Bell, Jazlyn

[Jazz]

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• NAME: Jazlyn Marie Bell
  
• ALIAS: Jazz, Jazz Baby, Jazz Kitten
  
• BIRTH DATE: May 17, 1987
  
• AGE IN 2006: 19 (She’s 23 now)
  

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• LOOKS:
  • Height: 5’4”
    
  • Weight: 124lbs
    
  • Hair Color: Blonde
    
  • Other Details:
  Jazz has large blue eyes set in a heart shaped face. Her eyebrows seem to be constantly raised as though she is forever being surprised by the world around her. Her smile is wide and dazzling, revealing as many teeth as possible. Jazz’s blonde hair, when not worn in pigtails, is wavy and falls just past her shoulders. She often has little barrettes that clip into her hair, usually pink, though occasionally blue and green, and she always keeps a spare scrunchy around her wrist. While her prison blues tend to wash out her pale complexion, Jazz uses what make up she can barter for in order to pretty herself up. Her overall appearance is girlish and innocent.
  
• PLAY BY: Alexandra Holden
  

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• OUTWARD PERSONA: Jazz is an extremely optimistic and bubbly young woman. The glass is always half full, every cloud has a silver lining, there’s a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow, and if it’s raining well at least that’s good for the flowers. She tends to see only the good in people, a naivety that at once makes her a very beautiful and very foolish person. While her gullible and people-pleasing manner leaves her vulnerable in Fox River, it also makes her a perfect prostitute in Mama’s gang, The Girls.
  
  Jazz dislikes conflict and arguments so she strives to avoid them, going so far as to abruptly change her thoughts or opinions on a matter in order to keep the peace. She so very much wants to be liked by everyone that Jazz will often disregard her own comfort in order to better accommodate someone else.
  
  Jazz is, for lack of a better word, a chatterbox. She can natter on about just about anything and everything under the stars, and as she is easily distracted Jazz often jumps from one subject to the other with apparently no segway. Her insistent talking tends to reveal her lack of worldly and intellectual knowledge, and can leave her open for ridicule – so long as the bully can find a moment where she isn’t speaking to insult her.
  
• DEEPER DETAILS: Jazz will always wear her heart on her sleeve no matter how many times she gets it ripped to shreds. She tends to fall hard and fast for anyone who shows her affection – usually physical, sexual advances – and she misconstrues these to mean that she is loved. Once Jazz has felt she is in love with this person, thoughts of them fill her mind constantly. She is consumed by the prospect of love and the goodness that it seems to inspire – she used to read a lot of romance novels and thinks of love in only the purest of senses. Jazz will dote on her crush, and they can never ask too much of her. Her giving, good-natured self usually lands her the submissive role in any relationship, and when said relationship ends Jazz is often left utterly heartbroken. For example, Jazz has been head over heels in love with Mama for years and though she has never confessed her feelings aloud, they are clear in her adoring eyes and attentive manners. Because Mama responds to these obvious feelings with sex Jazz is constantly strung along, though she never receives the singular affectionate treatment she so badly desires.
  
  Jazz combats feelings of loneliness by immersing herself in the familiar support of The Girls. She loves to be a part of any big group, feeling emotionally secure when there are large numbers about. Jazz rarely considers her physical safety because she rarely stops to consider that any one might wish her ill. If someone is to threaten or insult her Jazz is more likely to apologize for whatever her offense was and try to win them over with a sunny smile rather than return their insult or merely walk away.
  
  On the rare occasion that her optimism is shattered Jazz will turn to the nearest shoulder offered and proceed to spill her heart out. If there is no one around Jazz will try to cheer herself by playing the Glad Game, naming all the things that make her happy or that she is grateful for. Sometimes it works; sometimes all she can do is cry.
  

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• CAREER: Prostitute
  
• LOCATION: Fox River Penitentiary
  
• CRIME: Drug trafficking, possession for the purpose of trafficking
  
• SENTENCE: Eight years
  
• TOOLS OF THE TRADE: Jazz doesn’t carry a weapon, she uses her body to earn her money and safe keeping.
  
• AFFILIATION: None, Jazz loves everyone.
  

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• BIRTHPLACE: Cicero, Illinois
  
• FAMILY: Gregory John Bell, grandfather, 87; Mason Gregory Bell, father, age 64; Sarah Christine Bell, born Sarah Miller, mother, 60; Jenna Faye Bell, sister, age 29; Jade Sarah Bell, sister, age 26.
  
• FRIENDS: Jazz considers just about everybody a friend. Her main circle is The Girls; Mama especially receives her attention the most. Although she never sees her anymore, Jazz considers Abigail Foster a friend as well.
  
• SCHOOLING: High school, completed junior year and then dropped out.
  
• HISTORY: Jazz was born into a poor and bustling family. There was something always going on with the Bells, whether it was screaming matchs between Sarah and Mason Bell, one of the three sisters being brought home in a cop car, or poor Grandpa Bell mooning the neighbours from the safety of the living room. Jazz grew up in an extraordinarily dysfunctional home, but since it was the only one she’d ever known she loved each member of her family unconditionally. Sarah and Mason Bell’s relationship could be described as strained at best. Where they had once been madly in love, Mason’s alcoholism and his inability to keep a job put strain on the family dynamics, forcing Sarah to take a job herself. The ditzy woman who had once dreamed of being a stay at home mom with manicured nails and a maid, now found herself working at the local grocery store, ringing up broccoli for women she had graduated with.
  
  Jenna, Jade and Jazlyn – always known as Jazz – had a relatively functional relationship with one another. Well, Jenna did what she wanted, when she wanted, and with little or no regard for her younger sisters. She was interested primarily in escaping the rambunctious household she was stuck growing up in, and had dreams of making it big in Hollywood. Jade had traits similar to her elder sister, and as a result the two would clash from time to time. Jazz, the youngest and calmest of the two, often acted as a mediator to their temper tantrums. When their arguing became too much for young Jazz to handle she would escape to her grandfather’s sanctuary; the attic turned bedroom. Jazz had a great fondness for her grandfather and would often spend much of her free time in his company. She could still excitedly describe the musky smell of tobacco and old spice that dominated the room and enveloped her whenever she hugged the old man.
  
  Gregory Bell, in his earlier days, was a strong, brisk, clear headed man. He had no time for nonsense, and his rare displays of affection were primarily shown in the form of a pat on the head. Jazz however wormed her way into his affections, possibly through her persistent and oblivious nature. Eventually Gregory became accustomed to Jazz’s ‘huggy’ ways, and didn’t think twice when she climbed into his lap with a storybook in hand.
  
  School was never an area of success for Jazz, who, like her sisters, felt that there was more to the world than math. Instead of paying attention to her teachers, Jazz often let her mind wander to the more complex nature of things, such as: ‘why does that smelly kid always smell so bad?’, ‘why did Mr. Fenway’s dog keep hugging my leg this morning?’, and ‘why don’t I have super powers?’. Jazz succeeded in cheating her way through most of her early education, though she hated to lie to the teachers. She occasionally had to repeat a grade but the shame was short lasting as she was the last of her underachieving sisters and failure was not uncommon in the Bell household.
  
  Middle school and high school opened a lot of doors for Jazz who began at a young age to experiment with alcohol and boys. Jade’s teenage pregnancy put a halt on her fooling around with members of the opposite sex for a short while until she was convinced that such a thing would surely never happen to her. Drugs were quickly added to the list of things Jazz was willing to try and at the age of seventeen she dropped out of high school for good. She started selling marijuana with her then boyfriend, sharing the profit seventy-thirty. She saw no problem in this arrangement as her boyfriend was saving up to get a car, and since he so emphatically declared his need for a car (despite not having a licence) she thought it best that he take most of the money. That relationship didn’t last. He never got his car either.
  
  Still, despite the initial loss, Jazz now had a taste of what her future life would be like. As she hopped from boyfriend to boyfriend, Jazz slowly – and I do mean slowly - learnt about the business of narcotics. She quickly found out that she had no mind for negotiating a price and making a profit but she didn’t mind carrying the drugs from place to place or holding them from a friend. She loved her life, the wild parties, the cash she earned, the people she met; each one was more interesting than the last.
  
  From the age of seventeen to the age of twenty Jazz had grown quite apart from her family. Although she still loved them entirely, she was seeing them less and less as her work called her away from the familiarity of home. It was possibly just as well, Mason Bell had descended entirely into alcoholism and been kicked out the house while Sarah took up a second job. Jenna had hit the road in a desperate bid to get to Hollywood, though her fans were unfortunately not the adoring, movie-loving crowd, but a range of men and occasionally women who came for her strip routine. Jade moved in with her boyfriend, not the biological father of her child, and stayed for the better part of a year before the relationship ended and she moved back home. As the years passed Gregory began to show signs of Alzheimer’s and dementia, finding the world about him to large and unfamiliar for his liking, confined himself to his attic bedroom. On a particularly bad day he would meander into the living room where he would lie in wait for the neighbours to come home from work and perform his own version of The Full Monty.
  
  Before her arrest Jazz visited home a few times. She played with Jade’s baby: a beautiful, smiling, caramel-skinned boy, and visited with her grandfather. Sarah was out at working most days and nights, so she rarely had time to catch up with her mother. Jazz took Gregory’s failing mental health in stride, indeed she hardly seemed perturbed by it as the regular company she kept did things far more bizarre and dangerous then flash the neighbours and repeat themselves. Out of the family Jazz’s name and her sunny face were the only familiar memories that Gregory was able to hold onto – everyone else was a stranger to him.
  
  Around the age of eighteen, when her money situation was particularly dire, Jazz was approached by a friend who proposed a quick-fix solution. Porn. Her friend knew a guy who knew a guy who’s neighbour did the odd photo shoot from time to time. Intrigued, Jazz decided she had nothing to lose and got in contact with the man. The young woman quickly found that once she overcame her initial shyness, she enjoyed posing for the camera – it was as close to being a model as she would ever come. Cheap magazine pictures turned into acting in cheap films, and pretty soon Jazz was working two jobs at once. The worlds of narcotics and porn were interwoven as just about everyone on set had their own particular drug of choice. As a result she began trafficking more and more frequently. Looking back now Jazz would consider this to be a high point of her life. She was surrounded by new and exciting people, all of whom she shared things in common with and who didn’t seem to mind her chatter. She had a not-so-secret crush on the young man she ‘acted’ with most often, and her best friend had recently joined the pornography industry and they were set to act together soon. Money had never been better, and while Jazz didn’t see as much of her family as she’d have liked to, she promised herself she’d make time for them soon. It wouldn’t be long before life changed dramatically for Jazz.
  
  On a cold, dreary day in mid October Jazz was preparing to leave her newly owned apartment. She’d been pleased as punch when she had managed to save up enough to move in but had quickly found out that paying rent each month was a huge downer on her cash supply. So, Jazz had been busy that morning making posters seeking out a roommate – how they were going to split a one bedroom apartment was something they’d have to hash out later. By late afternoon Jazz had finished and realized that it was time to make a drop off to her friend. He’d asked a mutual friend for a supply of the white lady, and while it wasn’t a large amount, being caught with a hard drug like cocaine could have severe consequences. Jazz was extra careful as she packed her bag, feeling the familiar thrill of adrenaline as she slung the navy blue sports bag over her shoulder and locked her door. Her hands nervously twisted the thick straps as she stepped onto the street and began the long trek. Although Jazz felt tense, she always enjoyed the exhilaration that came with flouting the law.
  
  That is until she saw a cop car parked outside Dunkin’ Donuts. The police officers stepped outside, coffees and donuts in hand, laughing, talking, and real anxiety flooded Jazz. She stopped in her tracks, starring at the cops with wide, unblinking eyes. They were oblivious to her bizarre reaction at first until the taller one happened to see her standing frozen in the middle of the street. He asked if she was alright, if she needed assistance. This seemed to startle Jazz into action and her nerves forced the worst possible response. She started talking. Not just talking: rambling. Jazz had known she had a habit of talking in circles and often landing herself in trouble, but boy this was something else.
  The police drew closer, frowning suspiciously as Jazz continued her nonsensical rant, sweat beading along her brow. Eventually they asked to search her bag and Jazz froze, hugging it to her chest.
  
  “Are you carrying something you shouldn’t be?” One of them asked with a quirked eyebrow, and that was all the prompting Jazz needed. The poor girl was never an adapt liar and the truth just seemed to spill from her as she apologized profusely. To be fair she was breaking the law so she couldn’t begrudge them arresting her, and at least when they put on the cuffs they didn’t make them too tight.
  

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Jazz couldn’t wait till tier time; it was one of her favourite parts of the day - along with breakfast, lunch and dinner, yard time, and visitation. In fact Jazz was happy just about most of the time. This particular time however on this particular day, Jazz was especially happy. Mama had asked especially to see her. She was to go to her cell right away.

Jazz fluttered about her cell, applying and reapplying her bartered for makeup. She pulled her blonde hair free of her scrunchies, running her fingers through it and fluffing it obsessively. She turned her head one way and then another, pouting her lips slightly as she’d seen members of The Girls do on other occasions. Jazz leant close to the mirror, baring her teeth and checking to make sure no pesky broccoli had decided to house itself between the small gaps. Satisfied, Jazz leant back and fluffed her hair once more. She paused to frown at her reflection before quickly pulling her hair back into pigtails and donning the familiar pink scrunchies.

Jazz spun at the sound of the cell doors opening. Excitement thrilled through her and she bounced out onto the tier. She practically floated down the steps and skipped the short distance to the Southern woman’s cell.

“Hi Mama!” Her girlish voice was slightly breathless and her smile was wide and dazzling.

“Hey, come on in here.” Mama beckoned her forward and the blonde woman happily entered the cell, oblivious to the coolness in the Southern woman’s dark eyes.

“So what’s up?” Jazz plonked down on the bottom bunk, settling her elbows on her knees and her chin on her loosely closed fists. She blinked her big baby blues up at Mama, unable to keep the smile from her lips. This was it. She could feel it.

“It’s come to my attention Jazz that you ain’t been pullin’ your weight the way you used to.” Mama paused for a moment, and the features that Jazz had once seen as beautiful seemed hard and unforgiving. Slowly the sunny smile melted from Jazz’s lips as Mama continued to lecture her on the duty she owed the family, her responsibility to earn the daily cut, the price she would pay if this poor average continued...

Jazz’s hands came to be folded tightly in her lap and her blonde head was bowed. While her mind tended to wander easily through bubbly day dreams, on this occasion Jazz was painfully aware of her surroundings, struck over and over again by the cool accented words.

“Well, you got anythin’ ta say for yaself?”

“I-I’m sorry Mama. I’ll do better, I swear.” Jazz lifted her head slowly, her wide eyes shimmering with tears. “Please just gimmie one more chance and I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry, really. Are...are you mad at me?” The words struggled from her throat and hung in the heavy air. She bit her lip, dreading to hear the answer.

Mama sighed and looked away, and Jazz was struck by the sudden thought that she was repulsed by her grovelling. “I ain’t mad Jazz Kitten, just disappointed I guess.”

Oh God. That was worse. A small whimper escaped from her trembling lips and then the tears really were falling, streaming down her round cheeks and dripping from her chin.

“Oh! Oh Ma-ma I-I’m so-so-soo-rry,” her words were coming out in little gasps and bursts and her body shuddered under the power of her emotion.

Mama sighed heavily and waved her hand in flippant dismissal. “I know you are. Time to go Jazlyn, I’s gots other business to attend to.”

Jazz nodded dumbly and got shakily to her feet. Her knees felt like jelly as she began what suddenly felt like a never ending trek back to her cell. Once in the safety of her own cell Jazz stopped to look in the mirror that, only minutes before, she had pouted and modelled in front of. She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, and reached up to remove her scrunchies once more. Her usually wavy blonde hair fell flat around her blotchy, heart shaped face. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her lower lip trembled incessantly.

“Things that make me glad,” she whispered, starring hard at her reflection and willing the familiar golden cheer to fill her. Her thoughts skittered over the hopeful emotions she had felt moments earlier, the wonderful elation she had experienced at the thought that Mama might at last take her into her bed not as a whore or a prison bitch, but as her lover.

Jazz’s girlish features crumpled with the fresh wave of sorrow and she abandoned her place at the mirror. She flung herself onto the bottom bunk and clung to her pillow, letting her salty tears drench the scratchy material as she wept.

Sometimes all you can do is cry.

[Michael Scofield]

A P P R O V E D