Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. "I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do" (C) ABBA; 1993 Polydor / Umgd.
CHAPTER 12
THE WHOLE "JACKIE" EXPERIENCE
Hyde woke on his stomach like usual, on the sagging bed of his motel room. He popped open his eyes and saw the white 8:00 A.M. on the clock radio. Last thing he remembered, he'd told Jackie he loved her, and then...
Death number fifteen.
He rolled onto his back as laughter escaped him in giant, frothy waves. The mattress bounced with the force of his breath, and the lumpy pillow pressed into his skull. He always thought loving Jackie would be the death of him, but he hadn't known it would be so damn literal.
When, Steven? When did you know you saw a future with me?
She'd asked him that yesterday, and his answer had gotten them both killed. But he wasn't dead—which meant she wasn't, either. Just stuck. Both of them.
"I can't conceal it, don't you see?" Agnetha Fältskog and Frida Lyngstad sang at him. "Can't you feel it? Don't you, too?"
He shut off the radio alarm. Day 278 of waking up to that damn ABBA song, and it never told him anything useful. He needed to get inside Jackie's head somehow, figure out what she wasn't telling him. Maybe it would help him get to fuckin' tomorrow. If not, at least he'd understand why she'd freaked out yesterday.
8:08 A.M. He was on the road. His right hand was no longer broken. It was nice being able to drive properly again.
8:17 A.M. He pulled the Camino up to the Mazda-S.U.V. accident.
8:22 A.M. He knocked out Chad, shaving off two minutes from yesterday. Mrs. Hobart and her unborn kid would die because of that fuck, and Hyde felt no mercy. He'd used his fists this time instead of Phyllis's gun, probably broke Chad's jaw. Definitely busted his nose. Hyde came away injury-free except for some sore knuckles.
8:30 A.M. Hyde called for the ambulance on Pine Avenue. It wouldn't change anything for Mrs. Hobart or her kid, but at least Mr. Hobart would know someone gave a shit about him and his family.
8:38 A.M.
Hyde parked the banged-up S.U.V. on the Burkharts' gravel driveway. Jackie would be here in little over an hour, so he hopped onto the front porch and rang the doorbell. Pam answered the door a minute later.
"Well, hello," she said. "You're Jackie's friend... Sven, right?"
He made himself look at her face instead of the ground. "Yeah, can I come in?"
"Oh, well..." she glanced behind her, "Jackie's not home. She's in Chicago."
"I know. She's got a couple of my records. I'm here to get 'em back."
Pam hesitated. Then she said, "All right," and led him into the living room. "Would you like a drink?"
"No thanks." He forced his gaze to skim over her body, from her tight sweater to her jeans. Memories of what he'd done with her—and what it had caused Jackie to do—flooded him with shame. He had to get the hell over it. Jackie didn't remember, and even if that day had taken, Pam's memory was a black hole anyway.
But he couldn't forget.
"Too pretty for Wisconsin?" Pam said.
"Uh..." he quit staring at her, "right."
Hyde high-tailed it up the staircase and entered Jackie's room at 8:41 A.M. He locked the door behind him. The pink walls and white carpet told him nothing he didn't already know about her: She was born a girly chick and would probably die a girly chick. He needed to dig deeper than the Andy Gibb poster tacked above her bed.
Her white bookshelf was lined with Nancy Drew, old issues of Cosmo, and a few of the books he'd given her, like Orwell's Nineteen Eight-Four and Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. But what he was looking for wouldn't be out in the open like that. He rifled through her dresser, through her panties and bras. He felt cagey without her being here. Snooping through other people's crap wasn't his deal. He didn't like doing it, breaching a person's privacy like this—especially Jackie's. His own privacy was one of the few things he valued, and searching her room made him a hypocrite.
But being a hypocrite who got to see tomorrow? Man, he'd take it.
Nothing interesting was in the dresser except for some frilly lingerie she'd never worn for him. She must have bought it relatively recently. He opened her desk drawer next. It was filled with markers, notebooks, and freakin' sparkly stickers. Underneath the notebooks were a few folders—and one marked "COLLEGE" in rainbow-colored letters. He pulled it out.
Inside the left flap were college acceptance letters from places as close as the University of Wisconsin-Parkside and as far as the University of Southern California. Inside the right flap were the rejection letters from scholarships she'd applied for as well as blank applications for student loans. He closed the folder. Jackie would never take a loan. Like him, she hated the idea of owing someone.
He went to her bed and continued his search. Her soft pillowcases hid nothing but pillows, so he got on his knees and swept an arm underneath the bed frame. His hand bumped into something hard—the cigar box containing things he'd given her. He sat on the bed with it and ransacked the contents.
Her grasshopper pendant lay on top of a bunch of cards. He used to write her those cards on days they weren't expected—and sometimes on days they were. But he only wrote 'em once she quit pestering him about every damn anniversary they had: The first time they made out in the mall's photo booth, the first time she beat him in chess, the first time he said "I love you" during sex. A smile crept on his lips, and he lifted out the grasshopper pendant. Actually, those "anniversaries" were kinda nice.
He let the gold grasshopper rest in his palm, where it cooled his skin and glinted in the light from Jackie's window. The pendant was the first and only piece of jewelry he'd bought her. Man, the sex it got him was some of the best, but—more than that—he remembered the expression on her face. Her smile that night was enough to make him hard. He'd put pendant around her neck, I'm never taking this off, Steven, she'd said, and for six months she hadn't.
Then one day she just stopped wearing it. He'd chalked it up to boredom, her needing to switch up her jewelry. He never fucking mentioned it, but no longer seeing the pendant on her—well, it sucked.
He put the grasshopper aside and dug through the box. Underneath a birthday card, he found the haiku he'd written her on a Hub napkin:
You haven't bored me,
And your ass looks hot as hell.
This date doesn't blow.
Hyde chuckled and put the napkin down. It was early into their relationship when he wrote that haiku. Jackie seemed insecure that night, and he wanted to make her feel better. It had worked, apparently, 'cause she'd kept the napkin.
The time on her clock radio—fuck, she had one of those, too—read 8:53 A.M. He put everything back in the box and slid it under the bed. Then he checked her closet.
A third of her clothes were missing and half her shoes. She must have brought them to Chicago, and their absence left enough empty space that he found what he was looking for: Her violet diary with the golden lock. It was nestled in the back of the closet between a pair of knee-high boots. He grabbed it and pulled the lock pick from his pocket.
The diary was open in moments. He flipped to the first entry, June 13th, 1978:
I had one of those dreams last night. You know, where Steven's looking at me without his stupid sunglasses on, and his beautiful blue eyes are... God, I love his eyes. Anyways, he starts talking in that soft voice he uses sometimes, and I tell him to shut up because he's turning me on too much. Then we make out, and I take off his shirt—
But the stupid alarm woke me before we could do more.
So I had to finish myself off because that dream was... too real. Why can't Steven just live here with me?
Hyde scratched the back of his neck. Huh. So Jackie did self-service sometimes. One question answered, at least. He turned to the next entry, June 19th, 1978:
Ugh. Donna's being so annoying about her wedding. It's in a few days. We get it. I know Eric ruined your wedding dress, but what did you expect? It's Eric, d'uh!
I can't believe she's getting married before me. But I'm also kind of happy about it. Steven never would've seen me in that wedding dress if Eric hadn't been all Eric-y about groom shopping—and I never would've known Steven felt that way about me. The look on his face, I can't stop thinking about it. It's brought me a kind of peace, you know? Like, I don't have to worry about the future anymore. Like he's gonna be in my life forever. He's gonna be there.
But he really should've taken advantage of that dressing room instead of shutting me inside it. Sometimes he can be so dense...
"Fuck." Hyde closed the diary. Jackie wasn't writing about a wedding or an idea. She was writing about him. But that was over a year ago. Something had shifted. He needed to know when—exactly when—that shift had happened. He reopened the diary and went to the next entry, June 23rd, 1978:
No! NO! NO! NO! WHY DID HE HAVE TO DO THAT? Oh, my God... Oh, my God... I HATE YOU, ERIC FORMAN! YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!
The page was ripped and spotted, as if she'd spat on it or cried. June 23rd, 1978... That was the day of Forman and Donna's wedding rehearsal. Hyde re-read the entry. Why the hell was Jackie so upset about it? Not like she was marrying Forman.
Hyde sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was gonna take a while for him to unravel. He went to Jackie's bed, lay back on her pillows, and continued to read. June 26th, 1978:
I should be with Steven right now instead of writing this, but the moment we got back to the Formans' he said he wanted to be alone. I'm really scared. I've mentioned marriage stuff twice since Eric ran away like a coward. It just flew out of my mouth, and I couldn't stop myself. What if I pissed Steven off?
The first time, I asked him if we could use the church Donna and Eric had booked, and he yelled "No!" The second time, he was in a suit, and I didn't know why. So I asked if he was going to propose. He barely seemed to hear me, though (thank God).
I've gotta control myself. Steven needs me now. He just found out he's got a new dad. I have to trust him. He loves me.
But what if he can't handle this?
God, I hate his mother.
"That makes two of us, doll," Hyde said and stared at Jackie's pink ceiling. Man, she was a lot more aware of herself than he ever gave her credit for—or that she ever showed, 'specially in the last year.
He thumbed through the next three months of entries. A lot of stuff about W.B. and his money. Hyde's corporate job. A few entries about good sex; those he read carefully, but mostly she wrote: He makes me feel so loved.. Some burns on Angie. Then he hit October 15th, 1978:
Steven promised to go to the Daughters of Civilized Society dinner with me today. Thank God. He hates going to these things, and I don't really want to go myself. But I had to know if he would go. He hasn't said "I love you" to me in... well, a while. But he still loves me. He promised to go to this dinner, which shows me does.
He skipped the rest of October and most of November until the 29th:
Steven and I went to the Wisconsin Financiers' Wives Showcase. I can tell he didn't like being there tonight. We didn't laugh together, not once, about those stuck-up bitches and their fake—everything.
Steven's future's secure. He's got a rich dad who probably won't end up in jail. He's got a job he loves and can't get fired from. My dad screwed up so badly. We're barely holding onto the house. I've gotta keep networking with these bitches who all seem to think being single is a crime.
Ugh. I sound like Donna. I wouldn't even care about this stuff if I knew Steven still felt for me what I feel for him. But I don't know how he feels about anything anymore.
I don't even wanna write this... but I think Steven's falling out of love with me.
The page was blotted with tear spots. The ink of the next paragraph was smeared, but Hyde could make it out:
I just took off the pendant Steven gave me. I can't wear it anymore. I feel like I'm in a damn nightmare. I just wanna wake up... God, why can't we go back to June 22nd?
Hyde yanked off his shades and tossed them on Jackie's nightstand. He had no clue what gave her that fucking idea, that he'd quit bein' in love. It's not like he'd dumped her or nailed another chick. The shit she came up with...
December 24th, 1978:
Toys, Steven? Really? You broke a promise to me for some Goddamn toys? You're such a stupid asshole! I want a life with you.
But you were right about something: Six months ago, I would've been there with you and those toys. Because six months ago, I knew you loved me. Life with you used to feel like a summer's day—even in the dead of winter. But now it's like I'm on this log in the water, and I have run to keep from falling off and drowning.
You shouldn't have promised, Steven. If you didn't respect me enough to go to the party, you should've respected me enough to say no from the beginning. You used to.
The thing that hurts the most, though—besides the broken promise—is that you didn't even offer me a way out. You really believe I wanted to be with the LOPPs on Christmas Eve? Why didn't you invite me to play, Steven? Yeah, I would've argued, but if you'd just said, "Jackie, I love you and I'm worried about you and I think you need to relax, so let me help you do that..."
Hyde couldn't make out the rest of the sentence. The ink was smeared to the point of illegibility.
December 26th, 1978:
I don't think Steven even cares that we're fighting.
Hyde scowled. Their fight had scared the shit out of him... not that he was gonna let her—or anyone—know that back then.
December 29th, 1978:
I'm going to the big Wedding Expo with Fez tomorrow. I'm so excited! But I haven't told Steven about it. He doesn't deserve to know. What I say doesn't seem to have an effect on him anymore. I gave him a little dig yesterday, to see if it would stir up at least something in him—because anger would be better than the apathy he's been showing me.
Okay, that's not completely fair. He did ask me if I was still mad at him about the LOPP party. Which means he must care, right? I just don't get him... or what he wants.
December 30th, 1978:
Steven knows I'm keeping something from him, but he's been keeping his heart from me. We're in so much trouble. I don't... God, I don't want anyone else. I want my Steven, my Puddin' Pop back.
This isn't like when Michael and I were having problems. Steven was always there in the back of my mind—and in my heart. Somehow I knew that if Michael and I ended, I'd be okay. But without Steven... I'm gonna be alone forever.
December 31st, 1978:
I begged him... I BEGGED HIM I BEGGED HIM I BEGGED HIM!
We're over. I hate him so much hate him hate him... God, why is he doing this to me? I miss you, baby. I miss you so much. Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU, STEVEN?Who the hell took you from me?
God, it's like he's dead. I wanna go, too... Let me go. Get me out of here. Please, someone. Steven, get me out of here...
The writing shrank until it was a only a jagged line. Hyde's throat constricted painfully along with it, and his pulse had tightened. He wanted to reach into that day and pull Jackie out, hold her, show her it was okay—that he was here, hers. Where the hell had he gone? He thought she was the one who'd left, but... fuck. Apparently, he'd left, too.
January 17th, 1979:
Today was a really hard day. Over the last few weeks, Steven's acted like he doesn't miss me at all, and I've been working hard to be the same way. But I just can't. At the Packers game, I lost control. I tried to wake him up, to get him to remember his passionate love for me—and I think I might have done something.
He saw me crying against a pillar. He didn't come over and comfort me himself, but he did send Donna. Yeah, that's right, Steven. I know. She told me.
Hyde chuckled. That was his girl.
After Mr. Forman dropped us back at his house, Steven basically told me he misses me. I'm crying right now. He even offered to drive me home, but I said no. I can't let him in just to have him leave me again. He's gonna have to give me more... if he has anything more to give.
January 24th, 1979:
My dad asked me to visit him. What am I going to say to him, "Thanks for ruining our family"? Right.
January 27th, 1979:
I keep having these horrible dreams. Steven proposes to me—in the basement, on the Water Tower, in The Hub, and I don't even care that's it's not on a hilltop bathed in golden sunlight because he's mine again. Then the alarm goes off, and I'm in my bed... alone.
Am I ever gonna stop missing him?
February 3rd, 1979:
I'll have to get to Steven's point again. I felt so peaceful there.
Hyde re-read the entry twice, but he had no idea what she meant.
February 12th, 1979:
Today was such a great day. Finally. It was the first time Steven had spoken to me in almost three weeks. And he had that voice, the soft one. He came by the public access TV studio, and I assumed it was about my show, but what if it was about us? What if...
No. I can't do this.
"I'm gonna do great on my own." That's what I told him. And I almost believe it. I've never, never felt like I could do anything by myself. My dad always paid for everything, Michael was always there, and then Steven... But the show today was all me. Well, Michael and Donna helped, but it was me.
Maybe those scholarships will come through. Maybe I'll be able to go to college, focus on my career, and then I'll meet a man who'll know how to love me...
Who will want to.
February 18th, 1979:
STEVEN AND I ARE BACK TOGETHER!
Oh, my God, I can't believe it. We made love on the basement couch. I think Fez watched, but whatever. He's the one who kinda made it happen.
Fez had us talk about the things that brought me and Steven together, and Steven and I gave him all this bullshit—it was so funny! We used to pull this trick on our friends all the time. The moment I started the game, Steven knew exactly what I was up to.
I think I said, "I like the way his scruffy beard felt on my soft, creamy, porcelain skin," which was a total lie since it felt like making out with a bathmat.
Then Steven said, "I also kinda liked the fact that she was technically still with Kelso." Another lie because he knew I'd broken up with Michael in a letter—before we'd ever kissed that summer.
Steven and I completely reconnected as we fed Fez line-after-line. We were playing, like we used to, like we did before everything got so messed up. It felt so natural, and we read each other's signals perfectly. We were back together before we even touched each other.
He hasn't told me he loves me yet, but the way he kissed me—I know he does. I haven't told him either, though. I want him to go first this time.
We have to, have to make sure we don't lose each other again. The first time was horrible. The second almost killed me. I don't think I could take a third...
April 2nd, 1979:
Dad keeps asking me to visit. And stupid Aunt Elizabeth keeps bugging me to go, too, but I can't. Not alone. Mom says she "has no interest" in him anymore. That could mean a lot of things.
I'd ask Steven to go with me, but I couldn't take him saying no. Not knowing whether he'd go with me is better than definitely knowing he wouldn't. This way, I can...
The word "imagine" was crossed out.
...have hope he might've said yes.
Hyde tore the page from the diary and crumpled it. If he was so damn bad, why the hell had she stuck with him?
April 11th, 1979:
Well, that's it. None of the scholarships I applied for came through. Guess I'm not going to college. You know, I asked Steven to hold me today. Just to hold me. I didn't tell him why, and he didn't ask. But he lay down on my bed and kept his arms around me for a long time. This was almost my Steven.
If only he'd asked.
Hyde scanned the next few months—and the entries gave him a sense of déjà vu, a feeling he'd become very familiar with. He and Jackie were good together for a while, partners in crime. Then she got all insecure again and started to push him into those "high society" events, though she kept her trap shut about marriage. And then...
June 6th, 1979:
I played it off. All of them, Eric, Fez, Michael, Donna, and Steven couldn't bother to show up to the dinner party I threw in celebration of my graduation. You know why? Because they were too busy drinking beer in the basement. I almost have no words for how this makes me feel. Steven should have been there. But at least he respected me enough to tell me no this time instead of breaking a promise. I just feel...
Hollow.
Hyde frowned. She was right. He should've sucked it up. It was her freakin' graduation party. She would've looked hot as hell in the dress she'd bought. Probably bought some special underwear for him, too—maybe that frilly lingerie he found in her dresser. Why the hell hadn't he wanted to go? It was fucked up, man. She deserved better than that. He owed her better.
He ran a hand over his face and kept silent. He'd thought it was gonna be another boring, stuffy dinner. Just more of Jackie trying to force the future on him. But she'd just wanted him to celebrate with her... Back then he couldn't tell the difference.
"Damn it," he whispered. His mind and heart were like anvils pressing him down. He wanted to take a nap right on Jackie's bed, sleep everything away, but he had to finish this. Only a three months left to go. He picked the diary back up.
July and August were a strange combination, filled with joy about her public access show and confusion about their relationship.
July 19th, 1979:
We still haven't said "I love you". Why doesn't he tell me? It's been so long. So damn long. We've been having fun together. We seem to be mostly our old selves, but something's missing. I just don't understand what it is.
August 27th, 1979:
I'm trying to understand. Steven and I just had a huge discussion about the future, basically him telling me that he doesn't want to hear that word again. And I told him, "I can do that, but I need to know you love me. Do you love me, Steven?"
And he said, "Would I be with you if I didn't?"
He always does that now, answers questions with questions. But I've decided to trust he meant yes.
Hyde sat up as a trippy thought slid into his brain. He'd told Jackie he didn't want to hear about the future or talk about it or think about it. And here he was, stuck in the same day with no future. The irony was far out.
September 4th, 1979:
I don't know what God wants for me. Why would He let me have Steven again only to take him away? But the phone call I just got—maybe God's trying to offer me a way out.
This is it. I'm either gonna have a life with Steven or without him. It's like I've hit a fork in the road, only the road's my future, my life.
He's not gonna like what I have to say. My dream come true would be a life with him, with my Steven, the one I fell in love with. He's still in there. If he asks me to stay, if he says he wants to marry me—not today, not today—but someday, I'll reapply to college and take those loans. Knowing Steven wants to be in my future... that would be everything.
Oh, God. I gave him until noon on Sunday. That's three days from now. But he should've known. The moment I put my heart on the line, told him I was his forever if he wanted me—or that he'd lose me forever—he should have known!
"I don't know..." "I DON'T KNOW"?
I have to get out of here. I don't wanna hear the word that's gonna break my heart into powder. I have a real chance in Chicago, a way out of the hell Point Place has become. Donna's about the only thing left keeping me here, and she'd leave me in a second. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!
Hyde clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to rip out that page, too. He really hadn't known. If his Jackie had given him that choice—a future with her or one without her—he would've told her without freakin' hesitation.
But at least now he knew: He'd started losing her the summer of '78, the second Forman bailed on his wedding to Donna.
Hyde turned to the final entry, September 6th, 1979:
"Have a good trip."
Those are Steven Hyde's last words to me. I gave him his chance, so many chances—after he cheated on me, after he stopped telling me he loved me...
The worst thing is, I'm going to be the only one carrying this loss. He'll be fine. He always is.
I don't want to write this. I don't, but I have to. I have to.
Good-bye, Steven. Have a good life.
Hyde slammed the diary closed. He wasn't fine. What she'd done to him almost killed him, had killed him...
But he'd killed her, too.
He looked at his watch. 9:42 A.M. Fuck. He put on his shades, threw the crumpled April 2nd entry into Jackie's wicker trash basket. Then he chucked the diary into her closet and bolted from the room.
Jackie's voice reached him at the top of the staircase: "Mom? What are you doing here?"
The front door banged shut, and the vibration shook the walls. Hyde stayed on the second floor, crept back down the hall.
"I can't believe you!" Jackie shouted from the living room. "You said you were gonna be gone until Cinco de Mayo!"
"Yes, I know, sweetie," Pam said, "but Juan screwed me in the Lincoln—and then screwed me out of the Lincoln because he stole it. Guess I took too long in the gas station bathroom. But I called Bob, and he brought me home."
"Oh, whatever!" Jackie said, and her footsteps grew loud as she ran for the stairs.
Hyde ducked back into her room. He lay down on the bed, laced his fingers behind his head.
The door creaked open, and Jackie walked in, eyes full of tears. "Steven?"
"Hey, doll," he said softly. "We got a lot to talk about."
