Synopsis
Justin Briggs just exited rehab and still craves the taste of alcohol and the comfort it provides. Isn't that how Southern Comfort earned its name? Unable to find support from family, he turns to his best friend for a place to live. An unfortunate bicycle accident sets up a serendipitous encounter with his ex-boss, who decides to give him a second chance. Justin must prove his worth by taking an assignment to cover the show jumping competition at the Olympic Games in Los Angeles. However, Justin has a grudge against horses and he doesn't think he can perform the job. He's prepared to turn it down until he learns his estranged father has passed away. Rather than deal with the fallout, he takes the assignment knowing that failure is imminent. Once there, he meets a woman who shares her passion for horses with him and forces him to confront his painful past.
Chapter 1 (Excerpt)
Houston
July 20, 1984
West Oaks Rehabilitation Center
Justin Briggs took a long breath and stared at the blank white wall, wishing he were anywhere else, as long as it meant he could have Crown with a shot of Coke and a bowl of salted peanuts. The four hours of sleep last night hadn't done much to quell the throbbing inside his brain or erase the dark circles under his eyes. Four hours actually wasn't too bad for him. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept longer than that.
"Are you all right?" asked Shelia, the substance abuse counselor. Another version of him might have found her light brown corkscrew-curled hair and golden-flecked green eyes attractive. Not today, though. For one thing, she knew more about him than he ever wanted anyone to know. For another, her heavy Texas drawl grated on his nerves, what little was left of them anyway. He never understood how some people could put out a thick accent and others like him had no discernible dialect.
"Sorry, I was just thinking," he said, hoping she wouldn't press him for details. His mother was supposed to be there for a session and she was going on twenty minutes late.
"About your mother?" she asked while pretending to focus on her Rubik's Cube. Solving it was somewhat of a goal for her.
He nodded and glanced at his watch. It was just yesterday that he had phoned her with the news of his exit from rehab and the invitation to his final therapy session. She questioned whether he was ready to leave and suggested staying awhile longer, just to ensure his victory over the demons he'd inherited from his father. He assured her that he was fine and ready to move to the next phase, whatever that might be. "I'll try" was the most he could get her to commit.
"Can we talk about something else?” he pleaded. They could talk about the thousands of previous times his mother had failed him, but it would turn him into Luke Skywalker. Not the heroic Jedi knight of the final movie, but the whiny little desert brat of Star Wars. Their narrative was inflexible. She would always be an ice-cold bitch and he was forever fucked up from her callous brand of parenting. He wished his father had stuck around, but at times, he didn't blame him for leaving her.
Shelia fiddled with the heart on her silver charm bracelet and asked, "What are your plans?"
Justin gulped. His plan was to ask his mother if he could stay with her for a month or two, just long enough to find a job and save up enough for a crappy little apartment. At least he had a ride. His best friend Tyler was supposed to pick him up in the morning.
Shelia's eyes narrowed as she tucked a curly wisp of hair behind her ear. "I'm not sure that you are ready to leave," she said. "You need support to be successful and I'm not sure that you have it from anyone on the outside."
Another restless night left him irritable the next morning as he waited for his ride. The hands of his watch ticked away and the sunlight sent him back inside as it would a vampire. He wasn't sure why he thought Tyler would be punctual. He worked on an oilrig and didn't even own a watch. Time only mattered to him when the Dukes of Hazzard and Dallas were on.
By the time he arrived, Justin was pacing back and forth outside the rehab center and smoking his third cigarette of the morning.
He rolled the passenger-side window down and shouted, “Sorry I’m late.”
Justin opened the back door, tossed his duffel bag into the back seat, and said, “Just get me out of here.”
Tyler handed him a small white bag. “You want a doughnut?” he asked.
Justin shook his head and said, “Drive me to hell.”
The Houston skyline loomed ahead. Justin thought of all the office workers putting in their time at jobs they despised. He knew he would have to find a new job. His old one was cut off when he burned a critical bridge. Starting over was exhilarating and terrifying.
“I’m not looking forward to seeing her,” he said. Asking his mother for help was beyond his comprehension. She had all the compassion of an executioner.
Tyler shrugged and said, “Maybe she’ll be sympathetic.”
Justin laughed. No one had less sympathy than Margaret did. She once grounded him for failing a math test even though strep throat had kept him out of school for three days of instruction.
“Okay, maybe not,” said Tyler. “I was trying to be positive.”
Bryan Adams sang through the speakers and assaulted their eardrums. Justin turned the volume down and said, “I am one hundred percent positive that this is going to blow.”
Justin Briggs just exited rehab and still craves the taste of alcohol and the comfort it provides. Isn't that how Southern Comfort earned its name? Unable to find support from family, he turns to his best friend for a place to live. An unfortunate bicycle accident sets up a serendipitous encounter with his ex-boss, who decides to give him a second chance. Justin must prove his worth by taking an assignment to cover the show jumping competition at the Olympic Games in Los Angeles. However, Justin has a grudge against horses and he doesn't think he can perform the job. He's prepared to turn it down until he learns his estranged father has passed away. Rather than deal with the fallout, he takes the assignment knowing that failure is imminent. Once there, he meets a woman who shares her passion for horses with him and forces him to confront his painful past.
Chapter 1 (Excerpt)
Houston
July 20, 1984
West Oaks Rehabilitation Center
Justin Briggs took a long breath and stared at the blank white wall, wishing he were anywhere else, as long as it meant he could have Crown with a shot of Coke and a bowl of salted peanuts. The four hours of sleep last night hadn't done much to quell the throbbing inside his brain or erase the dark circles under his eyes. Four hours actually wasn't too bad for him. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept longer than that.
"Are you all right?" asked Shelia, the substance abuse counselor. Another version of him might have found her light brown corkscrew-curled hair and golden-flecked green eyes attractive. Not today, though. For one thing, she knew more about him than he ever wanted anyone to know. For another, her heavy Texas drawl grated on his nerves, what little was left of them anyway. He never understood how some people could put out a thick accent and others like him had no discernible dialect.
"Sorry, I was just thinking," he said, hoping she wouldn't press him for details. His mother was supposed to be there for a session and she was going on twenty minutes late.
"About your mother?" she asked while pretending to focus on her Rubik's Cube. Solving it was somewhat of a goal for her.
He nodded and glanced at his watch. It was just yesterday that he had phoned her with the news of his exit from rehab and the invitation to his final therapy session. She questioned whether he was ready to leave and suggested staying awhile longer, just to ensure his victory over the demons he'd inherited from his father. He assured her that he was fine and ready to move to the next phase, whatever that might be. "I'll try" was the most he could get her to commit.
"Can we talk about something else?” he pleaded. They could talk about the thousands of previous times his mother had failed him, but it would turn him into Luke Skywalker. Not the heroic Jedi knight of the final movie, but the whiny little desert brat of Star Wars. Their narrative was inflexible. She would always be an ice-cold bitch and he was forever fucked up from her callous brand of parenting. He wished his father had stuck around, but at times, he didn't blame him for leaving her.
Shelia fiddled with the heart on her silver charm bracelet and asked, "What are your plans?"
Justin gulped. His plan was to ask his mother if he could stay with her for a month or two, just long enough to find a job and save up enough for a crappy little apartment. At least he had a ride. His best friend Tyler was supposed to pick him up in the morning.
Shelia's eyes narrowed as she tucked a curly wisp of hair behind her ear. "I'm not sure that you are ready to leave," she said. "You need support to be successful and I'm not sure that you have it from anyone on the outside."
Another restless night left him irritable the next morning as he waited for his ride. The hands of his watch ticked away and the sunlight sent him back inside as it would a vampire. He wasn't sure why he thought Tyler would be punctual. He worked on an oilrig and didn't even own a watch. Time only mattered to him when the Dukes of Hazzard and Dallas were on.
By the time he arrived, Justin was pacing back and forth outside the rehab center and smoking his third cigarette of the morning.
He rolled the passenger-side window down and shouted, “Sorry I’m late.”
Justin opened the back door, tossed his duffel bag into the back seat, and said, “Just get me out of here.”
Tyler handed him a small white bag. “You want a doughnut?” he asked.
Justin shook his head and said, “Drive me to hell.”
The Houston skyline loomed ahead. Justin thought of all the office workers putting in their time at jobs they despised. He knew he would have to find a new job. His old one was cut off when he burned a critical bridge. Starting over was exhilarating and terrifying.
“I’m not looking forward to seeing her,” he said. Asking his mother for help was beyond his comprehension. She had all the compassion of an executioner.
Tyler shrugged and said, “Maybe she’ll be sympathetic.”
Justin laughed. No one had less sympathy than Margaret did. She once grounded him for failing a math test even though strep throat had kept him out of school for three days of instruction.
“Okay, maybe not,” said Tyler. “I was trying to be positive.”
Bryan Adams sang through the speakers and assaulted their eardrums. Justin turned the volume down and said, “I am one hundred percent positive that this is going to blow.”