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They came to door by which Kline would leave and Thad said, "Well, if you score that one, your record should improve considerably. And if you do, make sure you tell me about it. I'm dying to know."
"If that works out well, you'll never know.I'm no fool."
He and Thad hugged, then he started out the door, turning on the animal of charisma as he walked. He needed to get into character as himself, well, the movie version of himself. Himself was Scott Kline, a tall, skinny, spotty boy with questionable teeth, who had fallen into modeling after a scout approached him after a school track meet.
Having no body fat at all meant more than just being cold all the time. It meant that on camera, with good lighting, even the barest of workout routines showed up like he’d trained to be a superhero. He did a few test shoots, got a makeover, changed his clothes and was walking for John Galliano that spring.
He slouched into his runway strut just for fun. No paparazzi were around on the lot to catch him in the act.
His then-agent had asked him to change the order of his name. “To sound more mysterious. You’re selling a mystery. There’s nothing enigmatic about Scott.” Since half his mates called him by his surname anyway, it hadn’t mattered much to him. Then, it had been an unexpected benefit to be able to put on Kline Scott like a garment from his runway rack and relax back into Scott Kline when he was finished with work.
When he moved to New York after signing with Ford, he had taken on Kline Scott full time, only wearing Scott Kline like pajamas or a towel out of the shower. It was his chance to be more than the gangly kid with too-short sleeves and trouser legs, from the poor family, who got lucky. He could be whatever he wanted. And, his agent had been right. Kline was a mystery.
Kline was also a charming son of a bitch, who used his American dental plan smile to light up the eyes of every woman he met. Young, old, fat, thin, plain, stunning didn’t matter. He flirted with everyone. Kline Scott wasn’t just a lady killer. He resurrected them, too.
Scott Kline had been hopeful and earnest. Kline Scott was certain and confident, and he was deep into that persona by the time he was seated in Chelsea’s guest chair, laughing at her jokes about his romcom history, then getting serious when she asked him about his foray into action. “It’s a big difference,” he said, leaning forward toward her, then taking the audience into his confidence with a shy smile added, “I was nervous. I was a little afraid I wouldn’t stack up. There are so many good movies out there, and so many great leading men.”
“Do you think you’ll do any more romantic comedy?”
“I hope so! I love making people laugh. Romcoms are a lot of fun.”
“Did you worry about being typecast? You’ve been the prince of romance for a while now.”
“I’d worry about being typecast if I didn’t like the type,” he said with a grin. “But getting typecast as a charming, funny guy who gets the girl? What’s to complain about that?”
The audience laughed and applauded, as Chelsea rolled her eyes and groaned before going back to her questions. Kline was getting a little pissed. She was supposed to be talking about Knight and Lone Star, or what he had planned next, not bringing up his old films. He’d told Roland he only wanted to do press about his future, not his past, so when Ellen brought up Knock Three Times and brought up photos from his runway days, he was ready to get up and walk off her set. When she brought up Kara Viceroy and the wrench that had thrown in his personal life, he nearly lost his temper.
Instead of saying what he wished, he remembered to breathe through his nose, and said, “You know, one of the things I learned from doing so many romcoms is that the way to get the girl is to show respect, kindness, and keep your mouth shut about what goes on in private. And you know me, Chels. I like to get the girl.”
The audience cooed and clapped again.
“Oh, I do know that, Kline,” Chelsea said back through a tight smile and suddenly Kline remembered having abruptly walked off mid-sentence of a conversation with Chelsea to chase another girl at a party years ago. He almost laughed. Grudges were bad for business, though. He collected himself even as he felt a blush rising on his cheeks.
“What I’ve learned from moving into action is that the less said, the better.” And he turned his last fifteen seconds into an elevator pitch for Knight. He tied it up with a bow just as Chelsea was getting the signal to throw to wrap it up, and he sat back to make eye contact with various audience members, waving up into the cheering crowd as he did. He couldn’t see shit, but everyone up there was going to believe he had looked right at them.
He congratulated himself on keeping his head, his seat, and getting the promotion pitch in, finished out his segment, then winked at Chelsea as he walked off stage. After signing a few autographs, he picked up an apple from the craft table, then started back over to the Simon Says set to look for Delia and Jack.
He found his son giggling madly as Evangeline, Carraway and Shaunsie performed a staged rendition of an old Spice Girls song in front of Thad’s trailer. Jack had been conscripted to play Scary Spice and was growling and laughing as directed. Carraway had decided that the sisters were going to be a pop band, and she worked her siblings relentlessly. Jack got hugs and praise, where the other girls got sharp orders and clipped commands.
Kline stood watching for a moment, head tilted. The girls had sharp moves and decent voices. A little more adult than they should have been, but then so were all the other girls in LA.He waved to Delia, who was standing back watching, and she pushed away from a trailer wall and started toward them. "Hey, Jacks. Time to go, bud."
He looked a bit disappointed, but nodded, "Okay, Dad."
"Uncle Kline!" Shaunsie squealed, breaking from the ranks to run and hug him.
He gave her a squeeze and smiled down at her. Carraway's twin, she showed her wish for individuality by keeping her hair cut short and wearing glasses, but she still had her Scandinavian mother's good looks. "How are you, sweetie?" he said, nodding towards the others. "That routine was great."
"We still need to practice," Carraway insisted, giving Shaunsie a stern look.
"It's fab, doll," Kline winked at her. "You're brilliant. Couple of years, good management, and a band behind you and you'll be bigger than your old man ever was."
Carraway beamed at that and stroked her hair, batting her lashes. That one was going to be trouble. "Go on," she pretended to blush.
"We'll see you later, Jacky," Evangeline said, squeezing the boy before ruffing his hair.
"Be good."
He screwed up his face when Carraway kissed his cheek noisily, then wiped off the girl-cooties quickly."Gross, Carra," he whined."Don't put your dog lips on me!"
