Playing for Keeps Read Online Free

else. He wasn't loquacious and had the wounded hunger of a true artist. At times moody, but mostly passionate. Passionate about life and art. He made her see life in a whole new way. He shared his hopes and dreams and she felt privileged that he'd chosen her as a confidante. She quickly became protective of him--this talented man who'd kicked a drug and alcohol addiction at twenty-one determined to be the greatest actor of his generation.
    She didn't want his genius to be ignored. She even wrote a play for him. Little knowing that soon writing would be the only thing that would save them both. She'd married him too soon, now that she thought about it. Just five months after a whirlwind affair. It wasn't long before she realized that his wounded hunger was more an act than a reality. She learned a year after they'd married, that the life he'd told her about had been a lie. He'd never done drugs or alcohol and his parents had disowned him. Yet, in spite of this, she still convinced herself that she was the only one who could help him, the one person who truly understood him. She accepted and believed that his lies were a cover for a gifted man with a fragile spirit.
    But as that fragile spirit grew more demanding of her time, attention and energy-- sucking her joy like an emotional vampire--Stacy turned to her writing as a means of escape. During the first several months of their marriage, he had looked for work and managed to find small parts, but then drew into himself, because the roles weren't big enough and didn't showcase his talent. She got him auditions, but then learned that talent wasn't enough.
    He didn't want to put in the effort. He'd been a child of privilege and expected everything to come easily to him. He hated criticism, so he started to sabotage her efforts. She'd left the theater and gotten a 'real job' to support them both, since he wouldn't lower himself to do anything but commit full time to his art. He'd die for his art and at times chastised her for not feeling the same. "It's because you don't' know what it's like to be a true artist. A writer can hide behind her words, a musician behind his music, but an actor must give it his all. My body is my instrument."
    She pushed her dreams of writing aside and worked various jobs--waitress, administrative assistant, cashier--because she'd convinced herself that he was more talented. Then she wrote a play that got produced by a local stage company. He dismissed her acclaim by mentioning it was 'easier for a woman'. Especially a pretty one. To combat his painful remark she produced an indie film for him to play the lead in. It received global recognition when she entered it in an international competition--the script and direction getting a lot of notice--to Marshall's annoyance--but when the role didn't lead to the exposure Marshall expected, he deemed the success a failure.
    She offered to write another script for him, but he refused saying that her cheap commercial tricks were undermining his true artistic aspirations. He soon began wearing a halo of bitter dreams--hopes deferred. Every conversation becoming as painful as stale dialogue in a static 50's movie with only one subject: his wasted genius.
    He was good at making her feel guilty for her success. Reminding her, often, that she was just luckier than he was. Not talented, just luckier. Not harder working, just lucky. Three years into the marriage, when he refused to do anymore small films or theater work or even go on auditions, Stacy decided to pour her misery into a novel. A novel, the first in a mystery series, about a cold case and a detective with ties to a ruthless South African gang. She sent the manuscript off and was surprised when she'd given up hope that it would ever sell, a small publisher made her an offer. The novel didn't take off right away. Sales were barely visible at first, but the publisher was willing to build her career, which she later found out was rare in the world of