“I’m so sorry, Rafe,” Tabitha shudders. “I shouldn’t have been gossiping like that. It’s just that Kenna was asking me leading questions, and I wasn’t sure how to answer them.”
Is that the wheels of the bus I’m getting thrown under that I hear roaring in my ears?
“Kenna was asking you questions?” Rafe repeats.
“Yes, about you and Lorelei,” Tabitha nods, earnestly.
Rafe throws his head back and laughs. “You want to know the sad thing, Tabitha? It’s a funny story, actually. You should have asked her about it. I’m sure she would have loved to tell you about it.”
“Maybe …” Tabitha says nervously. “Maybe we can ask her next week.” She jumps up and grabs the farm box. “How about I put all this stuff away for you before I get going, Kenna?”
“Not so fast,” Rafe says. “How about you apologize to Kenna for lying and throwing her under the bus first? And then you can put the groceries away. And after that, you can call your agency and tell them you’re not coming back next week. They’ll need to send someone else for Lorelei. You’re done.”
“But—”
“Uh-uh. Apologies first,” Rafe says, cutting her off.
“But you don’t understand. It’s not what you think. She—” Tabitha scrambles for excuses, but Rafe doesn’t respond. He just stands there, staring stone-faced at her with his arms folded and his eyebrows raised in the universal “I smell bullshit” position.
Finally, she realizes the worm has turned and her face gets red and angry. She is glaring at me.
“She is not worthy of trying on, let alone walking in, Lorelei’s shoes!” Tabitha looks at me like she might spit. “She’s not atrue fan!”
“Did you need me to call the agency and tell them why you’re getting fired instead then?” Rafe asks.
“No. Fine. Sorry, Kenna. Whatever.” Tabitha is red and twitchy, but she turns her wrath back at Rafe, nonetheless. “For what it’s worth, Rafe? I think Lorelei can do much better than a stoner like you.”
“That much is probably true,” Rafe concedes. “Make sure you put the celery in the crisper and the parsley in a cup of water. Don’t try anything funny … there are cameras. And you can show yourself out. I’ll take the key now.” He takes the farm box from her so she can search for it in her bag. “Good girl,” he says as he pockets it. He shoves the farm box back at her. “And goodbye.”
Tabitha scurries back toward the house, leaving me alone on the patio with my own personal superhero. If that was the audition for the part, he nailed it. I haven’t felt this vindicated by anyone since Georgia decked Bryce Holm for calling me Poxy.
“Can you believe her?” he asks, still staring warmly at me. “And this is someone who’s been thoroughly vetted, no less.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to have people prying constantly,” I say, honestly unable to imagine it. My life isn’t interesting enough to inspire anyone to snoop.
I brace myself for some kind of “let this be a lesson” lecture from him, but he’s speaking to me like we’re on the same side. Like we have the same problems.
“That wasn’t the real problem,” Rafe says. “She was a kook and a liar, but what I really couldn’t stand was how rude she was to you. She had no right to be speaking to you the way she was. Lorelei’s probably going to kill me for firing her PA, but I’m sure the agency will send another. In the meantime, feel free to call on me.”
He didn’t just fire her PA for me, did he? She was a crappy stalker. That’s why he did it. It really isn’t about me.
“Thank you,” I say. And then because I can’t think of anything else to say, I throw in, “Lorelei is lucky to have a friend like you.”
“Mind if I sit a minute?” Rafe lowers himself into the seat Tabitha recently vacated without waiting for my answer. He sticks out his leg and rocks himself, smiling, clearly lost in a memory. Then he turns to look at me again. This is when I remember I’m still in my pajamas, I have bedhead, and haven’t even brushed my teeth. Perfect.
“She did do it, you know,” he says.
“Who did what?” I ask.
“Lorelei. She got me stoned.” Rafe makes a face like a guilty teenager.
“Oh. Wow.” I raise my eyebrows.
“I was sixteen, and it was my first time smoking pot. I was what you’d call a ‘goody-goody,’ and Lorelei was only thirteen. For whatever reason, her agent and mine introduced our moms to each other at the Kids’ Choice Awards, and we ended up hanging out together at an afterparty. I think Lorelei was trying to impress me, and she gave me a joint. I smoked it the next day, before going to synagogue with my parents.”
“Uh-oh,” I say.
“Big uh-oh,” Rafe nods. “Because my dad was a cantor. You know what that is?”
