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CHAPTERONE
Kline Scott
"Bullshit!This is bullshit!" Kline cried, slamming down his phone, upsetting everything on the table.Orange juice sloshed over the rim of his glass as he cursed again. "Where do they get this shit, Roland?"
His agent was dabbing madly. His own juice had splashed out over his pants. "These are silk, Kline.These stain.And don't worry about it.It's your name and it's a big bit.True or not."
"I'm not worried about the true or not," Kline growled, "but they've got my kid in it. Why do they think it's all right to do that?It's mine and Nina's mess, not his.This is bullshit." He picked up his phone, swiped to take another look then put it face down on the table again.
"They think it's all right because it sells. Your adoring public can't get enough of this stuff. The only thing fans love more than idolizing their stars on the rise is having a front row seat when that star begins the downwards spiral. People want to know that you're just as miserable as they are. It makes them feel like they understand you."
"I don't care. I don't want my son's picture plastered all over everywhere. I just barely got Nina to agree to stop using him for her mommy-blog fodder. They can say and print what they like about me or his mother, but not him. Do whatever you have to do, Roland, but get the point across. Jack is off limits.”
"I'll work on it." Roland gave his inseam one last wipe then rolled his eyes and tossed the crumpled napkin on the plate."I wouldn't worry about it too much. I mean, Knight opened so well you’re already generating Oscar buzz—you're top of the world.You of all people know that means you’ll be popping up in the press over and over again. You’ve got to stay seen. You’ve got to give the world a storyline they want to read. And speaking of that, how's Kara? Kara is a good storyline. At least until Lone Star opens, she’s a great storyline. People love you as a couple."
Kline sighed. "And again, Kara and I were never a couple. And no, we aren't seeing each other. At all.Ever."
"That's not what is says in the blinds, Kline, and you need a date for the Oscars. You’re presenting this year, but you’re going to be a nominee next year. Use this red carpet as a practice run with someone else who needs the publicity just as much as you do. Kara’s a hot property. You might want to reconsider," Roland said, checking his watch. "I have that meeting with Stew in a half hour, so I gotta hit the bricks. Don't forget you have that interview today."
"Isn’t that what my assistant is for? Talking alarm clock and calendar? I'm taking Jack to the Oscars," Kline retorted."Tell Stew I said hello."
“Great idea, Einstein. That’ll keep him off Getty. Take a date. Jesus, Kline, go out on a date. You need to be seen. We need to get you into the right relationship. You’ve shot up in Q factor in the last twelve months, and a lot of that had to do with interest in you and Kara. You single only gets so much press. Anybody can be single.”
“I thought staying single was playing the game and I had fucked up my career when I married Nina.”
“Early in your career, yeah.” Roland dabbed at his trousers again. “You were just getting started, and I think it took years off your trajectory. You needed to be out showing people you were desired, so they’d find you desirable. You’re on the rise now, but you’ve got that messy divorce and custody thing–it takes some of the shine off. You need to be seen with someone who is either America’s sweetheart or on the rise to that. J Law’s off the market.”
Kline sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The worst part of acting was how his real life had to bend into the shadow of his celebrity persona. “What about someone like Selena Gomez?”
“Not a bad idea. Yeah, we could probably get you Selena adjacent.”
“Adjacent?” Kline’s eyebrows rose up his high forehead.
“You’re an underwear model turned romcom actor with one action-slash-period piece out and his first serious film coming out. Reach for the stars, but realize you’re not quite competition for a Hemsworth. Yet. Yet. We’ll get you there, box office gods willing.”
"Get out, Roland.Before I come to my senses and fire your worthless ass."
Roland laughed and patted Kline's shoulder, rising."I just wish I’d had you before you married Nina. You’re one of the best looking men in Hollywood. Maybe the world. And you’re a good actor. We just need to push to get you more positive press and that’ll take you the rest of the way up the marquee. Trust me. You’re getting buzz this year. This year? It’s going to be the year of Kline Scott. Guarantee. People’s Sexiest Man Alive. Just stick with the program, okay? I’ll get to work on Selena-adjacent.”
“I can find my own dates.”
“Can you?” Roland made a show of looking around. “I'll see you Tuesday. When does Nina get Jack again?"
"Next month.Two weeks. She's taking him on a cruise. What the hell a six year old is going to do on a cruise is beyond me, but she's insisted."
"I'll try and schedule most of your press while he's gone," Roland said, heading for the door.
"Maybe when he gets back, I'll take him home for a little while. I need a vacation."
"No you don't. You need to be seen, you need network, and you need to get laid."
"Out," this time Kline was laughing. "Now. Get out."
Roland chuckled as he disappeared out the front door, leaving Kline alone at the kitchen table. He looked down at his phone again. That argument with Nina had been a bad move. Especially in public. He couldn't help it, though. She always knew how to dig the knife in deeper and get him so turned around he didn't know if he was coming or going. He had gotten better at shutting her down, at ignoring her entirely, at telling her no and meaning it. He'd finally been able to walk away from her and file for divorce. The only thing that kept her in his life was the fact that she had given birth to his son. If he had his way, he'd never see her again.
It also hadn't helped that he'd unloaded on the photographer who had been shutterbugging nearby. There'd be a lawsuit from that dust up soon enough. He'd whipped the camera off the photographers neck, ripped out the film and then smashed it to bits under his Nike’s.No one was hurt, but by the time the law-sharks got it the photographer would be in a neck brace and rolling in a wheel chair.
Kline watched Roland leave, then padded up the stairs and into his son's room. Jack lay sleeping in a wad of tangled sheets, mouth open, arm slung over a favorite race car. "Hey, buddy," Kline said quietly, giving Jack's bottom a light swat. "Rise and shine. Time to get up."
