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Chapter 1J A C K Y J A Y S O N
I needed a cigarette. Scratch that. A glass of wine could’ve done the trick. But I knew that neither could’ve
brought me the kind of satisfaction I was in search of. I craved this thing like a baby needing his milk from his nursing
mother or a born-again Christian chasing after the face of God.
I had always been a free-spirited kind of chick, but I was starting to get desperate. Ever wanted something so bad,
only to get frustrated, because your desires weren’t within arm’s reach?What I was in search of was a break into a new career. I was already a newspaper reporter, but I wanted to put those
writing skills down elsewhere—see my byline in bold print under another publication. It’s always hard work having
to maintain a job and look for another at the same time. What started out as a benign tumor of career dissatisfaction
had grown into a cancer of job hate. I was in my office building, away from the newsroom.
I was standing at the fax machine for more than five minutes, pretending to be smoking a Virginia Slim to calm my nerves,
while sending my résumé to a company that had an opening for a features writer for their monthly magazine. It
was a different and smaller publication from the one I presently worked at, so it would’ve been a welcomed slower work
pace and some much-needed peace of mind and freedom to explore the kind of stories that were of interest to me.While waiting on the fax confirmation, I felt a light buzz on my hip. I looked at the
number and broke out a deep sigh. I quickly rubbed my temples; I felt a headache coming on. “Yes, Margie,” I said, trying to disguise my annoyance while rolling my eyes to the ceiling and
with one hand still pretending I was puffing on a cig to calm my nerves. I might’ve needed a real cigarette after talking
to Margie, Lucifer’s sister and my hellish editor. “Jacky, we
need you to hightail it over to Sheriff Trevor Baskin’s office for an eleven a.m. news conference. Where you at?”In the fiery pits of hell is what I wanted to tell her. “I’m in the building,
on the first floor and waiting on a fax from a source,” I lied and started feeling nervous about someone walking in
on me sending my résumé. “Can you cover the news conference?”
I heard her clacking away on the keyboard, probably sending an annoying e-mail to another staff writer. Margie had a gift
of aggravating even the most coolest and collected person.“Do I have
a choice?” I rolled my eyes and rubbed my hands over my short, reddish-brown natural hair. I didn’t want to ask
her the details of the news conference because it would’ve only prolonged our conversation. I knew I would find out
everything I needed to know for my story once I got to the sheriff’s office. “Not really. See you in a bit, and get quotes from more than the sheriff. Get some people’s reactions.”
And Margie hung up.That left me with forty minutes to make it to the county sheriff’s
office. Our newspaper office was located on Peachtree Street in the heart of Midtown Atlanta. Our paper, The Peachtree
Circle was a small weekly newspaper that managed to cover hard news and some features and entertainment pieces. Of course,
we weren’t the famous Atlanta Journal-Constitution or the large weekly alternative paper, Creative Loafing,
but there was a demand for our paper. Over the last couple of years, I had established myself as a credible reporter at my
freelance jobs. And at this newspaper, my byline carried a solid amount of recognition. I knew I did good work. My confidence in my wordsmith skills wasn’t of arrogance; I just had a natural born gift
to be a writer. To some, my only downfall was that I was not one to follow a strict set of rules. I could admit that I’ve
had a history of bouncing from one job to the other. What’s good was that I was a Jane of all Trades and could always
find work and a way to pay the bills. So what if my credit wasn’t the best; I figured past due just meant another extension.
Sure, I had my lights and gas turned off in my apartment before, but I only had myself to look after in Atlanta. Being a young twenty-nine-year-old who was still discovering self, I figured I had a license
to pull a switcheroo on careers, men and life in general. While most women my age had probably already picked out their wedding
dresses before cornering their men, I was still enjoying my single life and not being tied down to any one person. I didn’t get my communications degree at Jackson State University until I
was twenty-four because I wanted to tap into my creative spirit and let God direct me. Momma said it was me just being plain
old lazy. There may have been some truth to that. I have never denied that I wasn’t a fan of labor. So what if I spent six years in and out of college. The important thing is that I finished, right?
Writing had always been my first love with singing trailing close behind. So, I tried to do both. I did school by day and
some singing gigs by night at some local entertainment spots in Jackson. Oh, Hamps on Northside Drive in Jackson held a special
place in my heart. I can still hear the live band singing Frankie Beverly and Maze’s “Before I Let Go” in
my head whenever I think about my nights at Hamps. Anyhoo, when I finally finished school, I blew
into Atlanta since I kept hearing that it was the Black Mecca and a jewel of prosperity for upwardly mobile people of color.
I wanted my share of the pie. So five years ago, I came without a job and
a couple of thousand dollars from my college graduation gifts. It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Atlanta.
The city gave me a dual taste of the urban and small-town comfort life. For me, the city could be characterized as a blend
of sweet iced tea and Georgia peaches with a touch of urban. With its defined city skyline, you could see it clear as day
from outside of the city limits on Interstate 20 when approaching Six Flags over Georgia. I was able to find a small apartment in the historic West End and a job waiting tables in downtown Atlanta.
It paid the bills while I searched for some writing gigs at the smaller newspapers in the metro area. I was able to secure
a little freelance work with the smaller newspapers in Cobb and DeKalb Counties, which eventually landed me my gig at The
Peachtree Circle.I struggled with keeping my finances in order. Momma kept wanting
me to just move back home and seek employment at the Clarion-Ledger newspaper in Jackson, Mississippi, or at the
Greenwood Commonwealth in my hometown of Greenwood. But I wasn’t trying to hear that at the time. I was in
my I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar stage. After just nine months of punching the clock
at The Peachtree Circle, I realized that my heart just wasn’t into it anymore. And it didn’t
help that I had an annoying, micro-managing editor that rode me harder than Seabiscuit. What I wanted was to write softer
news and maybe have my own monthly column that allowed me write about the happenings in the city and being young and single.
Lately, I had been feeling trapped, because I hadn’t been able to secure another
writing gig and the employment bug just hadn’t been biting. I was pretty determined to change that even if it meant
having to move back home to Greenwood.After I grabbed my fax confirmation paper, I
headed back upstairs to get my reporter’s note pad, an extra pen, and my car keys. On an unusually warm October morning in Atlanta, I took in the sun rays that beamed down on my lightly bronzed,
freckled skin. I only needed my red cardigan for the light breezes that caused the trees to reach for the heavens and my dark
sunglasses to protect my sensitive eyes as I walked from the downtown parking lot that was three massive blocks away from
the news conference location. When I arrived at the sheriff’s office,
all of the Atlanta media outlets, both print and broadcast, were present with their cameras and reporters. Sheriff Baskins
and his deputy team all carried serious looks while dressed in their beige, crisp uniforms and black boots. Whatever Sheriff
Baskins was about to release had to be something heavy because the news conference was being held in the atrium of the five-story
building. When Sheriff Baskins had lighter news to share, such as having an
adequate and effective staff to manage their operations, he would hold those news conferences in his office suite and would
speak with a booming voice from behind his massive, cherry wood desk.My eyes scanned
the room and noticed familiar faces. I smiled and nodded as I spotted Chase Vandercamp, a local reporter for the NBC news
affiliate. Cute. Tall. Perfectly manicured hands and nice, white teeth. He looked a little too good to be true. Since I had
such a short drive, I had an extra ten minutes to mingle. I made my way over to Chase who was consulting with his videographer.“Hi, Chase! Never missing a beat I see on getting the scoop, huh?” I said,
flashing my own pearly whites. A $3,500 orthodontic bill will have anybody showcasing the teeth at every possible opportunity—especially
for a handsome man with striking features and impeccable taste in clothes.“Jacky
Jayson! Never a step behind, I see,” Chase said as he turned to face me and extended his caramel hands. I caught a whiff
of his Issey Miyake cologne, and it was as hypnotizing as he looked. No man should be allowed to hold that much fineness.
“Of course not! A sista has to pay the bills, you know?”“So a sista who gets a check can afford to take a brother to lunch at the Atlanta Grill, right?”
“Not this one, but nice try,” I said and flashed my flirtatious grin, like
I was in toothpaste commercial. Just as I was about to reach into my wallet
for a business card, Sheriff Baskin’s voice came over the microphone. It was then that he announced that his right-hand
Deputy Marcus Dennis had been put on administrative leave with pay, pending an investigation into the allegations of sexual
harassment of two male sheriff deputies.“We will be conducting an internal investigation
as well as complying with other law enforcement agencies,” Sheriff Baskin said. “Are there any questions from
the media?”Being a hard-nosed journalist, I snatched up the chance to get the
first questions out and have all eyes on me. I wanted to know how the information surfaced. Sheriff Baskins only briefly mentioned
that formal complaints were filed. I could tell he was going to be tight lipped about the case. After five minutes of me and other reporters trying to probe more information out of Sheriff Baskin, I needed
to make a quick exit and return phone calls. I missed two calls during the news conferences and didn’t look at my phone
for fear of missing valid information for my article. Just as I was walking out the government building,
I realized I had forgotten to give Chase my business card. I wasn’t up for the walk back inside, so I reached for my
blackberry and saw that Neicy called twice and left a message. Neicy was a good friend who I shared a lot of good laughs with
and could always count on as a friend.“Ay Jay, get at me! I’m at the slave
quarters and need some advice. You know the number,” I heard Neicy say on my voice mail. I glanced at my watch. I had
a few hours to meet deadline, grab a quick lunch and continue my quest for another job. Making my way back to the newsroom, I thought about going back to school
for graduate studies. It was starting to sound not so bad. The idea of getting another degree ran across my mind from time
to time as a way to temporarily escape punching a time clock. I also recognized that I needed to be a force in the competitive
job market. The only thing was that they actually did work in grad school. Hard work and a college campus just weren’t
good mixes to me. Could I hang with that? Now that was an idea that required some serious thought for another day.
All Rights Reserved: Copyright ©2008 by Roishina Clay Henderson
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