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.”
