Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The meet and greet had finally ended. Tzipi's face hurt from smiling, her hand cramped from signing autographs, and her feet were screaming in Kara's heels.
She slipped to the back deck, pretending to check her phone. Really, she was just trying to breathe.
"Did you ever play Whack-A-Mole as a kid?"
She looked up. Jonah stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets.
"What?"
"Whack-A-Mole. That arcade game." He joined her at the rail. “Because I feel like the minute we knock one fucker down, another critter pops up, wanting something from you."
Despite everything, she almost laughed. "You mean Rob and his contract? Or Hannon and his... everything?"
"Both. Either. Take your pick." His expression was grim. "Rob's got that terminal pop-up planned. Hannon's probably sobering up somewhere, which somehow seems worse. And we've got—" he checked his watch "—too much time to kill until this boat docks."
"So what do we do?"
"We use two mallets." At her confused look: "Whack-A-Mole strategy. You can't get them all with one mallet. You need two players."
"You want to split up."
"Just for a bit. We’ll walk into the drag show together. It’s going to be packed. I need to get a few things sorted. Before Rob comes looking for you. Or if Hannon surfaces. If we split up, we're harder to find."
She was quiet.
“Do you trust me?" His eyes were steady, serious.
The question hung between them. This man who'd lied to her all night. Who'd protected her anyway. Who was now asking her to trust him with something he wouldn't explain.
She thought about the fragile truce they'd made. The way he'd gotten her through the meet and greet. Hell, really the whole night. The way he'd said I'm her bodyguard like he meant it.
Two mallets. Two players. Working together.
"Yeah," she said finally. "I do."
Something in his expression softened. "Then trust that I'm getting us out of here. Midnight. I'll come find you."
"Okay." She took a breath, and nodded. But for the record? I was terrible at Whack-A-Mole. I always panicked and just kept hitting the same hole over and over."
His smile was small but genuine. "Good thing you've got a partner this time."
They leaned elbows on the railing, facing one another. No longer six paces.
"Listen, I fucked up," he said. "The second I realized you weren't Kara, I should've told you. But I didn't, because I was scared you'd panic and blow your cover, and I thought I was protecting you." He grimaced. "Which was arrogant. And wrong. Because it wasn't my call to make."
"When did you realize?" Her voice was quiet. "When did you know I wasn't her?"
"Well, no offense, but jumping the buffet line was your first mistake."
She groan-laughed despite herself.
"Lefty," he continued. "You spun that dreidel left-handed. Had just as hard a time with those scissors as me. And your cookie-frosting skills..."
"Hey!"
"What you lack in pastry arts, you make up for with singing." His voice softened. "No disrespect, but I heard your sister perform the National Anthem opening day at Yankee Stadium. When you sang during the menorah lighting? No pun intended, but her voice doesn't hold a candle to yours."
She turned to look at him finally. "Go on."
"You mentioned your college roommate with the fortune cookies. Kara didn't go to college—she got that first Vanta role at nineteen and never looked back."
"So you're a detective." She kept her tone even. "Or obsessed with my sister."
"Lady, I'm an accountant."
Still making me laugh, dammit.
"Seriously though," she said. "How did you know who I was? Like, for sure?"
Jonah's smile turned wistful. "Your face. When that idiot mentioned Lorne. That’s when I really knew for sure."
"Dead giveaway, I guess," she said lamely. "No pun intended."
Man, nothing got past this guy.
“I lost him last year.” She palmed away a tear, blinked. Good thing for waterproof eye makeup. “My tattoo, it’s in memory of him.”
“Hey, no crying on the Baller.” Jonah joked gently. “Only happy tears.”
“I’m happy he was my person. Angry I lost him.
Sad is in there somewhere, but mostly I’m just pissed at the randomness.
We were out on a movie date. Like Hannon joked about.
” She blew out a sigh. “Lorne cracked a tooth, must’ve hit a popcorn kernel just right.
We laughed about it at the time. But then…
he was busy. He put it off. Typical Hollywood, you know?
Rehearsals, then shooting a new film. I even made an appointment for him, but he…
God, it’s so stupid. He blew it off. And I thought, at what point do you cross the line from nagging fiancée to becoming his mom?
I stopped pushing. It stopped hurting. He forgot.
Until.” Abscess. Sepsis. She could still hear the doctor, laundry-listing the mistakes of delaying care to the only person left in the room.
“The infection spread to his tissues. His brain. His heart.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath, and took one of her own. It was a terrible memory. But the memory of Lorne?
“Zichrono Livracha,” Jonah said quietly. “May his memory be a blessing.”
She nodded. His would always be.
“I bet everyone loved him. I bet he’s got an entire forest of trees planted for him in Israel.” He touched her hand on the railing.
“They did. And he does. He was just that kind of guy.”
“When Hannon said Lorne's name, you looked... shattered.” Jonah continued gently. “And Kara wouldn't have reacted quite that way. She knew Lorne, sure. But you loved him."
Tzipi blinked back the sting in her eyes. "You saw all that?"
"I was watching you pretty closely." His ears went red. "For bodyguard reasons. Obviously."
"Obviously." A pause. "So why didn't you tell me? Once you knew?"
"Because you were drowning out there." His voice dropped.
"Not a judgement. I've been struggling against the currents, too.
Things are changing so fast for my friends.
Babies on the way, engagements... they don't really need the go-to guy anymore.
Who hasn't quite figured out what he wants to do when he grows up.
The joker, the clown." He looked out at the water.
"Feeling like an imposter, always falling short. "
He chuckled to himself.
"I had been trying so hard not to be my usual self tonight. Right down to this monkey suit. But honestly, playing this role? Even though I was so unqualified for it…deep down it's the most authentic I've felt in a long time. Thinking on my feet, protecting you – it's been a no-brainer."
"Thank you. For all that. And for seeing me. Not Kara. Just... me."
He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. "Tzipi Solokoff. The most interesting person on this boat. And probably in all of New York City."
"You're laying it on pretty thick."
"Is it working?"
She squeezed his hand. "Maybe a little."
A chime sounded through the PA. Five minutes until the drag show.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Not even remotely."
"Good." He smiled. "Neither am I. Let's do this anyway."
And for the first time all night, Tzipi felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn't drowning anymore.
Look for the helpers.
His parents had, with their retro TV watching, made sure he and his siblings had a healthy dose of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood growing up.
They’d learned not only to look for the helpers if they saw something scary as kids, but to also become the helpers, when they grew up.
Probably why Jules had gone into teaching, Jess had followed in their mom’s librarian footsteps, and Jillian had become a nurse.
He breathed a sigh of relief, watching Tzipi safe at the table with the two rabbis and their close-knit congregation. She was posing for selfies with the head rabbi’s wife and her friends and chatting animatedly. Making their night.
Sure, she was still playing a part. But it was what she’d been asked to do. And for all intents and purposes, she was pretty good at it.
He laughed at himself. Jonah Klein, superfan.
She caught his eye, and the smile she gave him was 100% “the other one.”
Around his own table, the OG Ballers were coming into the home stretch.
Beck would appreciate that baseball analogy.
He held Nora on his lap, his hands spanning her belly.
Jonah imagined that scene playing out over the next six months; Beck’s hand there for the first flutters, the kicks, and finally, for the coaching at the hospital when the little slugger was up to home plate.
Okay, that was a weird analogy. But he was so happy for them.
And for Asher and Talia, sitting across from him.
He didn’t want to know where her right hand was, given the grin on his buddy’s face, but her left hand was resting on the table, tapping to the beat of Matzo Belle’s “Challah-back Girl,” and Jonah couldn’t wait to see it rocking the bling Asher was going to offer up within the hour.
Jay was in his glory – a rare moment off his feet, sitting and being thoroughly entertained.
No doubt loving the venerable drag queen making him the center of attention for a moment as she shook her money maker – and tzedakah box – on behalf of the Baller.
Even Rebecca looked relaxed, startling Jonah with a wink his way when she caught him looking at her.
He raised his brows, incredulous at how she’d managed to step right back in and keep the ship afloat, especially after all of Reggie’s underhanded fuckery.
Next to him, Libby sighed. Took a swig of wine. Her long legs were crossed, one over the other, and she was swinging her foot to the beat of the music, but her gaze was roaming elsewhere.
“Avi Wolfson? Come on up, honey! Channel your inner Elton with me. Or your inner Kikki Dee, you choose!”
She whistled as Avi hopped nimbly onto the stage.
“Don’t go breakin’ my heart, Matzo Belle,” he warned into the mic she handed him, and the crowd went wild as the femme fatale shook her wig emphatically.
They had all stepped up, his friends, in some way or another. As helpers. They had come through for Jay last minute when he needed them, but for each other, too. And for him.
He hoped it would always be this way.
The minute Matzo Belle took her final curtsy, Jonah was up and out of his chair. Approaching the table where Tzipi continued to chat and charm.
He offered his arm. “Midnight toast by the menorah?”