Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Tzipi had lost her bearings, and not even the shoe map was of use to her now.
She hit the promenade too fast, breath short, heartbeat pinched and ugly. She should’ve slowed down and looked where she was going. Instead, she walked straight into the knot of influencers who’d been orbiting that deck all night.
Phones went up like a flurry of wings.
“Kara! Kara!” The fans he had managed to keep at bay earlier had found her, alone now. And she was too frazzled to push back.
A dozen hands reached for her. She shrank on instinct – old training, old reflex, from a childhood spent being tugged and posed and propped like a living doll.
“Can I have your autograph?”
“Please sign my scarf!”
“I saw her first…”
She felt a Sharpie press into her hand, a damp cocktail napkin.
“Can you make it to Rita? She’s a huge fan.” The requester was jostled from behind, but seemed unfazed, thrilled to just be in the orbit of a celebrity.
“Sure, sure…” Tzipi mumbled. She readied her right hand. See? More than convincing, she fumed. For every item she autographed and thrust back, two more appeared. A Mahjong card. The Hanukkah-themed playbill for the late night drag show. She signed them all.
Kara Koff. Kara Koff. Kara Koff.
She signed furiously. Her handwriting automatic, the way grief sometimes was automatic – an old script resurfacing without permission. Continuing until her arm ached and her head pounded. Everything blurred together — napkins, programs, someone’s fancy invitation card.
“A minute for one more?” It was Hannon’s ghostwriter, smiling. “My mother is a big fan.”
Seeing him rattled her to the point where she dropped all the items she was holding before the fans waiting could take them back.
“Give her space, everyone!” Robby pushed the throngs back, collecting the papers at her feet. “Here you go, Kara. People…people…you’ll all get your turn, give her a moment.”
He shuffled them into a neat pile and handed them back to her.
“Thanks, Rob. I got this.” She sniffed, signing the last of the items without even looking at them. Just muscle memory. Kara’s signature flowing from her hand like breathing.
“Go, the back door to the green room is right here. I’ll run point.” He took the items from her hands. “Alright, who’s Rita? And who had the Matzo Belle playbill?”
She pushed through the gauntlet of admirers to the door of the green room.
“Tzipora.”
Max – no, you fool. Jonah – blocked the doorway, arms crossed like a bouncer. Just like that first glimpse on the deck. Fool me once, shame on you. She had taken one look, and had instantly slotted him right into the role that she had wanted him in. Shame on me.
He said her name again, perfectly pronounced.
"Don't." She stopped. "Don't use my real name where people can hear."
"Then let me help."
"Why would you help me?" Her voice was flat. "You've been lying to me all night."
His jaw tightened. "So have you."
Fair point.
"Look," he said, voice low. "I know you're pissed. You have every right to be. But you need someone who knows you're not Kara, and Ham's down for the count. So it's me or nobody."
She hated that he was right.
“Look. At least let me get you through the meet and greet. I'll run interference. You just get through the photos."
"Why would you do that? Who even are you?"
"Because you were way over your head. Someone had to—" He stopped.
Started again. “And because — dammit, it’s just kind of what I do…
because I can. Nora calls me the glue guy.
I fill in the cracks in my friend group…
hold everything together. And I've been juggling them here all night—" he tapped his earpiece "—and out here on the boat, making sure you don't land your pretty little impersonating ass in trouble. "
She froze, mouth gaping.
He was right. She had been way out of her depth. Faking her way through conversations, needing Kara's cheat sheet shoe to find her way around the boat.
"So." His voice was quieter now. "Truce? Just to get you through the next hour. Then we’ll go from there. And when we dock, you never have to see me again if you don't want to."
She studied his face. He looked tired. Uncertain. No more James Bond moves. Nothing like the smooth bodyguard she'd imagined Max to be.
"Truce," she said finally. "For now."
"For now," he agreed.
“I cannot wear their catsuit,” she blurted. It felt good to not have to hold that in anymore. “Kara…she doesn’t have any tattoos. I do.”
“I know. I saw it when you needed help with that photo booth cape.” He gave a slow nod. “I’ll be discreet and let them know. You won’t be asked again.”
“I appreciate it.” She turned to go, then paused. “And one more thing?"
"Yeah?"
"You can call me Tzipi. And thank you. For seeing through me and...for not telling anyone. Hannon. Jay. Your other friends."
There was that smile, a bit lopsided, a bit not sure if he was out of the doghouse just yet. “Thank you…for thinking I was cool enough to be Max.” The grin grew larger. “And it was me, you know. The guy I mentioned in the photo booth. Who made a fool of himself last year.”
“I kind of figured.” And she figured there was more to the story, but would let him decide if and when he wanted to share it.
"Now…stay six paces behind me," she said, lifting a brow. "And help me not fuck this up."
"Yes, ma'am."
She walked toward the ballroom, feeling his presence behind her. Steady. Protective.
Still lying to everyone else. But at least now they were lying together.