Page 75 of Heavy Shot

Kline sat on a balcony in Paris, overlooking the 8th Arrondissement. He really preferred the 3rd, but the 8th was better for being seen. He had gone to the Parisian premiere of Lone Star the night before and been feted like a conquering hero instead of an actor playing a beleaguered rancher. He’d done London two days prior. He had New York on Thursday and LA on Saturday, and then he had a week of coast to coast press, followed by engagements across Europe for a week, when finally he would get a day off.

Now, he had until ten, then his glam team would arrive, and he would be doing the rounds of the most important Parisian shows. He rang Jill.

“Not now,” she answered. “I’m getting my nails done.”

“Are you in the spa?”

“Yes.”

“I’m coming down.”

Roland had negotiated Jill’s presence for the Lone Star premiers. That hadn’t been easy, given how angry she’d been about Rhiannon, but Roland had managed to broker peace and Jill could never stay angry at anyone for long–too much of a people pleaser for her own good. Now, she was traveling to each opening night with him, all smiles and legs in a series of gowns made by Gus. She always looked fantastic, but Kline couldn’t help feeling like the other man was right there in between them as they hugged up close for photo calls and sat side-by-side through multiple screenings of the film.

The press was eating them up, and the more they demurred about the state of their relationship, the more interest there was in why the Broadway star kept showing up on his arm. “It’s just work,” Jill had said truthfully, her blue eyes guileless. “And we’re very old friends. Besides, Kline could have any woman in the world. Why would he tie himself down to me?”

And in another interview Kline had said, “Jill’s one of the most balanced, down-to-earth women you could hope to meet in this industry. She’s one of the best actors I know, and I learn something new from her every day. You’ve seen her! She’s beautiful, she’s smart, she’s funny–if I could talk her into a lifetime of promises I would, but there’s that smart thing. She’s too smart to settle down with me!”

Reporters and bloggers, and gossips all kept asking, “Why does she keep showing up with him? It’s too early for them to be promoting Devil’s Party. They haven’t even started shooting.”

They answered themselves on a range. Some said that Kline and Jill were absolutely, truly in love. Others said that Kline needed her good publicity, and she needed his Hollywood cache. But most everyone agreed they were a gorgeous couple to look at, and wanted to believe it was a real romance. Sometimes, Kline did, too.

While the cameras were on them, Jill was a dream in his arms, allowing him chaste kisses on the photo walls, but as soon as they were in the darkened theaters, she would excuse herself to the ladies room and wouldn’t return until just before credits rolled. He had a fantasy now.

He would kiss her cheek at the photo call and whisper something filthy in her ear. “I’m going to fuck you like an animal,” or some such. She would blush and shiver and try to step away from him, but he would hold her wrist firmly so she couldn’t get too far. He would keep that grip until the lights went down in the theater, and when she tried to excuse herself, he would hold her fast.

“No,” he would say against her ear. “Spread your legs.”

Because it was a fantasy, she would do it, and because it was really a fantasy, she wouldn’t be wearing any knickers, and she would be drenched wanting him as badly as he wanted her. He would stroke the silken softness of her inner thighs, making her tremble, teasing at her cleft until she sighed.

Then, she would reach over and tentatively touch his erection, which would be straining against his inseam. Her delicate fingers would be like butterflies, but then she would grow brave and grip his shaft through his trousers and start to stroke him as he slid his own fingers into her waiting warmth.

He would feel her getting close and turn to kiss her mouth just as she tried to stifle a cry of pleasure. He would suffocate the sound with his lips as her thighs clenched shut on his hand, and then, before he could ruin his own pants, he would grip her wrist again and move her hand away. When they went back to the hotel, he would be ready, and he would follow her to her room. They wouldn’t even get fully inside the door before she was wrapping herself around him, pulling him down to taste his mouth and dragging him to her bed.

He groaned aloud and rolled his shoulders. So far, the closest he’d gotten to that fantasy was whispering, “Want to make out?” at the premiere last night. She had broken character and burst out laughing. He could not believe all that woman was being wasted on Gus.

She was in a black turtleneck and trim black trousers, sitting at a nail table chatting easily to the tech in French when he appeared. He was hoping he looked as rakish and handsome as she did winsome and lovely. He also wondered how many hairpins held her sleek bun in place, imagining how her hair would look tumbling down.

“Jilly,” he greeted.

She said something to the nail tech and both of them laughed, he felt like at his expense. “Hi, Kline.”

He sat down in the chair next to her. “Are you coming with me on my circuit today?”

“No, I’m doing some shopping. Rollie and I agreed that I also need to be seen out and about alone. I’ll meet you tonight to take the car to the airport, though.” Her phone chimed and she laughed again. “Pick that up and look at it. August keeps sending me wardrobe cues.”

Kline picked up her phone and held it to her face to unlock it, then swiped open the texts from August. Image after image of what he wanted her to be wearing. “He’s so upset he couldn’t come with,” she said. “You know he’s going to be here in two weeks. Then I’ll be in LA by myself. I’m going to miss him.”

“I rather prefer missing him,” Kline said.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.

They sat in silence for a while, Kline watching as the tech laid down acrylic on top of Jill’s nails and carefully painted it into place and shape. “Are you going to stay at the Bowery with me in New York?”

“I have an apartment.”

“How will that look, though?”

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