Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“Hannon. Why are you really here?”
Tzipi side-stepped out of the sloppy hug of her sister’s co-star.
“Same reason as you, darlin’.” Hannon chewed gum and took a swig of his beer.
“Although my agent insisted on double my day rate, being so close to Christmas and all.”
He turned to the ghostwriter guy, still at his elbow. “We contractually owe the studio three in-person appearances a year,” he explained. “Still paid gigs, even the ones like this, for charity. Right, doll?”
Tzipi sputtered, exasperated. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Hannon.”
“You’d have known, if you’d just returned my calls this week.”
“I’ve been busy…visiting with my sister.” Not a lie.
“Sister? Ah, snap. I forgot you even had a sister. Oh yeah, engaged to what’s-his-face…Lorne Mazur? Oh man. Facepalm!” He cued himself. “That dude was legendary. Survived death-defying stunts as his day job…only to be taken down by Orville fucking Redenbacher on date night? Brutal.”
Tzipi curled into herself. Made herself so small, into that compartment where no one could hurt her. How could someone be that good looking and at the same time, be so, so ugly, and cruel?
Lorne had taken a bullet for this guy…not literally, but every night after work he’d nurse the bruises, the sprains, the cuts, all in the name of Radian Prime. While Hannon got to walk off camera and take all the credit as the hero.
Now, he schooled his face into a look of false sympathy. “Really makes you pause and take stock.”
“Of your own shitty life?” Max. Thank God.
Max was back by her side.
“Who’s this clown?”
“Clown? Who you calling clown?” Max stepped toe-to-toe with Hannon. “I eat lowlifes like you for breakfast – with extra schmear.”
“Stay in your lane, Hulk. This is between me and Ms. Blackmore. Koff. Whatever.”
“Well, I’m here to celebrate the holiday, Hannon,” she informed him, side-stepping to avoid his touch. “Not to work.”
“You have way too many holidays.” He pointed at her with his beer-holding hand. “And you owe me. We missed a chance at a Comic Con panel in October because of your Jewish New Year’s Eve party.”
“Yom Kippur.”
Tzipi turned to see Jay Katz at Max’s side.
“Gesundheit.” Hannon joked.
“It was Yom Kippur, not Rosh Hashanah, that fell the same weekend as Comic Con this year.”
J is for Jewish event planner. Of course Jay would know a detail like that.
“And not a party, Hannon. The holiest days of the year.” Tzipi informed him.
Too many holidays? Read the room, dude.
“You could’ve still made an appearance, just yourself,” she added
“No, no I couldn’t! It was ensemble. And they didn’t want me.
They never want just me.” His slur took on a pathetic whine.
“Not without you. They want the Radian/Vanta chemistry. That’s why the Matzo Baller booked us for tonight.
” He turned his wrist, spilling beer on the floor as he checked his watch.
“Reggie said ten o’clock in the main ballroom.
And he’s providing the costumes. I was only kidding about bringing your catsuit. ”
No way…no way in hell.
Vanta’s outfit would show too much skin…including the tattoo on her shoulder. Not to mention, she had three hundred cheat days a year to Kara’s one. And no personal trainer. That spandex suit would show every lump and bump.
Jay swore under his breath. “Mr. Kershaw, Reggie is no longer employed by me.” He turned to Tzipi, and for the first time that night she could see the weight of an event this big on his shoulders.
“Kara, it sounds like my former assistant made some big promises he couldn’t keep, ones that you were not made aware of. Please do not feel obligated.”
Jay had made everything look and sound so effortless when he’d greeted her upon boarding, but she knew what it was like when you had charities depending on you to pull through.
Hannon took a different tack.
“This meet and greet will be a walk in the park, babe,” he wheedled. “Come on, it’s for charity! Hanukkah Heroes. We swoop in, do our thing, and drink the free booze.”
“It looks like you’ve got that locked down,” Tzipi muttered. “Do you even know what tonight’s charity is?”
Or anything about tzedakah, for that matter?
“Yeah, yeah, Trevor-something. The Trevor Noah project. Love that guy! Funny shit.” Hannon chuckled and polished off his beer.
She ignored him, and turned to Jay. “It’s for one of my favorite charities, and if people pledged extra for a meet and greet, I do not want to let them down.” Or you. Or Kara.
For all she knew…maybe Kara had known about the press opp. She agreed to far more of them per year than whatever Hannon had said the required amount was. It could’ve slipped her mind. Catsuit and all.
Jay smiled, grateful, then turned to the ghostwriter, who looked like he was trying to make himself invisible. “You’re with him? Good. I advise you start sobering him up. Starting now.”
"You okay?" Max’s hand was still on her back. Warm. Steady. Everyone had gone their separate ways, leaving them in the salon’s hall.
"Yeah. I – thank you." She exhaled, tried to smile. But wondered how long he had been within earshot and how much he’d heard. The part about Lorne? "Hannon’s a wild card when he drinks.”
“You don’t have to make excuses for him. Who says facepalm out loud? He’s a total douche.” His jaw tightened. “Pardon my French.”
“Ugh, no, you’re totally right. Douche City.”
She had no idea how her sister could make out with the guy, fake sex with the guy.
Even his hug made Tzipi want to scream. What made things worse?
Lorne had not only been his stuntman, but had been cast as his body double in five of his films. It was like hugging an evil shadow.
Muscle memory played cruel tricks on her.
"You shouldn't have to deal with that alone."
Alone. Right. Because she had him. Her bodyguard. Who'd just swept in like some kind of rom-com hero and saved her from her own spiraling panic.
Tzipi looked up at him. Really looked. The concern in his eyes was real. The protective edge in his voice wasn't performative.
He actually cares.
Which made everything so much worse.
Because whatever this spark was between them, it would fizzle out the second he realized she'd been lying to him all night.
And things were unraveling by the minute.
“You're good at your job,” she said quietly.
Something flickered across his face – surprise? Guilt? It was gone before she could name it.
“I get that a lot.”
Tzipi forced a smile. "Well. Thanks for the rescue."
Max put his hand up to his ear. “Yeah, man. Hold on a sec,” he said into the mic on his collar, before gazing back down at her.
"Keep sticking close tonight, okay?" His voice dropped, rough around the edges. "I've got you."