Josie
“The secret to confidence is simple, darling. Wear a matching bra and panties and you can conquer the world.”
~ Josephine Grace Clarke
This was it. It was go-time. I was actually about to do this.
My hands were shaking as I read and reread the script I was about to recite.
I’d barely said a word all morning. The predawn drive to DFW, the early morning flight to Savannah. The short car ride to Firefly Island. I’d probably only said ten words to Jackson, and two of them were, “I’m fine.”
He’d asked if I was okay three times. But after assuring him the third time, he either believed me or gave me my space.
“I got some B roll.” Jackson rounded the corner of the estate and set the camera down onto the stand he’d already set up and secured.
He must’ve picked up on how nervous I was because once he’d set up the shot, he’d suggested that he go get some B roll to give me some more time. As much as I’d appreciated the short reprieve, I knew that time was up.
We had interviews scheduled in an hour, so that meant we needed to get this intro done in the next twenty minutes so we could break down the equipment and set up at the next location, which was a coffee shop. Thankfully, since we were operating on a shoe-string budget, we only had a single camera, but that was still cutting it close.
After securing the camera, Jackson came over and double-checked my mic. Once he tested it and was satisfied with what he heard in his headphones he walked back behind the camera. “Ready when you are.”
I nodded and looked up.
My mouth was dry as a bone. My heart was pounding. My palms were sweaty. My entire body was shaking. You would’ve thought that I was going live to millions instead of recording a talking head for a package.
I could feel my anxiety building so I tried to do my 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Five things I could see around me.
Jackson’s hands on the camera.
A long drive tunneled by mature oaks on each side behind him.
Birds flying overhead.
A group of teenagers walking by.
I hadn’t gotten to three things I heard so I didn’t notice that the group was talking until Jackson said, “Hold for sound.”
That’s when I noticed that the three boys were in a huddle and one of them was holding a smartphone. They were watching something and then looking up at me and back down. One pointed and laughed, while another said, “Damn.”
They were watching the video. I knew it.
Around me, the world started to spin. My pulse was racing. I tried to breathe but I couldn’t, my throat was closed. Jackson, the trees, the birds, the teenagers, everything I could see began to go out of focus. My legs were shaking beneath me.
“Josie. Josie are you okay?”
Jackson’s voice sounded muffled and distant. I barely registered his arm wrapping around my waist and him guiding me to a small alcove on the side of the building. Everything was blurry as he lowered me onto a bench in the private area.
When he crouched down in front of me, I could see his face, but all of the features were fuzzy.
“Breathe,” he instructed calmly as he wrapped his large hands around my forearm. “Just breathe.”
The strength in his touch and the command in his deep voice acted as a lighthouse in the storm of my panic. Slowly all of my senses began to return to normal. First, my vision cleared, and Jackson’s ocean blue stare came into focus. My throat and chest relaxed to the point that I could inhale and exhale comfortably. Finally, my pulse slowed.
“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you some water?”
The thought of him leaving me alone caused the panic to begin to resurface. My arms were heavy as I reached up to grab his forearms, weakly protesting, “No.”
He remained in a squatted position in front of me. His calm, assertive energy washed over me like a balm. The closest thing I could relate it to was the time I got a severe third-degree sunburn, and the relief I felt when I applied medicated aloe vera. Jackson was the aloe vera to my emotional and mental sunburn.
“Better?” he asked after a few minutes.
I dropped my hands and nodded. “Better.”
He didn’t say anything, but I knew that he wanted to ask what was going on, and he deserved answers.
“I don’t think I can do this.” At my admission, my eyes dropped to my lap. I couldn’t look at him. The stare that had moments ago been my saving grace, now felt like a spotlight revealing my deepest insecurities.
I felt defeated and ashamed. Ashamed that I’d fallen apart. Ashamed at what those teenagers were probably watching on their phones. Ashamed that I couldn’t do my job. Ashamed that I was going to let my best friend down.
“What happened?”
“I have…um…panic attacks. I haven’t had one in a long time, years actually, but they’ve been coming back lately.”
“Is it stage fright?” His hands dropped to my knees as he sat back on his heels.
“No. I mean…yes…I mean…no. Sort of.”
I felt tears start to fill my eyes. Great, now not only had he witnessed me hyperventilate from anxiety, he was going to get a front-row view of me crying like a baby. Can you say emotionally unstable?
My mind was working overtime trying to come up with a way to explain what was going on without actually telling him the entire story. I wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that I felt after my panic attack, or if I was just tired in general, but I simply couldn’t muster the energy to try and sugar-coat what I needed to say.
I knew that Jackson wouldn’t look at me the same after I told him, but did it really matter? I was sure his opinion of me was going to take a hit anyway, since I couldn’t do my job and was putting the entire production in jeopardy.
“I didn’t want to host the show because after I was on House of Love, there was a…” My mouth went dry as I tried to find the words to say what I needed to say. I never talked about this, and when I did it was with a therapist. “My boyfriend at the time, um…”
“I know.”
I continued staring down at Jackson’s hands on my knees. His thumbs began moving up and down my inner knee, in comforting passes. I wished we could stay just like this. It felt so nice, the connection, his caress. I wanted to remain cocooned from reality. But I knew that wasn’t possible.
Taking a deep breath, I started to explain, “You know I was on the show, but after the show he…” my words trailed off.
Why couldn’t I just say the words?
“I know about after the show. I know about the video.”
My eyes flew to his. “You do?”
He nodded.
“You knew this whole time?” I felt so stupid for thinking that he hadn’t. Of course he did. Anyone who had a smartphone or computer probably knew.
“No. I found out Saturday.”
“You googled me?” It was a completely normal thing to do. I mean, I’d done it to him. But somehow, it felt like a betrayal. It made zero sense.
“No. I didn’t.” He continued his ministrations with his thumbs.
As difficult and stressful as this conversation was, I had to admit that the brushes of Jackson’s touch were soothing and comforting.
“Did someone tell you?” I wondered if it was one of his brothers. None of them had acted like they knew when we’d been at dinner yesterday. But maybe that was just because they’d been raised right.
“Yes.”
I didn’t know if he was trying to be evasive, but that’s what it felt like. “Who told you?”
“My mom.”
My heart sank and my stomach turned. I may have only known Dolly Briggs a few days and I was probably projecting onto her because I’d never had a nurturing maternal figure, but I loved her. The thought of her and Mr. Briggs knowing about my past was heartbreaking.
Tears once again welled in my eyes. “Your mom knows?”
“Yes.” Jackson must’ve seen the emoti
on building in my lower lids because he squeezed my knee and quickly explained, “She only told me because she was warning me to be careful with you.”
“She was warning you about me?” I thought I was going to throw up. It made perfect sense that a mother would warn her son away from someone with my past, but it still hurt to think of Mrs. Briggs doing that.
“No!” His voice raised and I could see that he was getting flustered. “I’m sorry, this is coming out all wrong. She was trying to protect you. From me. She said that you’d been through enough and one of her sons was not going to add to your pain, not as long as she was drawing breath. She feels horrible for what you went through.”
“She does?”
“Yes. And when I told her I was going to kill your piece of shit ex, she said that she had it covered. She’s been praying that he gets castrated in a boating accident.”
A short burst of laughter fell from my lips. Out of everything he might’ve said, that was not what I’d expected to hear. “That’s really specific.”
“That’s what I said.” Jackson smiled and squeezed my knee again. “She saw it on some emergency room show.”
I felt more emotion brimming in my eyes but this time it was because it was nice having people being protective of me.
My grandmother had been supportive, but she’d never understood why it had been so traumatizing to me. Her take on it was, “Darling, you are a beautiful young woman and sex is totally natural. It should be celebrated!”
She didn’t think I had anything to be ashamed of or upset about. She’d also been in the limelight since she was sixteen and was of the mindset that the only bad publicity was no publicity. She’d done her best to empower me, but had lacked in the empathizing department.
“So that’s what brought on the panic attack?”
Just hearing Jackson’s deep voice had a calming effect on me. I took a deep breath. “I thought I was okay. I thought that I could do it. But then I saw those boys looking at their phones, and then at me. They were laughing and I don’t know for sure but I think they were watchi—”
Jackson’s jaw ticked and his nostrils flared as he stood and started to stalk back to the front of the estate. I reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna go find them.”
“No! You can’t do that!” I pulled his arm and when he swung back around my head was shaking. “Why would you do that? What would you even say to them?”
He stared at me, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. It almost looked like he was just as surprised at his reaction as I was. “I don’t know. But the thought of anyone hurting you, of anyone upsetting you…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but his hands curled in fists at his sides.
I did not condone violence under any circumstance, but I had to admit, seeing Jackson so protective and ready to throw down on my behalf was sweet and hot. Very hot.
It made me wonder if maybe I should give some thought to Mia’s suggestion. I’d heard Jackson say that he didn’t want anything serious when he was talking to his brother JJ. Maybe he would be interested in, how had Mia put it, a hot affair.
“Sorry.” He relaxed his hands. “This isn’t about me. This is about…” His expression softened as he lifted his arm and he brushed back the hair that had fallen in my face when I jumped up to stop him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to go through this.”
A tremor ran down my spine as his fingertips grazed my outer ear. It was such a gentle, sweet gesture but the look in his eye was intense and primal.
“Thank you.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
The energy between us crackled, causing the tiny hairs at the base of my neck to stand up. The connection I felt, the attraction was even more intense than it had been at the water tower. His hand cupped my jaw and I closed my eyes, sure that he was going to lower his mouth and I would finally feel his lips pressed against mine.
But instead, I felt the loss of the warmth of his palm as he dropped his arm and cleared his throat. “So, what do you want to do? About the shoot.”
I blinked several times as I opened my heavy lids. My mind had wandered so far down Kiss Court it took me a second to make a U-turn and get back on Work Lane. It felt like a cold bucket of water had just been dumped on me. “Um, I don’t know.”
His protective tone had the hairs sticking up on my neck again as he said, “If you’re not up to it.”
“No I am, I just…I just don’t want people to think…”
When I paused, concern brimmed in his blue stare as he prompted, “To think what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know anymore.” There were so many things I was worried about people thinking, I didn’t even know where to start. “I just don’t want people thinking or saying…I don’t know.”
I knew that I wasn’t making sense. It was difficult to articulate my fears.
“Do you want to do the show?” he rephrased his question. “If there wasn’t any of the other stuff, would you want to do it?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly. If I didn’t have my past looming ready to pounce, then I would love to do it.
“Well then, do it. Fuck ’em.”
“Fuck who?”
“All of them. Fuck your asshole ex. Fuck those teenagers. Fuck everyone who has anything negative to say. Seriously. And who cares what anyone thinks? Everyone has their own lives to live, they should worry about that. If growing up in a town the size of a postage stamp taught me anything, it’s that people are gonna think whatever they want to think. There’s nothing you can do about it. You don’t owe anybody anything. Just live your life and fuck ’em.”
His words weren’t the most eloquent, or philosophical, but they broke something in me. It was like I’d been trying to tread water with chains on my ankles pulling me under. I’d fight my way back up to the top, just get my head above water, and then something would drag me back under. For years I’d felt like I was about to drown. But now the chains were cut and I floated up to the surface.
I couldn’t count the number of hours or the amount of money I’d spent on counseling over the past ten years. But somehow hearing Jackson tell me to “fuck ’em” was more liberating, more healing, more empowering than any of that.
“Okay,” I said.
He stared down at me, his eyes widening. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I straightened my shoulders. “Just give me five minutes to freshen up and let’s do it.”
His lips pulled into a crooked grin that registered nine point nine on the Richter sexy scale.
After a quick stop in the car retouching my makeup and hair and drinking a bottle of water, I walked back to my mark and nodded, indicating I was ready to go.
When Jackson pointed at me, I took a deep breath. “What is love? I’m Josie Clarke and I’m going to be making my way across the nation on a quest to find the elusive answer to that question.
“Is love a curse? Our first stop is a charming community in Georgia. Firefly Island is a popular tourist destination complete with a breathtaking coastline, a delightful trolley system that serves as island transportation, and a web of picturesque canals and bike paths woven throughout the town. But is there a dark side to this idyllic community?”
I turned and motioned to the Colonial home before me. “I’m standing in front of the famed Abernathy Manor, which has been featured on several paranormal television shows including Ghost Hunters, and Haunted Hollows.
“A young woman named Lucille Abernathy lived in this estate. Lucille met and fell in love with a man who was beneath her station, a longshoreman named Bruce Comfort. The two had a torrid affair that ended in a secret engagement. When her family discovered that Lucille planned to marry, she was forced to choose between love or her family, wealth, and inheritance. She chose love and was disowned.
“But that was just the beginning of Lucille’s heartaches. After she was shunned, Lucille’s belove
d called off their union and married a maid who worked for the Abernathy family. Heartbroken and in despair, Lucille tried to return to her family home but was turned away.
“The next day, the family woke to discover a window broken in the parlor. A search of the premises ended in a gruesome discovery. Lucille Abernathy was found deceased in her childhood bed. A note on her nightstand explained that she’d poisoned herself, but not before putting a curse on her betrothed and all of his male heirs. It doomed them to a lifetime of the same heartache that she had experienced. We’ll not only speak to locals on the island to see if they believe in the Comfort Curse, we’re going to meet the great-grandsons of that longshoreman and find out what they think of the curse that has haunted them for generations. Join us on this journey as we continue to ask the question, what is love?”
As I signed off, I felt like…me. I felt like I’d claimed a piece of myself. For the first time in… I couldn’t even remember. I’d done it. I’d faced my fear and was still standing. Did I know what the fallout was going to be? No. Would people dredge up my past and connect it to the show? Maybe. But for the first time in my life, I didn’t care.
If someone had a problem with me doing my job, fuck ’em.
Chapter 15
Jackson
“I like a man who gets a little jealous, darling. It shows he cares. But a possessive man is weak. It shows he’s insecure.”
~ Josephine Grace Clarke
Nothing about Josie Clarke or this job was what I’d expected. I was beginning to think there was nothing the woman couldn’t do. The more time I spent with her, the more she surprised me, and the more impressed I was by her.
I’d been on plenty of sets where on-air talent had had meltdowns for much less traumatic reasons than Josie had. And I’d never seen anyone pull themselves together as quickly and effectively as she had.
We’d just finished the interviews of townies and I snapped a picture of Josie speaking to the last person she’d talked to. Gunner was the dockmaster and he reminded me of the Gorton’s Fisherman. He’d lived in the town all of his life and had known three generations of “cursed” Comfort men.
Loving Jackson (Wishing Well, Texas Book 10) Page 9
