Which it was.
Instead of focusing on the party that had probably been going on for more than an hour before the scheduled starting time, Deb put her coat on the pile and made her way towards the table of food. Thankfully, there were at least two plates full of figs stuffed with feta, and an empty spot right in front of them.
As she reached for the first fig, she closed her eyes and inhaled. It smelled good; the spicy deep scent made her drool.
“Hi.”
She almost dropped the fig. Thankfully, the feta cheese stayed in the fig and did not make a mess on her shirt or her sweater. “Hi,” she managed as she reached for a napkin. “Sorry…I…”
Then she saw who was speaking to. He was…gorgeous. Sparkling hazel eyes, short brown hair that showed just a bit of a curl. He looked comfortable in a button down and pants that fit him well. He was breathtaking.
“It’s fine.” He smiled. “If I say it happens all the time, would that make it better or worse?”
She laughed; his expression was earnest, his eyes were wide. “Better…slightly.” She paused. “You didn’t offer to help clean it up, so it’s much better.”
He laughed. “I’m...no.” He shook his head. “You…you’re…”
She put the napkin down, and smiled. “Hi. I’m Deborah.”
“I’m Sam,” he replied holding out his hand.
The smile was devastating. He was sweet and strong and self- deprecating and confident all at the same time. Like the rest of her, her hand was drawn to him. As he clasped his fingers in hers, she felt the warmth of his grasp all the way to her toes.
When he let her fingers go she shoved one hand in a pocket as she grabbed a fig with the other.
“How are you connected to the movie?”
She’d thought the conversation was over, but she turned back towards him, took her
hand out of her pocket and gestured towards the center of the bar. “My sister. Lisa. She directed the movie. I’m proud of her.”
“She did an amazing job,” he replied. “That’s why I’m here in DC for a bit. Well, that and looking after my cousin’s hockey project…and his apartment.”
Was the world this small? She had to ask. “Wait…what project?”
“Hockey for Hope?”
Of course. His cousin had to be the other co-founder. The one who was not her best friend’s boyfriend. But he didn’t need to know that. Not yet. “It sounds familiar. “I’ve wanted to go to a game but have never actually made it.”
He nodded, then suddenly shoved his hands in his pocket. He was nervous? What would he have to be nervous about?
“So…I’m going this weekend. Saturday.”
Was he asking her out? Would it be such a bad thing if he did? “Umm…”
“I mean just so you know.” He looked down, away from her, and then looked up again. “It’s a huge area, and…”
He was hedging already. Which meant he actually had asked her out. Or something.
Just to make sure, she asked. “Why me?”
“First, I don’t know anybody else in the area.”
She laughed.
“Two,” he continued, apparently undeterred by the giggles, “your sister and her friends are cool, smart people, but I’m not in the mood to spend an entire afternoon at a hockey rink talking business. That’s boring.”
She nodded, again.
“Look…”
Was that defeat in his expression?
“You seem like the kind of person I can talk to. Heck, I’m already talking. Probably way too much.”
She found herself smiling, a popular country song suddenly taking up residence in her head. “You’re fine,” she said. “I was curious. But okay, I’ll go with you on Saturday.”
Rogue Acts Page 21
