Playing for Keeps (2 page)

"No."

"You're under arrest for vandalism," she said taking one of Stacy’s hands and placing it in handcuffs and reading Stacy her Miranda Rights."

"No, wait. I didn't--"

"Ma'am, please stay calm. You can say your piece down at the station."

The owner of the car stepped forward. "Officers, there's no need to do this."

"Chance, leave this to me," the other man said. "It's my job to keep you safe. Thank you officers."

Stacy kept her head low. Within minutes she was shackled in handcuffs and sitting in the back of a squad car.

***

"What the hell were you thinking?" her friend Julia Jacobs said as she drove Stacy home. Julia was a successful stage and film producer with enviable skill, who looked the part. If she were to run an ad it would read 'You'll never be rich enough to look this good', but Julia, who was Stacy’s best friend and confidante, was more friendly and down-to-earth than her appearance gave her credit for.

"I wasn't thinking at all," Stacy said in a dull tone.

"Of all the people I thought I'd have to bail out of jail I never pictured you. I shouldn't have listened to you and gone with you to court. I take it things didn't go well?"

"Worse."

"I'm sorry Stacy, but you can't just vandalize cars because you're upset. You're facing felony charges."

"I know."

"I've already contacted your lawyer. You're going to plead not guilty."

"But I am guilty."

Julia sent her a quick, hard look. "Didn't you just hear what I said? You're facing felony charges, that puts prison time on the table. Do you want that?"

"I don't know if I care right now," Stacy said rubbing her eyes, wondering why crying made them feel so dry.

"Stacy. Let me handle things."

"Can't you just call the guy and tell him I'll buy him a new car?"

"That's the second part," Julia said with renewed energy. "You really know how to screw up big. He's a known director and producer. Of all the cars in the parking lot to whack, you had to choose Tyson Engel’s."

"Tyson who?"

"Have you been living under a rock?"

"Yes," Stacy said, making no denial of her hermit like existence. After having to deal with Marshall and the courts for the past three years, she rarely looked at the TV, online chatter or the news. She just stayed to herself, eager to let the world pass by without her.

"He works with that actor C--"

Stacy held up her hand and shook her hand. "I really don't care. I'd hoped we could have settled this outside of court. I thought since he was unshaven and ragged looking that he'd go for financial compensation, but I was wrong."

"Tyson is clean shaven. Who are you talking about?"

"The other guy."

"What other guy?"

"There was another guy. He said the car was his."

"Never mind, we'll get this all sorted out. At least your divorce is finally over. Marshall is out of your life and you can start fresh."

"He's not out of my life." Stacy gripped her hands into fists. "I'll be reminded of him every month when I have to pay--"

Julia lightly patted one of Stacy’s clenched fists. "You can't let bitterness over take you."

"I wish I knew how to stop it." It seemed to cling to her. She envied couples every time she saw them. Their united joy amazed her. Had she really felt like that once? Would she ever feel like that again? She doubted it. Love had burned her too deeply. She wouldn't trust another man again.

"You don't mean that," Julia said.

"Don't mean what?"

"That you'll never love again."

Stacy sneered and looked at her friend. "I hate when you do that." They were close enough to sense each other's moods and at times, guess each other's thoughts. "I wish I'd never met him."

"He did force you to start writing."

"Are you going to give him credit for my career too?"

"Stop it. I'm on your side, I'm just saying there's no use wishing for something that won't change. Something you can't change."

"I know."

"The right man is out there for you."

Stacy shook her head. "No, I'm through with men. The only men I'll get close to are the ones in my dreams." She sighed. "I can't believe I'm ending up back in court again. God, my life is starting to sound like a tragic country-western song."

And Stacy still felt that way as she walked down the long jail corridor with sounds of shouts and bars opening and closing filling the air. She'd been forced to enter a plea deal, and ordered to teach creative writing to inmates and enroll in an anger management class. Funny thing was, she didn't want to manage her anger, she wanted it to go away.

Stacy Price.
After all these years. She didn't recognize him, but he hadn't forgotten her. Chance shook his head and softly swore. He knew he never would, even though he'd tried.

"What's that face for?"

"What face?" Chance said in a bored tone.

"You look unhappy."

"I still don't think we should have--"

"You're still thinking about the court case?" Tyson Engels said, stunned. "That's over. Hell, I still feel bad about the whole thing. I had you come to the court to be a character witness in my divorce and you end up getting attacked by a lunatic."

"She wasn't a lunatic."

Tyson shivered. "And I thought my ex was scary." He pointed at Chance. "Let this be a lesson to you. Don't get married."

Chance got up and went over to look out the window of Tyson's Manhattan office. He gazed down at the yellow cabs making their way through the clogged traffic, then lifted his gaze to the high-rises in the distance. At times his life still felt like a dream. That he had a successful career and business still amazed him. But marriage somehow continued to be out of reach, although he had many opportunities. Unfortunately, he had too many secrets to let anyone close, although many women had tried. Seeing Stacy again made him realize how alone he felt. "I told you I wanted to drop the case," he said without turning around.

"You would have let her walk."

Yes, he would have let her get away with anything if he had the power, just so he could have the chance to be with her again. "I would have at least talked to her. Not given her a record."

"She's dangerous. She was wielding a sledgehammer. Plus, did you even notice how many people were taking pictures and videos?"

"No."

"Exactly, because you don't think about things like your image."

"I do. I was going to get her information and settle things." He would have gotten her phone number and made sure she didn't forget who he was this time.

"Do you know what your problem is?"

Chance started to grin, despite his annoyance. That phrase was one his friend's favorites. "I bet you're going to tell me."

"You're too nice. I mean how much did you get for that bit part in the indie movie you just finished?"

"I didn't do it for the money. The script was great and I got to work with actors who I respect."

"Actors whose names are already bigger than yours. How do you expect to stand out?"

"I don't." He knew that Tyson didn't understand. Chance loved to act and working with masters of the craft had been an exhilarating experience for him. Sure, his role in his last film had been small, but it had been a way for him to learn and grow. He'd started his own production company with Tyson so that he could do indie productions and keep his life interesting, plus have another income stream while he also helped other artists. He'd been fortunate enough to have a regular role on a hit TV show so he didn't have to scramble for different roles.

"Listen, you have the looks of a movie star, you don't want to end up as just a character actor. You have to be more strategic about the roles you take. Shave the beard and be the man women swoon over."

Chance absently rubbed his beard. "I'm shaving it soon. I have to be on the set in a few weeks. It will be gone by then." He sighed. Maybe the beard had been the reason why she hadn't recognized him. And, it had been more than ten years ago. Besides, he wasn't the gangly man in his early twenties anymore. He wondered what had happened to her. What had made her so upset? He hated that his friend had added to her misery by refusing to drop the charges no matter how right and logical it seemed.

Tyson rolled his eyes reading the expression on Chance's face. "Forget about her."

Chance sent him a look. "It's not that easy."

"It's not like she's a real looker anyway."

"She used to be."

"What?"

Chance silently swore annoyed by his slip. "Nothing. I'm just saying maybe she used to be."

"Maybe," Tyson allowed but sounded doubtful.

Chance gritted his teeth hating the tone of disbelief in his friend's words. He knew that Stacy hadn't always looked so unremarkable and average. She'd once brightened a room with her laughter, her brown sparkling eyes always making him feel she knew something about life he didn't and he'd wanted her to teach him. Back then, her chestnut skin was always draped in colorful scarves and she loved wearing an array of artistic jewelry. She'd had an arresting beauty--now it was faded. He'd seen an angry, defeated figure that broke his heart. He heard Tyson say something, but his friend's words merely sounded like a buzz in his ears. "What?"

"I said she could have been a stalker."

Chance returned his gaze to the window watching a bicycle messenger, with a bright red helmet, zip through traffic. "She didn't even recognize me."

"She was lying."

"She wasn't lying. Trust me, contrary to what you think, not everyone knows who I am."

"Enough do. Important people. Fortunately, I could take action because it was my car."

"You sold it to me." Chance turned from the window, his look hard.

Tyson held up his hands in a semi act of surrender. "Yes, yes, I know, but we hadn't made it official yet, so I could file the complaint. Forget about her. Let me handle things. It could be useful in the future."

The future
. Right now thinking of Stacy didn't make him think of the future. Just his past and how far he'd come. Back to a time when he'd meet someone who didn't fawn over him. Someone who treated him like a regular guy. But it was all out of his hands now. Stacy wouldn't want to see him again as Chance Jamison and she didn't remember the man he used to be. And if she wanted to forget the past he'd let her. But could he?

***

Hell had a smell--stale coffee, cheap perfume and body odor. Stacy looked at the female guard and counted to ten. The woman's hair was in an intricate array of corkscrew curls, at least three different colors, and she had glitter on the tips of her eyelashes. The eyelashes didn't soften her look and Stacy thought they looked more appropriate for someone attending an underground party than in an office setting. Stacy reminded herself that she wouldn't--couldn't--get angry. She wouldn't let the other woman's attitude upset her. Anger had gotten her here in the first place and, if she wasn't careful, she'd end up there for good. Besides, the woman probably had had a bad day. Stacy wished she could summon up the emotion to care. It was her first day at the women’s detention center and things were not going well. To begin with, when she had turned up at the facility, the staff up front gave her a hard time and told her that her name was not on the list.

"I am the instructor for the women’s creative writing class," she'd said.

"Sorry, but we don’t have you on our list."

"Listen, I was ordered to teach this class and it is supposed to start today." The guard looked her up and down, then ordered her to sit and wait while she 'checked' things out. After having to wait at least forty-five minutes, sitting on a cold, dirty bench, the guard with the glitter lashes called her up to the counter. "You know there's no need to have an attitude."

That's when Stacy started to count to ten. She didn't move, afraid that if she did, she'd do something dangerous.

"Your class is located in the cafeteria," Glitter Lashes continued. "It’s way in the back."

There were no apologies, her tone bored and dismissive. Stacy began to count to twenty, but still didn't move.

"Are you deaf or something? I told you where you need to go."

Stacy knew where she wanted to tell this woman to go. But obviously she was already in hell so it didn't matter. This was the guard's domain. She was under her control and had to respect her influence. At one time in her life she'd dined with multi-millionaires and celebrities. How could her life have come to this?

"Is something wrong with you?" Glitter Lashes snapped.

"No," Stacy said in cool voice. She glanced again at the corkscrew curls on the woman's head half expecting them to move like snakes.
I'm sorry Medusa. I just took one look at you and turned to stone.
"Thank you for your help," she said trying her hardest not to sound sarcastic.

"You're welcome," Glitter Lashes said then, to Stacy's amazement, she smiled as if genuinely pleased by Stacy's words and she suddenly looked more human. "And I mean it. Watch your attitude in there or they'll eat you alive."

"I'll remember that," Stacy said softening her tone and this time when she added a quick 'thanks' she meant it.

Stacy passed by the first guard to an area where all her belongings were searched--even a body search, which she found humiliating. Although the male guard used a metal wand, and didn’t physically touch her, she felt his eyes, and those of his colleagues undress her. She cringed at the thought of having to go through this process every time she came to teach the class for the next twelve weeks. She almost wished the woman with the corkscrew curls had come with her. By the time she found the sign to the cafeteria, her mood had plummeted.

The women clearly didn't want to be there and neither did she. Her course wasn't mandatory. Most of the women who'd signed up just wanted to get out of their cell. The Vernon County Women’s Detention Center was a minimum security facility, that in some ways, looked like a college campus, but the bars, security gates, and uniformed guards never let one forget where you were. Based on her research, the majority of the women were there due to drugs, prostitution, petty crimes or parole violations. But she didn't care. She just wanted her ninety day sentence to be over. There were a total of twenty women in her class and one guard, a man who's eyes she didn't like.