1. Josephine

1

JOSEPHINE

T hunderous thumps from my 8-year-old son, Jett, leaping down the last few steps snag my attention as he lands like a superhero. We're already behind schedule this morning and have to get out of the house before rush hour traffic gets worse. At least his shoes match, laces are tied, and clothes are mostly presentable.

"Freeze." I call out to him from the kitchen doorway. My eyes start at the top of his curly blonde which dangles around his chin. Perfectly loose curls, silky and clean. My mom-scan moves from his face to his frosty blue eyes above his crooked smile with one missing tooth. That's when I spot it. Well, smell it.

"Whatever that is, trash it," I tell him, scrunching my nose with disgust.

"But Uncle Collin said I could wear his lucky socks. I have gym today, Mom. Big Mickey is QB. I'm his wide receiver, like Uncle Collin. His socks make me faster. You should have seen me play last week. 14 carries, 22 yards, and 3 touchdowns. I'm not wearing them all day, only for the game after school. Please," he begs with those gorgeous pools of Carolina blues.

I catch another whiff of the foul-smelling garments and shake my head. "You have to put those things in like a HAZMAT container. Why haven't you washed them?"

Jett pulls the offensive pair of tube socks, which should be white but are more yellow, out of his pocket. After a quick dash into the kitchen, he pops in and out of the laundry room and comes to a stop in front of me. There's a smile of triumph across his peach-hued face as he holds up the pair in a Ziplock bag, carelessly wrapped in fabric softener sheets.

"Sniff," he commands. I scrunch my face and gingerly move my nose toward it.

"It's not putrid, but at least you won't knock out the rest of your fourth-grade class, and I won't pass out on the drive to school. Do you have everything else?" I ask, fully aware I don't have the energy to argue him down or deal with his emotions if I throw the socks in the trash.

"Yup, I'm good to go." He bounds through the door with his curls bouncing like a shampoo commercial.

If only I could get my hair to be as healthy and vibrant. Nope, my Plain Jane brunette ringlets tangle and mangle with a single drop of moisture. So, of course, I douse my hair in water and product to slick it back into a presentable messy bun for the day. After making sure I look like a functioning adult, I grab my bag, and keys, and dash out house behind Jett.

The drive from the house to Jett's school is normally full of questions or tales of dread about what the cafeteria plans to serve for lunch. However, this morning's drive is shattered when a familiar number flashes across my phone screen. If I don't answer it to preserve my sanity, the man behind the number will ensure I’m miserable for the rest of the day.

"Morning, Duke," I chirp, answering the call through the car's system. "You're on speaker."

"Listen, I don't care about that. I need to change the arrangement," Duke blurts. The aggravation in his voice is palpable.

"You've already changed the visitation schedule twice. I don't know what else you want me to do, Duke. Every other weekend was the schedule you picked?—"

Duke cuts me off. "Listen to me, you little weasel of a cunt."

My eyes dart over to Jett, who has his earbuds in, and I'm hoping he can't hear the way his father speaks to me.

"You TRAPPED me into this shit after you lied to me. You're lucky I've been trying to work with you this long," he bellows into the car.

I take a deep breath, wondering how I can talk him down to ease the tension until I get Jett to school and out of the car. "Duke, I never lied. I got pregnant. I was 15."

"You broke the rules. You were never supposed to get pregnant. And for fuck's sake, you were never supposed to keep the bloody shit. You know what? Forget changing the arrangement. I don't know why I thought you'd be a reasonable fucking human being for once. I'm trying to do the right thing. I have a job prospect to coach for the UFL, and neither one of you are going to stand in my way. I want to terminate my rights."

My heart stops as I glance at Jett, who still appears to be listening to his phone through his earbuds.

"Duke, I'm in the car right now and can't talk about this. Please give me twenty minutes to drop Jett at school and I’ll call you right back." My nose stings from tears building behind my eyes. Why do I want to cry? It’s a godsend for him to want to be out of Jett's life, out of mine; to no longer be a man called his father.

"No. I'm willing to give you fifteen grand to be done with all of this shit. I already have the papers drawn up. We can meet at the family court tomorrow morning because I'm done. I shouldn't have to be a father to a kid I never wanted, with a woman who doesn't know how to fucking listen."

Jett's angry. His grinding teeth and clenched jaw draw my gaze, revealing he's not ignoring the conversation. The rage building inside of him engulfs the car's interior with tension so high it wouldn't surprise me if the windows shatter. I should have waited to answer the phone, but I didn't know this was how this discussion would go.

Jett's sharp voice shouts at the radio, "Well, this kid never wanted a father like you."

Jett reaches over to the steering wheel and pushes the button to end the call, then folds his arms across his chest.

"He's such a shit," Jett huffs. His reddened face turns away from me, not wanting me to see the welling of tears in his eyes.

"Language," I admonish him, even though the situation calls for many four-letter words. He snaps his head toward me and I sigh; disciplining his language is unnecessary. "You're right. He is a shit, but you're only eight and shouldn't use words like that."

He uses his sleeve to wipe his eyes. "I'm almost nine. And don't you tell me that sometimes a good cuss word is the only word that fits? Well, it fits him. All he does is yell and tell me to cut my hair. I like my hair, and he shouldn't call you names. He makes me so angry."

"Jett—" I pull up to the school, hanging back to make sure I'm not in the way of other parents dropping off their children. My arm reaches over to cradle the back of the passenger seat so he can see how much I love him. "I wish I could have picked better, but that's what I got to get you, kid. I love you. Please don't let that ass turd?—"

"Shit. Say it, Mom, it makes you feel good inside." He flashes me his boyish smile, forcing me to reach out and fluff his hair. The way he can cool his temper so quickly is enviable.

"It only makes you feel good because you're not supposed to say it. Please don't give the teachers hell today, and don't knock out all of your friends with those rancid socks."

Jett's face lights up. "MOM! They are lucky! Look what happened. First thing, before school even started, that shit cut himself out of our lives for good. It's gonna be a great day. Don't be late to your audition. Do you want to take the lucky socks? You can bring them back to me during lunch."

"No, kid, they're all yours. And you're right, it is going to be an awesome day. And that's your last ‘shit’ in front of me for at least two months, unless it’s absolutely necessary."

Jett nods, grabs his bag, and races inside to be with his friends. Once Jett's beyond the school doors, along with most of the students, I scream into the steering wheel. There's no way my eight-year-old son should be used to the monster, Duke Everett.

Duke Everett is the spitting image of a teenage girl's dream. He was my teenage dream until I let him pick me out of all the girls in my freshman year of high school. He made the rules, and of course, he's rewritten them along the way. It went from ‘I was the perfect girl for him’, to ‘we should never have met’.

A soft knock on my window jars me back to the drop offline in front of Jett's elementary school. A woman with a whistle and badge draping around her neck, is looking at me through my closed window.

"I'm sorry. I'm leaving now," I tell her, lowering the glass, with the hope my screams and tears don't show in my expression.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hansen?—"

"Miss." I correct her.

" Miss Hansen, there's a bake sale and the Spring Fling Carnival coming up. If you can check in with the PTA to select a volunteer job?—"

"I will, I will," I assure her, putting my window back up and driving off with a wave to her. It's not her fault the father of my kid is a piece of shit.

A loud sigh pushes from behind my lips. Jett's right. The word feels great. Still, as good as it feels, my mind needs to shift from the shit I let get me pregnant and back to this audition. The mortgage isn't going to be paid this month if I don't land something.

Dipping into my savings is the absolute last resort. My parents might help as long as no other emergencies pop up. It was easier when they lived here and paid all the bills for the house, however they relocated to Arizona.

But I wouldn't, no, I couldn't leave under my custody agreement with Duke. He nearly exploded when I mentioned my parents were moving, thinking I was going with them and taking Jett with me. He never wanted to be a father, but he does like controlling others whenever possible. I guess he's at the end of his rope when it comes to me and Jett.

To appease the tyrannical father of my child, I stayed in San Francisco, picking up the mortgage so my parents wouldn't have to foot the bill for two homes. The choice to stay behind so my younger brother, Collin, and Jett could stay in their schools was a risky one. For the last year, I've been making ends meet, but it's getting harder by the day.

I let the sounds of morning podcasts drown out thoughts of being a semi-responsible adult until I arrive at my destination, Luca Brisco Studios.

Luca Brisco Studios is set on a lot on the outskirts of the city, where a group of TV and movie studios turned empty warehouses and parking lots into a premiere set of stages. I don't remember the last audition I went to because steadier office temp gigs keep the lights on. Unfortunately, acting isn't consistent enough for me, but I have hope for this role.

After pulling my little hatchback into a parking spot, flashing my ID and email confirmation to at least six different security guards, I'm let into the building. It's rough on the outside with chipped red brick attached to a cinder block foundation wrapping around the lower quarter of the structure, but inside?

The smell of fresh coffee wafts through the air. There's a long desk about twenty feet center to the entrance, where receptionists greet each visitor. A wide interior window behind the desk lets me see onto a set which looks like a news anchor is ready to spout the latest on politics and crime. Three receptionists work in front of me while two buff security guards ensure no one sneaks around the desk.

"Good morning." One bubbly blonde beams with a piercing in her nose and an extravagant set of nails which move masterfully across a phone and keyboard. "How can I help you?"

"I'm Josephine Hansen. Everyone calls me Jo. I'm here to see Austin Hinkley about an audition."

"Right." The blonde taps on her keyboard. Her chair's sliding from side-to-side, and she grabs a visitor sticker and a marker. "You're going to head through that door. There's a long hallway and you're going to room 104. Have a seat when you get there and break a leg."

She scrawls ' Everyone Calls Me Jo ' on the visitor’s badge before handing it to me. Humor is a good sign before an audition. It helps me relax.

The guard steps aside for me to push through a large swinging door that opens into a light gray corridor. There are about ten doors on the left, but only three on the right. The way my pulse pounds as the bright fluorescent lighting guides me to my destiny has me ready to forget this morning's emancipation from Duke Everett.

The door to Room 104 is open, showing a row of chairs lined up against the back wall. As soon as I step inside, the most awe-inspiring sight greets me. His towering height lets the impeccably tailored pinstripe suit hang off his sculpted frame like a model on a runway. I wonder if he's the leading man for this production.

My breath hitches when he turns around. Sapphire blue eyes stop me in my tracks. A salt and pepper mustache and beard are lighter than the full head of dark brown hair sweeping toward the back of his head. His striking features ensure I ignore the other two people beside him.

I finally find my voice, pushing myself forward with my hand extended to greet everyone in the room. "Morning everybody, I'm Josephine Hansen. You can call me, Jo."

"Hi, Jo. I'm Daphne, the director." The young woman grins as she shakes my hand. "Uh, I have your headshot and resume here from Monique Shewster?"

"May I see that?" Tall-and-handsome asks.

Daphne hands him my headshot which has my limited acting experience printed on the back. The air of danger around him draws me in as he walks behind the table where two chairs are set up beside a tripod. There are stacks of other headshots and resumes in various piles.

The second man in the room says, "I'm Austin with casting. You spoke to me about a week ago. Let's get started, shall we? Please stand on the mark. We'll do your slate and then you'll read your lines," he says, nodding toward a piece of hot pink tape on the floor. That must be the perfect spot for the camera to capture my audition.

"What would you like for the slate?" I ask as I stand on the mark. My eyes quickly glance down to make sure my fly isn't open and my shirt isn't tucked in awkwardly.

Tall-and-handsome keeps quiet as Austin speaks. "Name, location, a fact about yourself, and the role you'll be reading for. Camera is rolling. Whenever you're ready, Jo."

I nod at Daphne and Austin as a sign I'm starting, but I have to stop my eyes from immediately shifting toward Tall-and-handsome standing behind them.

A deep breath helps me keep the anxiety, and my breakfast, in the pit of my stomach as I speak. "Good morning, my name is Jo Hansen. I live in San Francisco, and a fact about me is that I do freelance market research for corporations between gigs. I'll be reading for the role of Amber."

"I'll read with her." Tall-and-handsome glances in my direction, then shifts to the script in his hand before pushing himself away from the wall.

"Page ten, Mr. Devlin. You'll start, and Jo, follow his cues," Daphne tells us with a smile.

So Tall-and-handsome is Mr. Devlin, someone of importance to the other two. He nods and stands about three feet from me. The way he gently touches my elbow urges me to pivot so I can face him but still have the camera capture my facial expressions.

"Amber, you can't leave. Not with those monsters out there." Mr. Devlin reads the line.

I want him to touch me again. Gentle, but there's a rough side to him that comes across in the way his thick eyebrows knit together as he skims the script.

The lines flow out of me exactly as I’d rehearsed. "Look at you, Bryan. You can't even walk. It has to be me. No one else can make it."

"But I'm scared you won't make it back," Mr. Devlin replies from the script, and takes it a step further. He moves in close to me as if we're acting out the scene on a live set.

"Do you mind if I touch you?" he asks, breaking character with a tip of his head toward my core. All I can do is nod. The way his arm wraps around my waist when he tosses the script onto the table shows me, he's a quick study. Mr. Devlin continues with the scene. "I don't want you to leave without telling you…"

"Telling me what, Bryan? How you feel? It's too late for that. It's too late for this." I gently nudge him away with my hand against his chest. It's muscular under his shirt and I want to feel all of him. I hate that a simple scene can get me all hot and bothered. This is supposed to be a horror film audition, but it feels like a romance.

"Don't push me away, Amber," Mr. Devlin says, pulling me back into him. My body fights a ripple of lust as his scent wraps around me with notes of mint and cinnamon. The scene calls for a kiss and I'm curious to know how far he is willing to take it.

"Don't you get it, Bryan? There's nothing left for us if I don't come back here with supplies. You'll all die if I don't go. I don't have time for this."

"Make time," Mr. Devlin replies, lowering his mouth to hover above mine before he stops. I feel like he has my heart in his hand. He flashes me one hell of a smile that makes me forget this is only an audition. My ego and lust deflate the moment he releases me, taking a step back and turning to Austin and Daphne. They're in shock, mouths open, looking to say words but not speaking.

"That's real good, Jo," Daphne finally says, "and thank you for that masterful read, Mr. Devlin. Jo, if it's alright with you, would you mind doing the kiss scene with Mr. Devlin? I'd like to see your body language against your scene partner."

"Yeah, sure, that's fine," I agree, almost too eager for my liking. I can't deny how badly I want him to kiss me.

Daphne whispers something to Austin before speaking. "Let's take it from 'You'll all die if I don't go’. Action!"

I take a deep breath, getting myself back into character to read my lines. "You'll all die if I don't go. I don't have time for this."

Mr. Devlin's gaze pierces into mine, making us feel like the only two people in the room as he says, "Make time."

When his lips brush against mine, it's tentative at first until I nudge my tongue against his mouth, opening the pathway for lust to take over the moment. Mr. Devlin gets into it, into the kiss in such a personal way that my muscles clench, waiting for it to go beyond this. His tongue enters my mouth, tasting me while I taste him. The prickly hairs of his close-shaven beard tickle my chin as I tip my head upward to give him more access to me. When I unintentionally moan, I feel the low vibration of his own, suppressed in his throat as he finally pulls away.

"Wow, yes! Thank you so much for that Jo, Mr. Devlin. That chemistry is exactly what I want to see. It's a shame you're not playing the role of Bryan, Mr. Devlin." Daphne chuckles and makes notes on a page in front of her.

My eyes are glued to Mr. Devlin, wondering what comes after this.

"We're going to do three more takes, if that's okay with you, Miss Hansen?" Mr. Devlin says with a crooked grin and a wink. My god, he's sexy. Power screams from every pore of this man, and the respect he commands is like nothing I've seen before. Doing that kiss over and over again couldn't make this day any better.

"I'll do anything you want, Mr. Devlin."