Page 63 of Heavy Shot

She nodded. "Well, is there any topic I should know about? Anything to avoid or build up?"

He shook his head. "No. That's for me to worry over, love. You just concentrate on being beautiful and enjoying yourself. Remember that they didn't get the best of us with those pictures."

"Right," she said, looking out the window to see the crowd lining the carpet ahead of them. They were only four cars away from their entrance now. "What if they ask me about us? Or about you and Jill?"

Kline petted her hand. "Don't worry. No one's going to ask you anything. If they do it'll be who are you wearing, and that's easy enough. I'm the one they'll want to talk to. You'll just be photographed."

"Oh," Rhiannon said through a tight smile. She wasn't sure whether to be offended and he didn’t seem to notice. He was too wrapped up in himself.

He let out a breath as their car crept up another spot. "This is the part I hate the most. The sitting and waiting to get out. I get claustrophobic. Is that Hanks? It is. I hate going after him! He clogs up the line, stopping to talk to everyone."

Rhiannon stared out the window, pretending to people watch, growling inside until they rolled up to their stop. Her door was opened, and flashbulbs started popping, but she knew when Kline emerged from behind her because of the suddenly deafening roar. Above the din, she could hear his name being called over and over. He stepped out, looked around and waved, then put his hand in the small of her back and ushered her forward, stopping to pose now and then. A photographer asked Rhiannon to step back so they could get some solo shots of her date and Kline winked at her before stepping a space away, waving to the crowd and blowing kisses. A PA came to move them along, so Kline reached back for Rhiannon's hand.

They did the gauntlet, and as he'd told her, no one asked her anything. The women on the media line ignored her completely, the men just leered openly. Kline fielded questions about his nerves, his tux, his upcoming film and his part in Devil's Party, and he answered them all with grace and aplomb. The only person to ask Rhiannon anything was Ashley Graham, and she just wanted to know about the dress.

Looking back, Rhiannon saw Jill a few stops down on the media line. The dress August had made was stunning, and for a moment she couldn't take her eyes away from the length of legs showing. The front of the skirt was only inches from being no skirt at all, and the black train just served as perfect backdrop for Jill's long, lean stems. Thin strapped sandals that tied around the ankle with skinny, licorice whips of laces completed that end of the look. The rest—well, she was balletic and graceful, and the cut of the fabric and slices of skin showing somehow served to make her look more delicate. She'd gone with a simple updo and massive black chandelier earrings--her only accessory. August was hanging back to let her be photographed.

“Oh, look," Kline said, "there's Jill. Let's go say hello."

"I thought once you'd gone up the red carpet you couldn't go back," Rhiannon said.

"That's a myth," Kline grinned. He let go of her hand and started down the way as Jill's cool smile broke into a matching grin. They hugged and gave a chaste, laughing kiss on the lips, then Jill leaned back, said something, and reached up to wipe Kline's mouth with her thumb. He bit at it, playing to the cameras, then slipped an arm around her waist at the suggestion of a photographer. Jill leaned in to his side, eyes on the camera managing to look both coy and devoted at the same time. One more hug, and kiss on the cheek, then Kline strode back to Rhiannon.

"You have lipstick on your face," she said, aiming toward the entrance.

He wiped it away, laughing as he caught her hand and led the way into the seating area. Rhiannon made sure she kept her head up and walked with as much grace as she could, working the dress to her full advantage. She noticed many famous faces as they moved through the crowd, but only in passing. If there had ever been a time she was starstruck by such surroundings, it was long past. Seeing the inner workings of the glamourous life had done nothing to make her want to live it herself.

Once they’d found their seats, the next fifteen minutes were spent meeting and greeting as many influential people Kline could arrange in a short span of time. She was introduced, but very few people actually spoke to her past the introduction, and she endured a few lascivious winks and backhanded compliments while Kline worked the room.

Soon, much to her relief, the orchestra cues drove the crowd back into their places. Rhiannon felt at least she'd be able to breathe, but any breath that she might have managed was stolen away when she saw Jill seated in their row right next to Kline. In fact, Kline would be sandwiched between the two of them.

Jill was laughing at something August was saying, and looked so comfortable in her skin it would have been enviable had Rhiannon not known better. Jill was one of the most insecure women she'd ever known, but she wore confidence like a costume. Likely, she was wilting on the inside. Rhiannon couldn't help feeling a twinge of bitter joy over that.

Kline hailed and hallowed them, hugging Rick Sanders, who was also their row along with Cheryl Doyle, who had also co-starred in Knight, and her date. After more introductions, the couple sat down. Jill offered Rhiannon a naked and worried smile before settling back into her game face as conversation surged around them.

Without thinking, old habit moved Kline's hand to reach over and squeeze Jill's. "You look gorgeous," he said.

"So do you. I see you took my advice." She smiled warmly, letting go of his hand to reach up and tousle his hair. She fussed with it for a few seconds, changing the part, tucking a strand behind his ear. "There. You're very messy."

"Too messy?"

"Perfectly messy. Every person in this place is going to wish they were the ones who got you that way."

"But I'm the only one who gets to," Rhiannon announced with a sharp smile.

Jill wrinkled her forehead with practiced good humor and laughed, "But of course. Anyway," she rolled her eyes, "I've been there, done that."

"And all you got was a lousy T-shirt," August quipped.

"Hey!" Kline protested.

“That’s not fair, August,” Jill said. “I also got years of therapy bills and psychological damage.”

Those in the row who could hear them laughed and settled into conversation about who would win, what everyone was wearing, and how cold it was in the venue. It seemed forever, with false orchestra starts and mic tests, before the cue came that they were about to go live. Suddenly the lights were dimmed in the back, the kliegs groaned on over the front rows, and the stage lights blasted heat.

Keenan Thompson was hosting, and he opened the show with a monologue that was surprisingly funny. All nominees were mentioned and teased, and the audience erupted with laughter when Keenan joked, “Next year, Kline Scott’s going to be nominated for Best Actor in a Drama, but this year he's been nominated for Best Actor in a Hot Tub, on a Diving Board, in the Kitchen, and Behind the Shrubbery.”

Kline gave an affable little bow from his seat at the host as Thompson muttered amiably, "And I bet he'll win, too!"

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