“Hey, no press allowed on the boat!” Jonah barked. Dammit, I should’ve said that on mic. Now that he had the bug back in his ear.
“Relax, guy. He’s my ghostwriter.” Hannon cracked his gum. “I got a memoir deal. Seven figures.”
He turned to Kara. “Catch ya later? Maybe give these ballers a little bit of the Radian/Vanta chemistry?”
The only chemistry Kara looked like she wanted with him was the kind that ended in a hazmat clean-up.
“Sure, yeah…love that for us.”
Jonah had heard Kara’s tone change from casual to cordial to even conspiratorial all evening. But this was entirely different energy radiating from her. Immediately she tried to rein it back, rolling her shoulders and tilting her chin up, like she had on the red carpet earlier.
“Hanukkah Heroes. I’ll even wear a yarmy for ya.” He winked. “You brought the catsuit, right?”
Hannon didn’t wait for an answer. Just threw his head back and laughed, like a human Pez dispenser. “Gonna go grab another drink.” He pointed back at them, two-gun style, as he spun off on an expensive heel. “Later, KK.”
Can I punch him? Just once.
Jonah heard Jay’s voice in his head, his warning back at Asher’s Bar the other night. Best behavior.
He watched Hannon weave and swagger through the crowd, like Moses on Vodka and Red Bull, trying to part the Red Sea. The ghostwriter trying to keep up.
Yeah. Still wanted to punch him.
“Ugh. The one place – and holiday – I thought would be a Hannon-free zone. That was…”
“Enough to last you all eight nights?”
“More than enough. Total Dayenu situation.”
It helped to diffuse the situation with shared Jewish history, pulling and blending funny highlights from a lifetime of holidays that the majority of the world did not understand or celebrate.
She laughed, but it sounded shaky. The moment before, with the gelt – whatever it had been building toward – was gone. She pulled his jacket tighter around herself, stepping back to put a respectable distance between them.
“I need – ” She gestured vaguely toward the boat’s interior. “Something fun, where it’s warm. And doesn’t involve drunk co-stars saying ‘yarmy’ ever again.”
Fun? He could deliver fun like it was his middle name.
“Good thing I know this boat like the back of my neck. Follow me.”
Chapter Ten
For the next hour, Tzipi had no need to consult the map on the bottom of her shoe. Or think about Hannon Kershaw. Max escorted her from one activity to another, from level to level and deck to deck. Some, like karaoke and the charity auction, were so mobbed, they steered clear. The tournaments looked intense; the dreidel tables were fast-paced and as energetic as any craps game in Vegas. And Mahjong? That ancient game was intimidating to Tzipi on a normal day, but the way the well-dressed women were clicking and clacking the tiles tonight looked positively cutthroat.
A pretty brunette, weaving between the tables and overseeing the games, smiled and gave them a friendly wave. Inviting them to sit and take part with an eager swish of her hands, like they were old friends. Tzipi gave a subtle not-on-your-life shake of her hair that she hoped Max picked up on when he turned to her. He looked relieved.
“She probably wants to thank you for the shout-out you gave her last year on your socials,” he murmured in her ear above the din of the players shrieking Pung! and Chow! “Mahjong Muse, remember?”
Now that he said it, Tzipi did remember seeing a pretty tile set on her sister’s Instagram feed last Hanukkah. “I do!” She hastily blew a kiss and waved in thanks as they continued their circuit around the boat.
Whatever his rate was, Max had earned a bonus in her mind for filling in the gaps.
“People must try to give you things all the time,” he observed. “Do you have, like, a room in your house full of these random things? I’d be the ultimate re-gifter if I did. Forget a friend’s birthday? No worries, here’s a blender!”
Tzipi laughed. “Yeah, Rosie used to get a lot of fan mail and sometimes presents. Stuffed animals, mixed CDs. Most things never made it home from the studio. Unless it passed Mom’s inspection.”
“Oh man, I’m picturing your mom ripping off some poor teddy bear’s head to make sure there wasn’t a nanny-cam inside.”
Tzipi shivered at the thought. “Yeah, some were a bit questionable and borderline creepy. Like the homemade calendar some guy made with stills from the show, captioned with made-up facts like ‘Rosie eats pancakes every Tuesday’ – that must’ve come from some deep headspace canon.”
