Playing for Keeps (9 page)

SURE.

Julia shook her head. "You shouldn't have said that, but it's a start." She beamed at Stacy. "You won't regret this. With the way you look now you'll have no problem meeting plenty of men. You'll forget all about Chance."

Stacy plastered on a smile, gripping the phone in her hand, forcing herself not to text him back and tell him it was all a mistake. Was Julia right? Were actors really her weakness? Was she repeating a bad pattern?

At home Stacy sat in her living room and stared at her cell phone. Houdini kept bringing her toys for her to play with him, but she wasn't in the mood so he finally settled at her feet. She absently stroked him. Her life with Marshall had been a rollercoaster and she now wanted some stability. Part of her felt that he was someone she could trust and depend on. Or was that just a fantasy? Julia was right, she wouldn't be able to compete with the glamorous women in his life and she shouldn't fall for the first man she met after getting a divorce.

She was now part of the Black Stockings Society. She wasn't going to be the woman she'd been in the past. Maybe she'd been too quick to settle for him. She was going to meet someone new. She sent Chance one last text message positive she'd never see him again.

***

LET'S BE FRIENDS
.

Chance reread the message several times, just to make sure. What did she mean by that? What happened? She'd cancelled their date, but had said yes to a rain check. What was going on? He replied to her text, but received no reply and his phone calls got the same response.

She was pushing him out of her life. He'd allowed that once, but he wasn't going to let her do it a second time.

This wasn't going to work. Stacy stared at the two-piece outfit she'd selected to go with her new pair of stockings for the next day. Why would they ask her to wear silk hose to her third week of class at the detention center? The women still didn't respect her and she doubted this would help her cause. The only attention she'd get would be from the male guards. Houdini barked and a second later she found out why, when someone knocked on the door.

Who could be visiting her? Had Chance decided to reply to her text in person? Stacy looked through the peephole, but couldn't see anything. She braced herself then opened the door. An attractive, full figured, impeccably groomed black woman, her thick hair in one long braid wrapped to frame her face, stood there. "I'm sure he'll come next time." The woman entered and walked ahead of Stacy, her collection of gold bracelets tinkling against each other, while her large hooped earrings swung from side to side.

Stacy stood dumbfounded. "Who will come? And you are...?"

"I apologize," she said holding out her hand. "I'm Rania with the Black Stockings Society." She slowly looked Stacy up and down. "Is that what you plan to wear tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Rania shook her head. "No, that will not do."

"I’m going to teach my class at the detention center, not attend a fashion show."

"And, how are the classes going?" Rania asked taking a seat.

"Well, I was having problems getting several of the women to uhm, listen. Now that I've completed my anger management course I'm sure I can accomplish anything."

"I don't need you to sound like a presenter at a motivational course," Rania said with a laugh. "You want to command respect from those women and it starts with your closet."

"My closet?"

"Yes. It’s all about the way you dress."

Stacy glanced down at her outfit. "What’s the matter with the way I dress? It's the stockings that are wrong."

"The stockings are fine. However, what you're wearing says nothing about you. You sound like you still want to start a fight."

Stacy made a face, insulted. "No, I don't. I've changed."

"Then stop wearing clothes that say, in large letters I may add," Rania swept her hand through the air as though reading a banner. "I don’t think much of myself, I’m a wimp, please step all over me, I don't matter. Now show me to your closet."

Moments later, Rania rummaged through the items hanging in Stacy’s closet then sniffed. She picked up a faded black top. "This says 'kick me'." She tossed it on the bed. She held up a pair of sweatpants. "This says 'I'm pathetic'." She picked up another item. "This says 'I have no figure'. And this." She tossed the shapeless top on the floor. "I can't even repeat what this says."

Stacy watched in amazement as Rania emptied out her closet. After years of put downs by Marshall, Stacy knew she'd let herself go, but she'd never realized how much. When had her wardrobe become so boring and colorless? When the doorbell rang, Rania told her to wait then left the room. Moments later she returned with two men carrying an assortment of stylish clothes from skirts and dresses to silk tops and sleek jackets. "Put them in there." She directed.

Stacy stared speechless. "What is all this?"

"Your new wardrobe."

"But--"

"We don’t have time to argue right now, we’ll go through the items later, but for tomorrow, I have a specific outfit in mind."

Minutes later, Stacy looked at herself in the mirror. She looked…stunning. No, more than that…distinguished in a tailored white shirt, with a fitted, dark green, knee-high pencil skirt. It had a side slit that revealed her long legs and showed off her thigh-high laced dark-blue decorative stockings and three-inch black suede shoes. Not only did she look impressive, she felt totally different. She even walked differently.

Stacy put on the sunglasses Rania handed her. She couldn’t wait until the women saw her at the center. "Ladies, look out."

***

The moment she stepped out of her car and walked across the parking lot, Stacy knew things would be different. All heads turned to look at her, she just stared ahead. As she passed through security, the guards were unable to concentrate on what they were doing, she didn’t notice them. She made sure she arrived at least twenty minutes earlier, so that she was already set up before the women entered the classroom. As the women piled in, their chatter stilled until there was not a sound to be heard. They took their seats, amazed by the transformation in their teacher.

"So, are you going to a party or something?" Laurice said.

Stacy made no attempt to reply. She stood and adjusted her skirt, showing off her stealth figure.

"Starting today, if you don’t want to be in my class, you can request to be removed. I’ve already spoken to the Warden. Secondly, if I give you an assignment, I expect it to be done, if not, you’re out. Thirdly, if you have a problem with me and my teaching style, too bad, I’m all you’ve got. Once again, you can ask to be transferred to another program. Do I make myself clear?"

Three women got up and left, to Stacy's surprise the queen stayed. She wondered if it was a challenge, but didn't want to overanalyze.

Not only had her demeanor changed, but her 'don’t mess with me' attitude totally caught them off guard. As for the correctional officer, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, not that she wanted any more of his attention. For the next two hours Stacy had total command of her class, she felt on top of the world, and didn’t plan on taking the pair of stockings off anytime soon. After running several errands, she went grocery shopping, picked up her dry cleaning, and stopped at the pet store to pick up some of Houdini’s favorite treats. Everywhere she went, it was as if people parted to make way for her, she felt exhilarated, that was until she saw a picture of Chance on the front of a magazine.

Everything went downhill from there. The moment she stepped through the front door, Houdini made a mad dash to greet her, as did the two other dogs her new dog sitter had brought with her. The sitter apologized profusely, trying to rein in the dogs each one jumping on Stacy, their tails wagging furiously and with each jump their claws ripping her stockings, creating a series of massive runs. Finally, the dog sitter was able to settle the pack down and left.

Tears filled Stacy’s eyes, what an end to a perfect day--ripped stockings, she'd have to search for a new sitter
and
she had a broken heart. Getting over Chance wasn't as easy as Julia said it would be. She grabbed a sofa pillow and screamed into it. Houdini, sensing something wrong, hid behind the couch. After several minutes, Stacy tossed the pillow down, feeling more in control of her temper and found Houdini sound asleep behind the couch. She didn't bother to change and decided to take out the trash. She froze when she saw Chance coming down the hall. She had no place to hide. He looked like the man on the TV come to life. He looked tough, lean and sexy. She held out her hand. "Stop right there."

He kept walking.

She turned, ran back into her apartment and closed the door. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a sad clown with her red nose and smudged mascara.

The doorbell rang.

Stacy briefly shut her eyes.

The doorbell rang again.

She swore and opened her eyes.

The doorbell rang again more insistent. Houdini ran to the door, his tail wagging in anticipation. "Not now boy." She gently took his collar and led him to her office and closed the door.

Stacy sighed then opened the front door and glared at him. "Why do you always show up when I'm at my absolute worse? Why couldn't you have shown up this morning? I looked amazing then, but
nooo
you had to come now when my mascara is ruined, my stockings are torn and..." Her voice died away, subdued by the power of his dark gaze, which held her captive. His dark brown eyes, usually so easy going and carefree, blazed with an emotion she'd never seen before. A hungry emotion that made her skin tingle and caused her to forget how awful she looked.

"I'm not interested in just being friends," Chance said in a low, silky tone.

Stacy paused puzzled by his calm statement. "You came all the way over here to tell me that?"

He nodded, but didn't move.

"I just don't think it's fair to--"

He folded his arms. "When did you find out?"

"What?"

"That I'm an actor. That's what changed your mind, right?"

"I didn't change my mind I just--"

"You broke your promise. I asked you to accept me the same way I accept you."

Stacy shook her head feeling miserable. "It's not that simple."

Chance stopped her with a kiss that sent her stomach into a whirl. When he drew away raw hurt reflected in his gaze. "I can't believe you still don't..." He let his words fade away.

"Don't what?"

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter anymore. I thought it did. You're going to miss me. When you want to stop playing games, you know how to reach me." He turned to leave.

Stacy reached out to him, then gripped her hand into a fist. "I'm not playing games. I just need--" she stopped.

"You need what?" he asked, keeping his back to her.

To make sure I'm not making the same mistake twice.
It was tempting to confide in him, to say the words that would make him turn around, but she knew she couldn't. Not yet. Not until she was a success again. Not until she knew she wouldn't become dependent on him. Not until she was certain she wouldn't get her heart broken.

Chance nodded and sighed, her silence giving him the answer he didn't want to face. "Bye Stacy," he said, then walked away.

***

A week later, Stacy tried to convince herself that letting Chance go was for the best, although she knew it was a lie. He was right. She missed him while walking and playing with Houdini, while watching TV, while sleeping at night. She looked forward to her writing class so that she had something to do other than think about him. She sat at the desk looking at the last assignment she'd given them and knew the women wouldn't like what she had to say.

"Thank you all for working so hard on your homework. It was a very fascinating read. Well written, exciting, engaging. I was really impressed. And there were two things that impressed me. First, what you submitted was remarkably similar to a story I read five years ago; second, half of you turned in the
same
story. Laziness I can accept." She clasped her hands. "And I understand that for a number of you, stealing doesn't matter, but it does to me. You don't have to care about being here, but I do expect you to be woman enough to own your own words and work."

"I didn't steal nothing," Laurice said.

"Okay, then tell me why you chose to have a white Connecticut socialite as the main character."

"Because I wanted to."

Stacy shook her head. "Try again."

"I don't have to explain nothing to you."

"No, and you don't have to be here either."

"Look, we're sorry," another woman said.

Laurice raised her voice. "Don't be apologizing for me."

"We don't want to get in trouble," Priscilla said.

"I didn't do nothing."

"How did you know?" Priscilla asked.

"How did I know what?" Stacy asked.

"That we didn't write it?"

"Every writer has a voice. You can't hear it but readers can. I didn't hear your voice on the page. Sometimes you can mimic another writer's voice, but that's different from plagiarizing, which is stealing someone else's story and saying it's your own. Courageous people know how to take a plot and make it their own."

Priscilla shook her head. "But I don't know any good stories."

"You like music, right?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about your favorite song."

"It's a rap."

"And?"

"It's about this guy who's tired of living on the streets and dreams of something more."

"That's the plot right there."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, here's another assignment. I want you all to take that song as your premise."

"What?"

"Premise is...never mind. Write a story about a guy who has dreams he wants to reach. Give him a goal and end it with him either getting it or not."