Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. Degenerate Matter, their albums Vagabondage, Ultrarelativistic, WIMPs and MACHOs, Frozen Stars, and all the lyrics contained therein copyright to the author of this story (username: MistyMountainHop, maker of Those '70s Comics).
CHAPTER 17
THE ENTRY
August 27, 1994
Chicago, Illinois
Brooke and Betsy's Roof
...
High on the roof of Brooke's apartment building, Jackie and Betsy had an unobstructed view of the sky. Despite Chicago's sky glow and tonight's half-moon, Jackie found a few interesting sights. She directed Betsy's telescope toward the west, where she spotted Hamal, the brightest star in the constellation Aries. Betsy stared at it for almost a minute before wanting to move on. She studied the star chart that came with the telescope, but Jackie knew what constellations would be in the sky.
"Pegasus, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn, and Cetus," Jackie said, "but most of their stars are too faint to see with the city's light pollution."
"Most isn't all," Betsy said, and she reacted excitedly at whatever twinkles Jackie could identify. Eventually, though, she settled for gazing at the moon's cratered surface.
They took turns with the telescope. Warm summer wind gusted across the roof, and warmth swirled inside Jackie, too. Nothing was wrong in this moment. She and her goddaughter were enjoying the night, and she lost all track of time until the heavy roof door slammed shut.
Jackie's shoulders jumped at the sound, but Brooke and Steven had come to the roof. Not Dale Fischer's ghost or someone like him.
Brooke approached Jackie and Betsy, but Steven reopened the door. He wedged a thick rubber doorstop beneath the door and said,. "Don't want to get locked up here," before joining everyone by the telescope.
"Did you see anything worth mentioning?" Brooke said to Betsy.
"Yeah!" Betsy gestured to the western sky. "Aunt Jackie, show them Hamal."
"Who's Hamal?" Steven said.
Betsy told him as Jackie angled the telescope in the star's direction. Brooke looked through the telescope for less than ten seconds, but Steven spent a minute gazing at the star.
"We should get going," Brooke said. She checked her watch, and the summer wind swept through her hair. Even on top of a building, in the dark of night, she resembled a model. "The roof closes in a half-hour."
A sign on the roof's door read, "Open From 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m," and Jackie went to a tar-covered lump that ran across the roof. She'd nestled the telescope's box against it, to keep the wind from blowing the box away.
"Actually, I'd like to hang out for a few," Steven said when she returned with the box. "Don't have a telescope at home. That cool?"
"Cool with me." Betsy indicated Jackie. "She's a total stargazing expert."
A small smile rose on Steven's lips. "I know," he said, and Jackie's heart beat against her ears. The Monopoly limo and now this. … Contrary to what she'd believed, he hadn't wiped her from his memory. "Want to stay and point out a few things?" he said to her.
Their view of the sky had little worthy of being pointed out, but she did want to stay—and that desire was frightening. Her present self and Steven's had no relationship, no history. But spending time with him could expose details about her life she'd rather not share with him. Or send her back to places she'd rather not go.
Brooke and Betsy headed for the roof door, but Betsy said, "Don't worry, Aunt Jackie, you won't get locked out." She tapped the doorstop with her foot.
"Barni—the night security man—always checks the roof for people before he closes the door. You're safe," Brooke said, and Jackie pressed her knuckles to her lips. Her fear must have been obvious, but as Brooke and Betsy left, it only grew.
"Too bad the light pollution's so crappy up here," Steven said. His fingertips drummed on the telescope's aluminum tripod. "We could've seen the Perseid meteor shower."
"The Perseid," she said, barely a whisper. He knew about the Perseid meteor shower, and she inhaled a sharp breath. "You missed the peak of it by about two weeks," she said more loudly, "but it was beautiful."
"You saw it?"
"Yeah, I..." drove out to Golden Gate Park, but that detail might reveal where she lived. "I did. With my dad's old telescope."
"The brass one?"
She gaped at him. He truly hadn't forgotten her, but memory wasn't the same as significance. She struggled not to shiver, but her body had grown cold. Being significant to him shouldn't matter, couldn't possibly be true. Otherwise, it would mean he'd lied when he abandoned her so many years ago. That he'd left for reasons she couldn't fathom.
"Yes," she said stiffly. "The brass one."
He nodded then gave his attention to the telescope. "The moon's pretty interesting up close," he said, looking through the telescope's eyepiece.
"Is Betsy trying to hook us up?"
He withdrew from the telescope. Locks of his thick, wavy hair twitched in the wind. "Huh?"
"Betsy. Is that why she lied to get me here this weekend, to play matchmaker?"
"Yup, but not for us. She was trying to make Brooke jealous."
"Brooke? Why in the world...?"
He scratched his cheek. "It's complicated, but Betsy dragged you into this mess. Only fair you know what the mess is."
Jackie grew colder, as if ice had formed within her skin cells. Steven was about to open up, to let her in on part of his life. She lost her fight against the shivers, but they were small tremors, probably invisible to the eye. "Could we sit?"
"No problem." He led the way to the tar-covered lump. It reminded her of a log in the woods. He let her choose her spot first and sat a fair distance away. She suppressed the urge to thank him. Unlike most people she encountered, he understood what boundaries meant. "Bottom line," he said, "I stepped into Brooke and Betsy's life when Kelso couldn't step up."
An ember of rage glowed white-hot at the center of her heart. It was the last living piece of a dying fire, but it only added to the chills passing through her. She crossed her arms over her chest and willed her feelings of betrayal to remain silent.
"Nothing could help him back then," he went on. "He was bad enough while sober, but he drank what little sense he had into oblivion. Best thing I could do was help his kid. After twelve years of it, Betsy kind of sees me like a father-figure—"
"More than kind of," she said, even as her mind screamed at her. She'd needed him back then, too, after Michael raped her. But Steven had stranded her upstream. "She talks like you," she said. "Took on your gestures. Her taste in music comes from you."
He sighed. "You noticed all that?"
"Hard not to, but she's also a lot like Brooke and Michael. And she seems to idolize Ro Skirving."
"Yeah." He pulled his Zippo lighter from his pocket, along with a rumpled cigarette. "Haven't had one in half a day," he said, like he was embarrassed to smoke in front of her. "Do you give a crap if I...?"
"They're your lungs. Just try to blow the smoke away from me."
"Will do." He lit the cigarette and inhaled a long drag. He blew the smoke in the opposite direction of her, like she'd requested. "What're the chances Betsy's gonna smell this on me?"
"Pretty bad if you smoke the whole thing."
"Shit." He stamped the cigarette out on the roof's flat, tar surface. "I usually sneak out for a smoke when she's in bed. Not late enough."
"She must idealize you, or else she'd already have figured out your habit. Kids can be little detectives when they're suspicious about something." The same fact also applied to Jackie, although she had to be careful when to follow that instinct. Especially with him. "You said you gave up drinking. Did you give up the circle, too?"
"Outgrew it," he said with a shrug. "That's something you do in your teens and early twenties, or you end up like Leo."
"And smoking's something you do for the rest of your shortened life."
He laughed once, quietly. It was more like a rush of air through his nose. He'd quit smoking cigarettes for her as a teenager, during their summer alone in Eric's basement. She'd complained about the odor wafting off his clothes, and he'd given her attitude about it. They hadn't even started their fling yet. Just watched the Price Is Right together. But days later, the stink was gone.
"It's not good, I know." He popped a stick of gum into his mouth. "Anyway, Betsy wants me and her ma together, and it ain't gonna happen."
"Were you together before?" she said, and his shoulders slumped. She should have spoken less boldly with him. Less familiarly, but the idea of Steven in a romantic relationship with Brooke was incomprehensible. "I'm sorry. Forget I asked."
"Should've remembered how perceptive you are."
Her shivering escalated into visible shakes, and she began to sweat. "I'm sorry."
"Jackie—" Her name was a plea on his tongue. He used to say it that way when he was desperate to reach her, but she stood from the tar lump and stepped back. "There are no mistakes here, all right?" He rubbed the nape of his neck. "We're like a pair of dogs that ran in the same pack then got separated by bunch of years, and we're sniffing each other's asses to I.D. each other."
She sat down again. Her legs had become too weak to support her. He'd described their situation accurately, if crudely. More painfully, though, he'd obliterated the idea that she'd come to mean nothing to him.
She hugged her knees to her chest and bowed her head. If Steven didn't think she was insane before, he would now. Grief was crushing her into a tiny, dense particle. Her body ached to expel the energy, but she couldn't in front of him.
"What do you want me to do?" he said softly, but fifteen years of negative thoughts and emotion were packed inside her. He wouldn't possibly understand what he was seeing, why she was acting like this.
Her gaze fixed on the roof's tar floor. Don't think I'm crazy, she begged him inside her mind. Please, don't think I'm crazy, but she said, "Tell me how you discovered Degenerate Matter."
"Caught 'em at The Entry in Minneapolis back in '88," he said. "They started out as the Fuck Offs … and that's what they told me when I first tried to sign them: 'Fuck off.'"
"They thought you were too 'corporate'?" she said.
"Bingo. I gave 'em my card anyway—"
She smiled into her thigh. "You have a card?"
"Yup, who would've thunk? But a year and a half later, Ro called and asked me to see her new band, Degenerate Matter. Only her and Lee were left from the Fuck Offs, but half the songs were the same. Just more polished. They accepted my offer this time. They got I wasn't trying to use 'em."
He paused, and she turned her face so that her cheek lay on her knee. She no longer felt the need to stare at darkness. Steven hadn't moved from his spot on the tar-covered lump, but passion had replaced the calm he'd displayed all day. More life was in his voice, and his hand gestures were more lively, too.
"I genuinely wanted to fix the landscape of rock," he said. "It was full of bullshit hair metal. I mean, fuckin' Cinderella? Skid Row? Give me a damn break. Had to change that garbage."
"And thank you for doing that," she said, unfurling slightly from her crunched position. She hated that music, for more than one reason. It was inauthentic and inextricably tied to her failed marriage. "Degenerate Matter is so much better than Wildebeest. 'I'd be your slave if you'd open up,'" she said flatly, reciting a Wildebeest lyric. "'And, little girl, you know where I want you wide open.'" She stuck out her tongue in disgust. "Blech."
"Gabe Wilde's a master lyricist," he said just as flatly. "So ... you really like Degenerate Matter?"
"You signed an incredible band, Steven."
He angled his head slightly, and the moon lit the curiosity his eyes, or maybe she was imagining it. "What're your favorite songs?"
"I love all the albums," she said, "but I'm partial to the second two. The songs by O. MacNeil are my favorites." Her chills were subsiding. She was no longer shaking that much, and she sat up straight. "'Singularity' is the first song I heard of theirs, and I'd never been more affected by—"
Steven spat out his gum and pulled another rumpled cigarette from his jeans pocket. He lit it and sucked in a few, deep puffs before mashing it out.
Her back tensed, and she sat even straighter. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Just had a nicotine craving. Keep goin'."
"I won't ask who O. MacNeil is, if that's what you're worried about." She had no expectation he'd disclose such classified information to her. Not even Betsy knew, and the girl was practically his daughter. "The songs 'Point of No Return' and 'Spark' are my current favorites," she said, "but they switch depending on my mood. Next month, I'll probably be obsessed with two others..."
Blood heated her cheeks. She'd just disclosed her own classified information to him. But his manner was so gentle and genuine that acting detached was hard. She was used to fake. Her mother was fake. Her friends in California were fake, even Brie. They made promises they never kept, pretended to listen while thinking about themselves. As self-preservation, Jackie held back most of what she truly felt from them.
But Steven's focus on her was undivided. His gaze remained on her face, intense and fully present. It unnerved her. It intrigued her … but she'd been enchanted into perilous situations before. And none felt more perilous than being her honest self with him.
"Over the last month," she said, "I've listened to 'Point of No Return' and 'Spark' countless times."
"Better than spinning Captain & Tennille repeatedly," he said.
"Oh, you loved that."
"Hated it. Traumatized my record player."
She broke into another smile, and laughter straggled from her throat. The sound was alien to her. She so rarely laughed anymore.
Steven began to speak, but a man called to them from the roof door: "Time to come in." That had to be Barni, the night security man.
Steven glanced at his watch. "Man, it's been twenty minutes already?"
"Guess so." She rushed to the telescope and packed it away. The further into space one looked, the farther back in time one saw. That was how one of Degenerate Matter song's went, and her conversation with Steven was the same. It had unveiled a cavernous hole in their past.
Fifteen years ago, he'd said he couldn't love her anymore, giving no explanation. She'd come up with her own, that he'd chosen Michael over her. Believed what had to be Michael's version of events.
But that wasn't true. He'd proven that unequivocally tonight. Otherwise, he'd be treating her with contempt, as Eric often did. Or like he'd dumped their relationship over the side of his memory, into a bottomless abyss.
Still, as they left the roof together, unanswered questions widened the distance between them. He had to give her the whys, but she wasn't sure she could ever ask for them.
Hyde stayed outside Brooke's apartment, waiting until Jackie was a safe distance from the fold-out bed. Then he hurried to his small suitcase, grabbed an undershirt from it, and bolted into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth twice. Mouthwash would've been more effective, but swallowing any alcohol—just a drop, a tiny taste—could send him down a deadly road.
He scrubbed his hands clean with soap and put on the fresh undershirt. By the time he opened the door, Jackie was standing in the hallway, holding a toiletry bag. She entered the bathroom after him, but his brain would have to process their roof conversation later.
He returned to his suitcase and removed a blue folder from it. Tucked safely inside were copies of Degenerate Matter's upcoming tour itinerary. He shoved his smoke-funked shirt into plastic bag next, which he hid beneath his other clothes. Fortunately, Betsy was in her room, but Brooke cornered him against the fold-out bed.
"You're cutting it really close, buster," she whispered. "You were smoking on the roof."
"You smell it on me now?"
She sniffed him. "On your hands. A little."
"Damn."
The phone rang, and she left him alone to answer it in her bedroom. The timing was convenient. It prevented a lecture he'd already given himself.
The guest room door whooshed opened and clicked shut. Jackie had to be getting ready for bed. He needed to wash his hands again, but he brought his folder to the door and knocked. He had to catch her before she changed into pajamas, or else she probably wouldn't let him in.
"Jackie, it's Hyde."
"Just a minute," she said, voice muffled by the door. He stood patiently until she opened the door, but he stared at the new addition to her outfit. She'd layered an unbuttoned, long-sleeved cotton shirt over her blouse. The blouse had short sleeves, and she'd acted as if she were freezing up on the roof, despite the summer's warm air.
"You sick?" he said. "Have a fever?"
"I just get cold easily," she said, not moving from the doorway. She'd washed her face clean of makeup, giving him his first real look at it. Her features appeared untouched by plastic surgery. The lines around her mouth were deeper. A slight shadow darkened the skin beneath her large eyes, and the bridge of her nose was off-center, a bit curved. She must have broken it at some point. But, superficially, she resembled the Jackie of his memory. Just blond, frightened, and in pain.
"Can I come in?" he said. "I'll sit on that chair over there." He gestured at a wooden chair by the back wall. "And you can keep the door wide open."
"What do you want?" Her tone was wary. She didn't trust him, and he couldn't blame her.
"Degenerate Matter's gonna tour the east coast this fall." He pulled a copy of the band's itinerary from his folder. "Thought you might like to see them."
She took the paper and read it over.
"Pick any show," he said. "I'll get you front-row tickets. If you want to meet the band, I'll make it happen."
Her gaze rose toward his face slowly. "Why?"
Because Degenerate Matter seemed the best way to reach her. Regardless of whom she'd become, she was a part of his underlying fabric. Denying that to himself was a coward's game.
"Why not?" he said. "You dig the band, and I'm your connection."
She shook the itinerary at him. "I won't be your charity case, Steven."
"Charity's got nothing to do with it."
"Right. You think I'm some pathetic loser who needs pity, but you don't know me." She tried to hand him back the itinerary, but he refused.
"You don't know me either, Jackie. You're assuming things you shouldn't."
"Are you trying to show off, then? Prove how big you are? How much pull you have?"
"Nope."
The distrust in her tone softened. "Really."
"Really."
"Fine." She turned away from him and sat on the bed. "Sit over there—" she said, nodding at the wooden chair—"please." He did as she asked, and she read the itinerary again. In her hand was one of those red markers, the same he'd found in her purse at Izzy's birthday party. "I live on the west coast."
"I'll fly you out, book you a hotel room—"
"I can more than afford to fly first class if I want to and stay in a five-star hotel."
"Oh. Cool." he said, but flying first class was pricey. At Kim's funeral, Kelso told him Jackie was recently divorced. Maybe her ex paid her a boatload of alimony.
"What's your motive?" She ticked off tour dates with her marker. "What do you want?"
A cigarette, but he was still pissed that he'd smoked on the roof. He'd freaked out when she'd mentioned "Singularity" got her into his band. He'd written it about her, fueled by nightmares. The song was full of questions, some of which had been answered today.
"To give you something you'll enjoy," he said honestly.
"Why?"
Because he'd stranded her. His choice fifteen years ago was a betrayal that went soul-deep. So much of his own debris, as Ro called it, had been cleared out. But what remained kept him from reigniting fully. Maybe by helping Jackie, he could help himself. Even if it didn't, he wouldn't strand her again.
"Please, just tell me," she said. "I can't operate on half-truths. I know it's just a concert. But, like you said, we're trying to identify each other. I don't know what this—" she gestured between them—"is."
He swallowed. He hadn't been this nervous in years. One wrong word, and he was done.
"It's me trying to be friends with you," he said. "We've got a lot of friends in common, right? Seems like a good time to quit this avoiding-each-other bullshit and just get on with things."
"Friends." She tapped the bottom of her marker against her lips. "Okay." She circled a date on the itinerary and passed the paper to him.
"Saturday Night Live? The band's only gonna play three songs."
"Yes, but I can't deal with a concert crowd. Saturday Night Live is much more my speed. And I can bring Betsy—if Brooke will let me."
"SNL it is." If a smaller, more controlled crowd was what she needed, then that was what she'd get. "Could I have that marker a sec?"
She handed him the marker, and he wrote two phone numbers on the itinerary. "Home phone, office phone," he said and returned both the marker and itinerary back to her. "Leave a message if you don't get me. Never know where I'll be."
"Maybe it would be easier if you call me." She wrote a number on blank part of the itinerary, but she hesitated before ripping off the piece and giving it to him. "I'm out a lot, too. You'll probably get the machine if you call, but I'll call you back."
She was setting more boundaries, but he had no intention of violating them. "I'll let you know the info when I get it." He carefully folded the strip of paper with her number on it. It went into his jeans pocket, and he stood from the chair. "See you in the morning."
"Good night," she said.
He left the room and closed the door. Jackie was the one loss he'd never been able to shake. He'd spent fifteen years pushing down his grief, but now he had a chance to reach her. In the process, the sun might finally rise above his horizon.