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Authors: Dara Girard

Tags: #romance

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BOOK: Playing for Keeps
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"How old should he be?" one woman asked.

"Doesn't matter."

"Can I give him my brother's name?" another asked.

"Whatever you want."

"Can I--"

Stacy waved her hands. "There are no rules. You are the puppet master, you are the god in your writing universe. You tell me whatever story you want."

"Thanks for giving us another chance," Priscilla said before leaving.

"I didn't do nothing wrong," Laurice said as she left the room.

They all left. The guard stayed behind. "You know, trying to teach these women morals is a waste of breath. They're here because they have none."

"They can learn. Once they're out--"

"They'll end up right back here. Most do."

 

***

 

She'd told her students that the assignment had no rules. Maybe she could start writing again. Stacy thought for a moment. She could give herself an assignment so that she could completely forget Marshall and Chance. She didn't want to admit how much she missed Chance. How could one brief encounter mean so much? Was it because she was lonely and had started living again? She needed to be challenged. An assignment would force her to face her fears and close the past forever. She bit her lip and paced. She was afraid. Afraid she didn't have it anymore. That she was all dried up. But maybe...

Stacy sat down in front of her laptop and started writing. Strangely, what she wrote quickly became semiautobiographical. She'd expected to write another novel, a novel didn't need anyone else-- but found herself writing a screenplay. A script needed actors and more to make it come alive. But that didn't bother her. Writing felt cathartic. To write about a world she knew, that had made and betrayed her, starring a man who was nothing but illusions and the woman who'd allowed herself to be deluded by them. She wrote in a white heat for the rest of the week then sent the finished manuscript to Julia, but the moment she did she regretted her action. It wasn't polished. She'd let her heart bleed on the page. What if Julia hated it? Did it matter? It was done. She'd written again, when she never thought she would.

Stacy got on her treadmill and started listening to a new audio book from her favorite mystery author. She liked the delivery, but for some reason the voice felt more intimate this time. It was as if she knew the narrator. She loved the story about a rugged PI, but the actor's delivery had something special about it. Familiar. She picked up the digital music player and looked at the name of the narrator. "Chance Jamison." She stopped the recording. Chance again? One moment she hardly knew the man and now he was everywhere. Even in her bedroom. She wouldn't listen to it anymore, she'd just read the book. She went into the living room and decided to stream some movies instead, and as she searched the selection she saw his show. She selected the first season, telling herself she just wanted to see what had people talking. Why her friend's daughter was hooked, what made the series work. It was all for research. Before she knew it, she was in the throes of a TV binge and lost an entire weekend.

And like a person with a hangover, she felt miserable the following day. She was disgusted with her weakness. She wanted to forget him. She didn't want to be one of the millions of women who fawned over him. She went to sleep that night and found herself in a hospital bed and Dr. Michael Staton was the attending physician and he healed her in ways that left her hungry for more. Stacy woke up feeling aroused and annoyed. She called Julia and asked her to go for a jog. After a halfhearted effort they stopped at a nearby deli and chatted. Someone had left a magazine behind. Stacy idly flipped through the magazine then saw Chance's face.

He really did have a nice face. She knew it was even better in person. She traced his eyebrows and his mouth. His beautiful, wonderful mouth. She remembered how his lips felt against hers.

Julia snatched the magazine away and snapped it shut. "I've got a guy for you."

"I'm not interested."

"You have to do something to get over him."

"I
am
over him," Stacy said taking a bite of her poppy seed bagel.

"You were drooling over his picture."

"I was admiring the digital artistry."

"I can't believe you were able to say that with a straight face. You are looking so good lately and wasting your time on something's that's over. Where did you get that track suit?"

"From...umm...a friend."

"You don't have any friends beside me."

"Oh, thanks."

"It's true. Come on. What's your secret to suddenly looking so good?"

"No secret, I just went on a buying binge--retail therapy." She knew she couldn't tell Julia about her new wardrobe courtesy of the Black Stockings Society.

"It's just that, even when I first met you, you didn't look this good."

"A divorce changes you. It might take time for my heart to heal, but nothing stops me from looking good now."

Julia clapped her hands together. "Speaking of time. I got your email. I'll get back to you soon."

"Forget it. I just went crazy for a week. Delete it."

But Julia didn't delete it. A week later as Stacy was putting Houdini in the back seat of her car after a vet appointment her cell phone rang.

"How much do you want?" Julia said without preamble.

"How much for what?"

"Don't be coy. You knew I'd love it. I can't believe you've been hiding this from me. I know you fired your last agent. You're working with a lawyer now right? Just give me a round number and I'll--"

"What are you talking about?"

"The script you sent me. It's just what I've been looking for. I already have a major studio exec chomping at the bits to get the exclusive rights to air it."

"My script. You liked my script?"

"I loved it. If you had any doubt that you needed Marshall, this script proves you don't. He's gonna hate you, and that makes me want to produce it that much more. Any money woes are over, I hope you're working on something else. You're on a streak and I don't think it's gonna stop. I'll call and hash things out, then I'll tell you about all that we're going to do. I'm so glad you're trusting me with this. You haven't shown this to anyone else, right?"

"No, of course not."

"That's my girl. Talk to you soon."

Stacy put her phone away. Julia liked her script and wanted to produce it. She hadn't written a script in years, not since her separation, and Julia thought it was wonderful. Stunned, Stacy got in the driver's seat and put the keys in the ignition.

 

Chapter Twelve

 

"I know a script that has your name on it," Tyson said coming into Chance's dressing room. "It has a part I know you're perfect for, although no one thinks you have a chance of getting it."

Chance turned a page of the magazine he was skimming and didn't look up as Tyson settled into a chair. "Nice to see you too."

"Aren't you going to ask me what it is?"

"No."

"
Courting Danger
, Stacy Price's comeback piece. It's rumored the script is loosely based on her rocky marriage to Marshall Price. Buzz is already going around about the producer, Julia Jones, and director, Donald Mott, who’s attached to the project. Every actor I know wants a piece of the action. Everyone's guessing who's going to play the lead role of, Melvin, Marshall's character." He slammed the script down on the table with a dramatic flourish.

Chance fought to remain neutral, although the sound of Stacy's name still brought pain. It had been two months since he'd last seen her and he wondered if he'd made the right decision. "Sounds like a great part," he said acting the role of man who didn't care, although he cared more than he wanted to.

"Which is why you should play it."

Chance sniffed. "I don't think I was one of the names mentioned."

"That's because they don't know you're interested yet."

"I didn't say I was. Besides, I'm the nice guy, the cool, good guy. Do you really think I can play a charming snake?"

"I know you can. You can play anything you want to." He tapped the script. "This role is meant for you."

Chance picked up the script, just to humor his friend. He wasn't really interested in vying for a role that a lot of other actors wanted. Especially a role written by a woman who'd turned his world upside down. He didn't want to have anything to do with her. No, that was wrong, he wanted to do a lot with her--in a very personal way. Since Tyson looked so eager, Chance skimmed through a couple of pages and quickly became riveted. He swore. The role was good and he wanted it. He wanted a role to stretch his skills. He was bored playing the good looking hero. He wanted to cut his teeth on a nice juicy villain. But it wasn't just the role that captivated him, it was the script, the language, the passion in every line. He knew he could add a lot of dimension to this character.

Chance knew most wouldn't think he would be right for the part, because he made playing Dr. Staton look easy. What most people didn't know was that he could mold his movements to suit any part he played. While some actors melded themselves into the roles they played, he could shed a character as easily as taking off a coat. He never confused himself with who he was and the people he played. Unlike Dr. Staton, he hadn't grown up surrounded by the privileges of wealth. He had a decent lower, middle class background, raised by a single immigrant woman and his Gran. The stage had called to him the moment he recited Jonah and the Whale in church. The applause had lingered. He discovered he could make his mother smile, when smiles had been few in his home. He saw how his mother and grandmother escaped into the TV and how those characters on the screen made them smile and he wanted to do the same. He wanted to entertain. To let people live a different life, if only for a while. His mother and grandmother hadn't been too thrilled with his ambitions. They'd hoped he'd want to become a professor or doctor, but he'd chosen the stage instead, leaving for the bright lights and big promises of New York the moment he graduated high school. Because of his looks, he hadn't had to wait around long, getting modeling jobs, and bit parts in off Broadway shows and small roles in indie films, before landing a spot in a national commercial that paid the bills. That was before he landed the role on
Heartbeat
, which he'd played for the last six years. But Chance was hesitant. If he went after this new role, he knew it would be more pressure and he couldn’t afford to let his panic attacks be seen.

Chance put the script down, tapping down his eagerness too. "It was a nice thought."

Tyson pushed the script back at him. "It's not like you to be chicken."

"I just don't want you to be disappointed."

"I thought you'd eat up an opportunity like this."

Chance sighed. "They're back."

Tyson paused then swore. "Really?"

He nodded. Tyson had been one of the few people he'd felt safe enough to share with about his attacks.

"I know another doctor."

"I'm already seeing another one this week."

"It's your family, isn't it?"

Yes.
His family life had been one reason he liked the world of make-believe. Since he'd been a boy he'd wanted to escape it. But no matter how hard he tried they kept pulling him back to the realities of his life. He glanced at a picture his ten year old niece, Tiffany, had given him. She was the one bright spot in his life. Unfortunately, her welfare was also his greatest concern. He'd recently had a talk with his lawyer about possibly having to fight his brother about his sister's care--Tiffany's mother.
His sister's mental status affected his niece and worried him. "I don't know what it is, I just know that they hit me at the worst moments. Could you see me going for this audition, and then freaking out?" he said, not wanting to go into detail about his family.

"You don't freak out and this is the opportunity you've been waiting for." Tyson stood and held Chance's shoulders. "I don't care what medication you have to take, what therapy you have to do. Make this happen. It's going to be stressful and cutthroat, but you didn't get into this game expecting it to be easy. You can do this. You've worked hard for a moment like this. And with the contract you have with
Heartbeat
you can be flexible with your shooting schedule."

"Hmm," Chance said being noncommittal. He knew that they'd be able to write around his character on
Heartbeat
for several weeks. But it'd still be a grueling schedule carrying two projects. But the thought of eighteen hour days only invigorated him.

"I've already dropped your name with a few key people. Make me proud. "

Chance smiled and slumped back in his chair. "Forget it."

Tyson sighed. "Let's go for a drink this weekend."

"Can't. I'm attending a fundraiser."

"Another one? What's this one for? Save the butterflies?"

"Very funny. It's for mental health research."

Tyson sobered knowing that the subject was close to Chance's heart. "Oh."

Before Tyson could say anything else, Tameka Hart, an aspiring actress with a curvy figure and pretty eyes, burst into his dressing room. "Are we still on for Saturday? You won't believe who's going to be there. Julia Jones." She leaned over and kissed him. "You'll love my dress."

Chance winked. "I know I will."

She giggled then left.

Tyson frowned. "I thought you were going to dump her."

"I did. Months ago. We're just friends."

"Who kiss like lovers?"

He sighed. "She came to me crying her eyes out over a bad audition--"

"That's because she can't act."

"She's getting better."

"She has as much acting ability as a tube of toothpaste. At least you can squeeze something good out of one. She's got nothing but a pretty face and a delusion. She's hanging onto you because she knows you're better than she is. I've seen it lots of times. Find your action in another direction."

"I'm not sleeping with her."

"If she has her way you will be."

"When I go to parties and other events, she saves me from getting trapped by women and I help her get noticed. It works for both of us."

BOOK: Playing for Keeps
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