Page 8 of Heavy Shot

While running on the treadmill, he considered each one, weighing what he thought might be an easy score against a hard conversation. Jill looked good, he thought. More refined. She had always been fairy tale pretty before, big eyed and wispy, but baby-faced. When they’d met, she was barely legal and still casting as a tween, struggling to break out of those child actor roles into more serious work.

She was sheltered by an omnipresent stage mother, but precocious for all the professional work she’d done. She had three major roles on Broadway and two touring companies under her belt by the time they met. Still, he hadn’t even broken a sweat stealing her away from the friend of his she was dating.

She was cute with this confusing, quirky sex appeal that was muddled up between the prettiness and the razor-sharp wit. But she’d also been a foot in the door with lifelong connections most people only dreamed about. In truth, he had started cultivating the relationship more for his career than anything else. Those first few months of dating, he’d seen her as little more than a cute girl with a hot resume, which he supposed was the exact problem she was having with casting agents.

When he had realized what he had on the hook, it was like pulling a rip cord to his soul. A whole parachute of unexpected emotions and repercussions exploded out of a kiss and before he knew it, he was half in love and mostly living in a brand new studio apartment Jill had scooped up on her eighteenth birthday to emancipate herself from the overbearing mother, and provide the privacy she wanted to keep fucking Kline’s brains out between their auditions and parties with his model-slash-actor-slash-waiter buddies.

That’s all he did for a summer--audition and fuck. And not just Jill. He was young, he was attractive, he was in the city that never slept, and he was making the most of it. She would find out and cry, he would apologize and remind her that they weren’t really together and that they were way too young to limit themselves to each other, then they would start the next round of the same.

He preferred her studio to his model apartment, and he couldn’t complain at all about her company in the double bed they shared. He’d been the first to get into both Jill and the bed, and he’d gotten both her performance and his pillow into the exact shape to fit his wants. Then, he’d gotten the call that he’d been cast for Knock, and he’d left without much of a goodbye at all. He hadn’t even told her he was leaving.

She was, what, twenty-nine, thirty, now? She didn’t look like a child anymore. He had logged onto the internet after his workout and pulled up pictures. This was what fairy tale princesses grew up to be, he thought, biting his lip. Photos of her collecting a Tony award made him sit up a little straighter. He didn’t pay much attention to those. He cared about SAGs, Golden Globes, Emmys, and Oscars.

Three Tonys. She’d won three. That was the easiest information to find on her, along with a couple of articles about her charity appearances. Otherwise, she only turned up on stage.

The most recent photos were of her as a presenter at the awards show, her lithe, dancer’s body in a simple and trim slip dress of steel gray satin, making her eyes look like thunderclouds. She was remarkable. “From sunbeam to ice queen,” he whispered to himself. He thought she’d had her nose done. Something was different, something other than just losing the baby fat in her face. Something had taken that prettiness to the next level.

Whatever it was, it was good work. He couldn’t figure it out. He’d had his teeth and nose done before getting Knock and still wondered how long he would have struggled without having had that done.

Tapping the business cards he’d carried with him, he shut down the internet and picked up the landline to dial a number. It was archaic, but more personal. While hackers concentrated on cell phones, he could feel pretty confident that his landline calls were secure. He was too wiped for the hard conversation. "Rhiannon?" He said, when the call was answered, "It's Kline Scott.I wanted to see about setting up a time for that drink."

"Wow. You called the very same day," she said, after a pause. "You must really be thirsty."

"Something like that," he smiled into the phone, then breathed, "So--you interested?"

"Of course. I don't give my number to just anyone. Those business cards aren't cheap."

Kline laughed. "I think I understand why Thad's show's doing so much better now."

"Nah, his wife's out of town," Rhiannon said, without missing a beat. "So, are you free tomorrow night?"

"I can be. How about I pick you up around nine? Wear your dancing shoes."

"Okay, we should be done shooting by seven, so that sounds good," she said, before giving him her address.

"See you then. Can't wait." He let the purr back into his voice before hanging up. He stared at the other card for a long time and then pinned it up on the cork board by the phone. He couldn't make that call just then.

He poured himself a drink then wandered into the den to watch Jack play games for a while, cheering him on before heading upstairs for a bath, still thinking about Jill. Seeing her had been a shock.

He was remembering how that whole time in his life felt. It was loud and colorful, and full of bright young people with big dreams, who were all working their asses off to achieve a moment, and playing their asses off when things didn’t pan out. Jill was one of those things that didn’t pan out, and they’d broken up a bit before he got the audition for Knock. She’d come home to find him in their bed with another girl–dick move on his part–and kicked him out.

Of course, not having her and then seeing her out with another one of their friends made him want her more. “Fuck,” he pushed his hands through his hair. Jack was right, he was weird. So, a few weeks later, knowing that Knock was locked in, with his airline ticket already packed in his bag, he had taken Jill out, wined and dined her, then to a hotel for privacy–another guy had already moved into the model apartment like a shark’s tooth filling in a gap.

He poured everything he was feeling but didn’t know how to say into her body, then walked her back to her studio the next morning. He had kissed her on the lips and said, “I love you. I will always love you.” Then, leaving her wearing a smile like sunshine, was on his flight to LA two hours later. He had never worked up the nerve to tell her he was going because he was half-afraid she'd ask him to stay, and he was terrified he might.

He had loved her, in his way. He knew that then and he knew it now. Seeing her brought it all rushing back and he wondered if they could have survived the early years of his acting career.

They likely would have ended up like he and Nina had, and that was the last thing that Kline wanted for Jill. Of course, he realized it was probable that she might still hate him after all these years and that show of politeness may have been just that. She was an actress, and a damn good one, as he remembered it.

He suddenly wondered if the number and address tacked on the board in the kitchen was really hers, but he couldn't bring himself to test it and find out.

"Hey, Dad?" Jack called through the bathroom door. "Delia says to say I'm going to bed now."

"Ah--okay. I'll be in to tuck you in soon. I'm in the tub."

"Okay," Jack called. "Night.”

"Night," Kline said, rubbing his eyes with damp fingers. He climbed out of the tub and toweled off, taking a moment to stare at his reflection in the mirror. Thirty-three had crept up on him and he could see it in the lines of his face. He'd aged better than some, but it was still becoming obvious that he couldn't compete with the younger set. As long as he kept his box office up, he could pull out at least another ten years of leading man roles, maybe even fifteen. It was bread on the table, at any rate. He sighed, looking himself over again before tying on his robe.

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