Chapter 6 #2
Her smile was too wide and she had held it for too long.
The corners of her mouth began to shake.
She overcorrected, pursing her newly bee-stung lips, and a fervor of murmuring ensued.
The late afternoon sky brightened with camera lights swiveling to capture her pout’s uncanny likeness to her twin’s signature on-screen look. Oops.
“Kara! Tell us about your dress. And the new movie!”
“It’s an Ana Agosto. And no spoilers, guys.”
Her sister had briefed her on all her favorite brands, and about the makeshift red carpet that would be the only promo she’d have to contend with before the no-press-allowed event.
Kara had even drawn Tzipi a map of the boat on the bottom of her Louboutin with a sharpie.
Nearest ladies’ room, the most private bar onboard, the photo-free zones, and – the Hail Mary if needed – a private greenroom reserved for the A-list.
“What are you looking forward to most about this year’s Matzo Baller?”
The ending?
She thought of her Saturday solo coffee-at-a-café vision. Maybe there would be pastry involved. She let that reward dangle like a carrot in front of her…oh, maybe it would be a carrot cake muffin with cream cheese piped inside, if she was lucky.
“Hard to choose just one,” she stalled.
Kara had described the annual gala like a grown-up version of Maccabiah Days at their Jewish summer camp. Lots of games and activities, except no sunburn and way better bathroom facilities. “Probably the Minor League Dreidel competition… and the kugel ravioli.”
“Vera Wexler, Kara! Page Six. Can I get a quick quote on the engagement rumors?” The woman’s smile was sharp. “Who’s the lucky guy? Sources say you two were spotted at a jewelry store in SoHo last month. Any truth to the speculation?”
Shit. At least Shel and Kara were a step ahead – and already in the air.
“I don’t comment on my personal life,” Tzipi said, too fast.
Wrong answer. She could see it in the way the woman’s smile widened, predatory.
“So there is something to comment on?”
Great. She hadn’t even spent an hour in Kara’s shoes, and she was already sticking her foot in her mouth.
Teflon. Don’t let it stick.
She smiled, deflected, nodded, waved. “Happy holidays, everyone.”
One hurdle down, a boatload to go.
“Your bag, miss.”
The one called Ham stood off to the side, holding out her tiny beaded clutch.
It looked like a Barbie doll accessory in his big hands.
Darrell Hamilton was a former NFL player, and he’d given her a rundown in the limo; he would be six paces behind at all times as she made her first public appearance in years.
And her first, posing as Kara.
Neither Ham nor the driver acknowledged anything was different in their world; just another shift on the clock, discreetly getting their client where she needed to go. Whoever she may – or may not – be.
“Have a nice night, Miss K.”
“Wait, you’re not coming on the boat?” Panic began lapping at her nerve-endings, matching the dark choppy water as it slapped up against the huge vessel currently anchored at the dock. What happened to six paces at all times?
“You don’t want me going all Dr. Seuss on you, trust me.” He laughed at the quizzical look on her face and added, “You know. Green Eggs, Green Ham? I can barely look at that thing, the way it’s bobbing. Max’ll take over from here, he’ll meet you on that deck.”
Ham gave a peace-out salute in the direction of where Tzipi had, minutes earlier, noticed a similarly big guy at the railing. He’d given a wave, hardly discreet.
At least this Max guy was already on board and she would have one person making sure she did all the usual things Kara was known to do on this floating city. Her sister had mentioned he was Jewish, so at least he could point her in the direction of menorah and the food, in that order.
But first, she had to board the boat. And not get either heel of her sister’s very expensive shoes stuck in the grate of the gangplank. Talk about a Cinderella moment.
She carefully ascended, swept up in a small crowd of well-dressed revelers. “I love your hat,” she commented to a woman rocking a dramatic, feathery fascinator.
The woman thanked her warmly, did a double-take, then hurried to catch up with her group. Note to self, Tzipi thought. Don’t freak people out by being all normie in front of them.
“Kara!” A warm, booming voice drifted above the excited chatter and low rumble as the belly of the boat fired to life.
J is for Jewish event planner.
“Jay Katz!” Tzipi appreciated his wait for her approach, not rushing at her as some hosts might do. “Another year already.”
She’d seen Kara do the move countless times: in person, on TV, frozen in time in photos.
The subtle step to initiate, the eye contact.
Then the effortless lean-in, inviting a cheek kiss.
The event planner pulled his headset off and mirrored the ritual; their faces touching briefly but enough for her perfume and his cologne to mingle in the crisp December air.
“How do you always arrange for the perfect weather?” she murmured, lips just shy of his ear, before pulling back.
“Trade secret.” He gave a low laugh. Successfully charmed. “And where is your usual plus-one tonight?”
“My bodyguard?” She turned left and right. “He should be here, somewhere.” Seriously, though. She saw no sign of the big dude who’d waved to her from the deck not ten minutes ago. Kara hadn’t been kidding when she said these guys knew how to be unobtrusive.
Jay cocked his head, his smile conveying one thing but his quizzical brow implying another. Duh. Of course he meant Shel. Not her security detail.
“Oh…that plus-one.” Tzipi pretended to laugh off her own joke. “Preparing for a Doctors without Borders mission.” Technically not a lie. “To Zambia. There’s a pediatric outreach clinic there for mothers and children that need him.”
The mastermind behind the Matzo Baller gave an impressed whistle. “Could the guy be any more of a mensch?”
“I know, right? Shel was sorry he couldn’t make it tonight. He leaves soon, so things are a little…hectic on his end.”
Bring on the polygraph test, Tzipi thought triumphantly. I would pass with flying colors.
“Well, tell him he was missed. And that he’s making the rest of us look bad.”
The laugh that left her lips was surprisingly Kara-like. Perhaps this was going to be easier than she’d thought.
“Who looks bad?” A curvy redhead in a dazzling sequined gown sidled over, two champagne flutes in her hand. She elbow-checked him without spilling a drop. “Speak for yourself, bro.”
“Hey, I didn’t know they made chef’s whites in sequins.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha, leave the roasts to me…or to Jonah, please.” To Tzipi, she shyly offered a smile. And a glass. “Hi, Kara. Pre-departure toast?”
Okay, really…where the hell was Max? Shouldn’t he be assessing the situation? Making sure drinks from well-meaning strangers weren’t actually roofied by stalker fans?
Although this woman didn’t seem like a stalker…or even a stranger.
Steady hands, the mention of chef’s whites, a teasing “bro”…
“Thanks…Talia, right?”
A blush to rival those red curls crept across cheeks, and Tzipi knew her calculated guess was on the money. Maybe this would not only be easy, but dare she say…fun?
Jay took the other glass from his sister, and clinked it against Kara’s before handing it back. “I appreciate you being here. And, as always, for your amazing auction item. Four weeks this year, times two? You’ve outdone yourself.”
And…shit. Kara had mentioned she donated to the Baller charity every year, but she’d failed to say what.
“Seriously,” Talia chimed in. “I would’ve killed to go there as a kid! Even for a week.”
“But then you wouldn’t have met the love of your life,” her brother gently reminded.
Tzipi sipped her champagne and waited for more clues. She had a feeling a lot of the night might involve that.
“True, Ner Tamid had Asher.” Talia bit a smile back. “But it didn’t have indoor and outdoor cooking like Ramah.”
Ah, mystery solved. Their childhood sleepaway camp in the Ojai Valley was pretty coveted, and Kara must’ve donated its hefty enrollment fees for two lucky campers, for an entire summer.
Jewish kids came from across the country and even Canada to attend.
It had a culinary program, and – of course – the Al HaBamah performing arts intensive that her twin had dominated year after year.
Kara’s fond memories were all friendship bracelets with fellow cast members and pacing the cabin floorboards practicing lines, while Tzipi tried to avoid being eaten alive by mosquitos or hit in the face by a gaga ball.
“I’m sure your machane was great, too.” She smiled, relieved to be clued back in to the conversation.
“Please. I did a New York theater camp,” Jay supplied. “Camp Ramah is the Yale Drama of theater camps in comparison. I know parents or even grandparents will be trying to outbid one another for your contribution, so thank you. And enjoy the night, let us know if you need anything.”
“More champagne, food, anything!” Talia reiterated, as her brother hooked an arm through hers to drag her away. “I’m officially off-duty, but the kitchen has strict orders to keep the kugel ravioli flowing.”
“Oh, and speaking of menschen…” Jay called over his shoulder. “My buddy you rescued last year promised to be on his best behavior tonight. Permission to swab the deck with that clown – and make him walk the plank – if he’s not.”
Rescued? Tzipi raised her glass in acknowledgement as the Katz siblings wound their way through the throngs of happy revelers. Mental note to ask Kara what happened last year…and to avoid any clowns until then.