Page 35 of Heavy Shot

“I promise.”

A few more kisses and then Rhiannon finally made it into her car. Things went faster with celebrities, she told herself. When they weren’t at work, they had nothing but time on their hands, so rather than seeing someone once or twice a week for a couple of hours at a time, they could hole up for weekends or weeks and fast track through all the first-crush-rush of serotonin and get right down to love.

Or breakups, she reminded herself. They broke up just as quickly as they got started.

“Fast flames flame out fast,” is what her mother always said. But something about Kline felt different. She could actually make a difference for him. She could do for his career what she’d done for Simon Says and take him from just another pretty face to a serious star with a career to rival the most respected actors.

And as she rose in the ranks of her career, they could be such a power couple. She fantasized about that all the way home, and into a hot shower, through to a light lunch and then finally into her own bed where she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Jill Parker

In preparation for Divorce Week, as she was calling it, Jill had met with Roland again to sign all the paperwork necessary to give her career over into his capable hands, including ironclad NDAs for her own comfort. They sat down over drinks at a private club, and she explained the whole of her situation to him. From marriage to divorce and everything in between. It felt good to say it all out loud to a stranger. A semi-stranger. "I need to know I have PR at the ready," she told him earnestly. "This is the first time in my life that I've been painted as the bad guy in the press, and my current team just hasn’t been able to handle it. Bad or good, I know a good PR handler can turn it into money."

Roland had smiled at her savvy but fretted a bit at her obvious worry. "You need to think positive," he told her. "No matter what, I'm going to be making sure you get the best press out of this possible. I only win," he insisted. "You only win with me. You call me as soon as your court case is finished and tell me everything. I don't want to get caught with our pants down. I’ve already got some ideas."

* * *

She'd gone into court expecting the waiting media. What she had not been expecting was to be greeted by an interview Gary had given. There, in black and white, were his reasons for the secrecy of their marriage, the insanity of the union, and the problems that caused the split.

He called her depressive, fragile, and needy. He said she was dangerously reclusive, which was the reason for the secrecy. She was terrified of the press getting even an inch of her personal space. He called her frigid, and he cited her miscarriages as the last straws, saying how hard it had been to convince her to even try for a family. He wanted more children, and he went so far as to suggest that she might not have had miscarriages at all.

She'd read the article in the limo over to the courthouse and was in shock by the time she finished it. Even more shocking was the sight of Gary with his new girlfriend--his very pregnant new girlfriend–walking into court together. It wasn't even the same girl he'd thrown her over for. This was a newly minted celebutante who had barely just made her debut, an oil heiress from Alaska of all places, whose family had bought their way into society only a few years before.

The judge was fair if uninterested, and aggravated by the press, and it didn't take long to finalize the dissolution of the marriage. The pre-nup stood. Jill got everything she'd taken into the marriage plus a cool five million for his philandering. He got what he'd taken into the marriage, plus her reputation. It was done.

A bailiff ushered her into a private side room so she could avoid the melee, and in a daze, she dialed Roland and mechanically related the entire scene. "You got a car there?" he asked.

"I just need to call for one," she told him.

"Don't do it. I've got just the thing. You wait right where you are until I call you, then you go on out to the front steps. I'll send one of my people for you. I got this under control."

Jill agreed before hanging up. She sat in the room too stunned to even have a cohesive thought until her phone rang again a half hour later. It was Roland instructing her to go on out. “I want you to walk out alone. We’re going for maximum drama here, okay, sweetheart? I promise you, that once you walk out that door the press is going to forget you were ever even married.”

“I’m trusting you.”

“Then start that pap stroll, baby. Chin up, head held high. Down, but not out.”

Jill almost laughed, but couldn’t quite, so she just hung up and did as instructed.

Straggling press snapped her picture as she walked out of the courthouse to the stairs. She'd donned her Chanel sunglasses and tightened the belt of her trench coat. She'd chosen to wear seamed hose with a Cuban heel and smart black stilettos. Now she was hoping her divorce costume held up in print, or at least to the heat.

As she walked, ignoring the questions the few reporters left were throwing at her, a limo pulled up and the back door flew open, just as a swarm of paparazzi appeared out of nowhere.

Stunned by the surge of them, for a moment she didn't recognize the man running toward her, but then Kline came loping up the stairs two at a time like something out of a movie. He wore a look of determination on his face as he made a beeline for her. Jill put one hand against the nearby pillar for support. It was criminal how good he looked in his leather jacket, with a simple black V-neck and charcoal-colored trousers. It was even more criminal how happy she was to see him.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, stepping forward to his outstretched arm. He pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head, using his body to shield her from the press until they were safely inside the limo. He gave the driver further directions before turning to Jill, "Are you alright? They didn't hound you too badly, did they?"

She shook her head, not trusting her voice for a moment, then tried a smile and said, "When Roland said he was sending one of his people, I expected--I don't know. A suit? A mobster? Not you. What are you doing in New York?”

"Colbert tomorrow. I’ve got a little press run for Lone Star. I just arrived a little bit ago, so it all worked out. I guess he figured you needed a friendly face, and I was already in a limo, so…" he said, giving her a bit of a smile, "here I am."

"Here you are," she echoed softly. "Thank you. Did he tell you..."

Kline nodded and reached for one of her hands. "Yeah. And I came for you."

"I'm glad you did."

"I read the article," Kline added, offering a sympathetic and searching look.

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