So now I’m the poor friend receiving her tzedakah, when just a year ago I was the one helping her?

I will not brag, I promise myself, as I ring the bell at the back of Risa’s house.

The sign on the door has been upgraded since last time I was here; she now has a logo engraved on the metal plate under the words “Sheitels by Risa.” I trace the curlicued “R” with my finger. Does that mean her business is picking up?

“Door’s open, Bailee!” Risa calls from inside. I walk in to see her with another client, and she nods to me.

“Take a seat, I’m just finishing up with Esti.”

The seat she waves me to is a velvet cushioned lounge chair. I sit down and look around, taking in the décor. Hmm, business must really have picked up.

I’m not the gushy type, but I hear myself gushing. “Wow, Risa, this place is gorgeous! I love what you did with the space. It looks like a professional salon!”

I wince at how sickeningly fake my voice sounds, but Risa doesn’t seem to notice. She beams as she carefully clamps the curling iron on a lock of hair. “I used Aviva Simmons. She’s a hot designer for the hair and beauty industry. Cost a fortune, but hey, you gotta give the customer the experience they deserve, right?”

She winks at the lady in the chair, who smiles appreciatively. I try to hide my grimace. Look at her, pretending she’s one of these flashy, mega-successful businesswomen, when just last year Risa was begging me to come and bring friends to her newly opened salon because her husband had just been laid off from his job and she had no idea how they were going to pay their bills.

As soon as Esti leaves, Risa visibly relaxes. “You know who that was, right?” she asks as she motions me into the chair. “Esti Gordon!”

She sees my blank expression in the large, filigreed mirror and shakes her head in amused exasperation.

“Bailee, how have you managed to live here for fifteen years and not know who Esti Gordon is? She and her husband support, like, half the institutions in the community. I bet they’ve been paying Aryeh’s kollel stipend all these years and you didn’t even know it!”

“No, that I would know about,” I murmur, but I flush anyway. Risa only moved to our out-of-town community three years ago, but within two months she already knew more people than I did. And gotten in on all the major community groups. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t care about keeping up with the latest gossip, I’m not interested in being a mover and shaker. I’m happy with my quiet life, raising my family and working my quiet job to support us.

So why does Risa make me feel like such a neb?