Chapter 3-Jett Leaves Georgia

Chapter 3 Jett Leaves Georgia

Two weeks passed and things quieted down, I was back home in Georgia with my family. Life slowed down to a snail's pace and I wondered what to do with myself. College loomed ahead of me, but I didn't want to go to school just yet. I wanted to publish my own songs under my own name. Now that Disney had no say in my packaging, I could finally be Jett Black again. I approached Dad about getting into a studio in Atlanta or maybe Nashville and that's when reality hit the fan.

"Jett, I was hoping that you wouldn't have to hear this," he began. He sat me down and I waited. I wondered what was happening.

More bad news? What more could possibly go wrong?

"Disney has the rights to all things Smoky Blue. They will make money on the name Smoky Blue in the future  and  any re-runs of the show. Any merchandise like the doll, the clothing, the eye shadow  is also owned by them. We have the house paid for and we  have some money set aside for college for all three of you, but there is no extra money for studio time. You know how expensive it is, right?"

I knew that one album could run into millions by the time it was released. Musicians, studio time, packaging, distributing, copyright agreements, lawyers, oh, yes, always lawyers, cost a fortune. I was devastated.

After that, I holed up in my room. Mostly I stayed in bed and felt sorry for myself. I listened to my mom's message a lot, too. I could always listen to her voice on my old phone when things got bad, but even Mom's cheerful message wasn't picking my spirits up. I should have put my energy into writing music, but I was depressed. Words simply would not come to me.

 I was spending yet another day doing nothing  when my dad practically busted down my bedroom door…

“Jett!” he yelled, scaring the daylights out of me. I thought the house must be on fire or one of the boys was choking to death or a rattler had finally  found its way into the house somehow.

“Dad…what?” I squeaked.

“Jett, they want you! A new job,” he couldn’t stop smiling. It was downright goofy.

He sat down, barely containing his excitement.

“It’s a new reality show—“Wild at Heart” –and they want you! You don’t even have to try out. You’re in already.”

“Well, what is it? What do I have to do?” It sounded pretty exciting and I needed a new project in the worst way. A new job would allow me to maybe launch my album. In the very least, it would get me out of my bedroom and out of the house.

He explained the show’s premise: 12 teen contestants, 6 boys and 6 girls on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere. We’d have to survive the elements and each other for 28 days. In the meantime, we gain votes and popularity by blogging and tweeting to gain followers. The public decides the winner. The money was great and the exposure was sure to boost my name and get me more acting roles. I jumped at the chance. Even though he thought it was a great opportunity for me, Dad was worried about sending his daughter off to God knows where with a group of strangers. I reminded him that I was practically raised by strangers: hairdressers, stylists, producers, writers and my favorite guncle Dougie. Dad finally relented and it was set.

It wasn't until much later I learned my true financial picture.

*********************************

“Who’s that?” Harley asked, peering out the front window. Harlon beat him to the door and onto the front steps just as a long black limo pulled into the drive.

Harley pushed Harlon off the step, and Harlon retaliated with a quick punch to Harley’s shoulder.

“Boys…” Dad warned, sounding quite stern. I looked at them. Both of them grinned up at Dad and I could almost see the faint angelic glow of polished halos over each tow-blond head. They really knew how to work Dad.

The car came to a stop and a driver emerged, coming around and opening the heavy limo door. He offered his arm to someone in the back. A middle aged woman slid out. She was attractive and reed thin with porcelain skin and dark green eyes that were feline beautiful and jungle quick. Her hair was a disturbing shade of red that matched her red snakeskin cowboy boots.  Definitely a bottle job--that hair color did not exist in nature unless you found it on an exotic bird in the depths of the Amazon rain forest.

“Welll…..helllllllooooo,” she cooed. “How are ya’ll? I’m Carol Silva—the producer of “Wild at Heart”.

She rushed over and began to pump my hand, patting me on the shoulder with her other hand. For someone so thin, she had a construction worker’s handshake and a crushing presence.

“Oh, Jett….!” She smiled looking like a benevolent queen. “We’re going to have such fun! You know, you really have a face for reality television, darling,” she smiled and her dazzling white veneers seemed to wink at me.

A face for reality television? I wondered if that was supposed to be a compliment. I had always heard stuff said about other actors like, “The cameras love her” or “She was meant to be a star, “ but I’d never heard  anyone described as having a face fit for a reality show.

“ Let’s go inside, Ms. Silva,” Dad offered. “After you,” and he motioned into the den.

The producer chose a high-backed wing chair and Dad settled into his favorite leather chair, I perched on the ottoman near him. The boys stayed outside to admire the limo and probably pepper the driver with a thousand car related questions.

“So, Ms. Silva…what brings you here today?” Dad wondered. I wasn’t due on set for two more weeks and I could not imagine why a busy Hollywood producer would stop in our neck of the woods.

“I’m here to pick up Jett, of course,” she purred, leaning forward, emerald cat eyes blazing. She notices my dad and I exchange a look of surprise.

“What?....” I manage.

“What…you mean…” she looked exasperated and a little embarrassed. “Oh…damn.” Surprise clouded her face and she fumbled with her Blackberry. She smiled a rueful little smile and began typing furiously.

“Why are you here today? I thought Jett had a few more days at least,” Dad said.

“My assistant was supposed to contact you….Oh, you just can’t trust anyone…” She puts the device down on the chair beside her.

“How long will it take you to pack?” she asks me.

“Umm,” I stammer, having no idea how to pack or what to take for a reality t.v. show.

“Remember, you’ll be in the wild. Just a comfy pair of shoes, shorts,  tshirt, and a bathing suit. Oh, and you can bring one item from home.”

“In that case, 5 minutes,” I jumped up and scrambled up the stairs.

“Jett!” my dad called. “Oh, never mind,” and I clunk up the remaining steps, smiling because I know that Dad stands no chance against the scarlet-headed force of nature named Carol Silva.

Grabbing my favorite checkered Vans, I don a pair of jean shorts and a “Jamaica, Me Crazy” t-shirt. I pack my blue polka dot bikini, some sunscreen, and my old cell phone in a beach bag. It isn’t activated anymore but I feel like a part of Mom is always with me.

I read the rules to the game last night—well, actually over 100 pages of rules! Contestants can’t take any beauty or hygiene products, no brushes or combs, no hair gel or mousse, no toothpaste or toothbrush, no mirrors, no medicine—not even aspirin. Sunscreen wasn’t on the list, so I’m hoping it will be okay.  I can’t imagine the show wanting to expose 12  teenagers to a high risk of future skin cancer.

I flew downstairs and into the den. I. Am. Leaving. Today. Today. Right. Now. My mind raced.

Dad stood up and held his arms open for me.

“Don’t worry, Dad, it’s only 3 weeks. I’ll be home before you know it, “ I assure  him. I was so excited to be off on an adventure. Alone. And I was being paid practically as much money as I made pretending to be cutesy Smoky Blue.

“Jett, you behave yourself. Remember your manners, young lady. Your mama and me didn’t raise no fool, “ Dad warned. “Now go out make us proud!” His eyes looked strangely tearful. I’ve never seen my father cry—well, except that once at the funeral, but it looked like he might just now. “The boys and I will be watching,” he assured me.

I hugged my brothers before stepping into the limo that whisked me away to the airport. Goodbye again, Georgia.