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, the songs "Plasticizer" and "Interplanetary Dust," and all the lyrics contained therein copyright to the author of this story (username: MistyMountainHop, maker of Those '70s Comics).
CHAPTER 19
PLASTICIZER
August 31, 1994
San Francisco, California
Cosette Magazine Photo Shoot
...
The backdrop for Donna's photo shoot wasn't real but constructed. It consisted mostly of a graffiti-sprayed brick wall, and Cosette Magazine's set designer added a few real bricks on the gray set floor to add authenticity. The shoot was supposed to have taken place outside, in front of an actual vandalized wall, but rain and deadlines forced the magazine to rent a photo studio and go the artificial route.
Jackie stood back from the set, gripping her purse. She'd secured a spot by the hair-and-makeup station to watch and stay silent. Because if she spoke, the truth would escape, and she'd lose more than she'd already lost.
Brie had pulled a Versace dress for Donna's first set of photos, a leather and lace number that recalled Madonna in the '80s. Donna's hair was fashionably teased. Her makeup was Cyndi-Lauper inspired, and Jackie so would not have styled Donna that way. She would've chosen an outfit and makeup that brought out Donna's '70s rock sensibility.
But the photographer, Val Altier, had nothing but praise for Donna. Calling her a natural and "such a beauty." He often photographed covers for French Vogue, and his hiring indicated that Cosette considered this article a big deal.
Donna was definitely a natural, moving so the angles of her face caught the light. Behind Val, Brie offered her own praise and instructions. Donna switched up her poses with each camera click, but the whole affair tensed Jackie's body until pain throbbed in her head.
As Cosette's senior fashion editor, Brie had the pull to let Jackie be a guest. Donna had specifically requested her presence since fashion was "Jackie's world," not Donna's. But it wasn't Jackie's either, and it never would be.
As a child, she believed she could be a model. Or an actress. It was a celebrity fantasy, in which she'd be rich and famous and treated as if she were important. Eventually, however, the idea of being adored by all was replaced by the hope of being loved by some.
Or even one.
Yet she'd tried to force what shouldn't be forced, and she'd punished herself by letting Michael force himself on her. Sarah, her therapist, tried to steer her from that kind of thinking, but Jackie couldn't stop believing it. She'd told Michael, "No," hundreds of times before that night in '79. She could have done it then or shoved him off her.
"He shouldn't have put you in that position in the first place," Sarah said during one of their therapy sessions, "where you had to say no or physically stop him. You're punishing yourself now by taking responsibility for his assault on you, for what all your perpetrators did."
"If I'm not responsible," Jackie said, "then God's the one punishing me. He's trying to teach me how awful I truly am. Well, message received! So God can cut it out now and leave me the hell alone."
Tears rose in Sarah's eyes then. Jackie apologized, and Sarah said, "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm just feeling a deep sense of empathy. You've been through a lot, and you deserve none of the suffering you've had to endure. We've spoken about this before, letting yourself process the trauma here, in a safe space."
That meant re-experiencing it, Jackie knew, but in a productive and healthy way. To release the intensity of her pain from her body and mind, which would reduce her flashbacks and nightmares and other symptoms of PTSD.
"But then I'd feel," she told Sarah. "Being numb is better than feeling all … that."
"You already do. It manifests as anxiety and panic and misery. The numbness protects you to some degree, yes, but it's also preventing you from living a full and happy life." Sarah dabbed her wet eyes with a tissue. "I know you're resistant, but you need to grieve. To experience your anger, sadness, and even the terror in a conscious, deliberate, and therapeutic manner—to make room for feelings of safety and joy. And I'll help get you there, if you let me."
Jackie hadn't let her yet, but the idea wasn't as horrifying anymore. Still, she turned away from Val Altier's camera flashes. This photo shoot had to be karmic retribution for all her teenage arrogance toward Donna. In college, she dreamed of becoming a fashion or jewelry designer. She continued to dream of it sometimes, but that passion in her heart mocked her. She was a merely shadow, cursed to watch others light the world.
"Oh, my God, Jackie—" Hands fell on Jackie's shoulders, and she jumped at the contact. Brie was in front of her, mouth agape. She must not have expected Jackie's reaction to her touch. "Caught you deep in thought?" Brie said.
"Yeah," Jackie said, but adrenaline aggravated her headache and gave her the shakes. Not everyone welcomed being touched. Not without permission, at least, but reminding Brie of that fact yet again ... futile. "What's going on?"
Brie squeezed Jackie's hand and whispered, "Your friend is fabulous. This is going to make a great article for our issue on rebellion. I can't wait to read the interview."
The interview. It would take place after the shoot at a posh restaurant, no doubt. Jackie crossed her arms over her chest, trying to block her pounding heart from her jealous thoughts.
"I've got to pull the next outfit," Brie said. Donna was already out of the Versace dress and in a fluffy robe, and Brie flitted off to the clothing rack.
Donna sat at the hair-and-makeup station. It was essentially a mobile vanity, and she greeted Jackie cheerfully before the makeup artist and hair stylist seized her. Donna's face was scrubbed clean. Her hair was unteased. The photo set, meanwhile, was being redressed, and Val was talking to his lighting director. Donna probably had more than a half-hour before the next shoot.
Jackie leaned her hip against the vanity. Its wheels were locked, so it didn't roll, but the mirror wobbled a little. She really could've used a chair. A few were scattered around the studio, but these were for Val, Brie, and Cosette's other employees. In her youth, she would've just sat in one, ignorant or unafraid of the possible consequences. She missed the younger Jackie on days like this.
"Donna," she said, voice ragged from being silent so long, "how're you doing?"
"Great!" Donna sipped from a bottle of water. Brie's assistant had brought it to her. "Though I miss Izzy and Eric. I wish they could see me all glammed up."
"They will once the magazine comes out."
Donna nodded. "But it's also nice not being a mom for a while, you know?"
Jackie didn't know. She almost had, but God had other plans. "Can I..." She ran a finger over the bridge of her nose, over the bend her ex-husband had put there."Can I ask you something about Steven?"
"Steven who?" Donna said, and a shard of ice pierced Jackie's chest. Donna wouldn't mess with her. Not Donna. She truly had no idea who Jackie meant, and that made Donna's question all the more jolting.
"Hyde," Jackie said. She hadn't said Steven's name to Donna in years, maybe over a decade. "Is he really as nice as he seems, or is it just an act?"
"Hyde?" Donna twisted in the chair, eyes blazing at Jackie, and both the makeup artist and hair stylist objected. "Sorry," Donna said and sat back, but her voice took on her eyes' fire. "Why are you asking about Hyde all of a sudden?"
"I spent the weekend with him."
"What?" Donna twisted in the chair again, eliciting groans from the makeup artist and hair stylist. "You what? You did not. … You what?"
"Not like that," you big moose, Jackie wanted to add, but she controlled herself. "Hello? I'm celibate, and he's an ex. But Betsy mixed up birthday-celebration dates, and Steven and I both stayed at her apartment last weekend."
The makeup artist implored Donna to lean back. Donna did, but her fingers drummed on the arms of the chair. "You didn't go to a hotel?"
Jackie waited a moment before answering. She had to be careful, or else this conversation would turn into an interview or, worse, an interrogation. "I almost did," she said, "but Steven slept on the fold-out bed, and I had the guest room. It worked out fine. In fact ... we decided to become friends."
"Wow." Donna whispered. "That's, just ... wow! I mean, after all that's happened, it's really—it's wonderful. Actually, it's terrific! This'll be easier on Izzy. Hell, it'll be easier on everyone. Maybe—" She angled her head toward Jackie, but the makeup artist nudged it back to a proper position. "Maybe both you and Hyde could even come to the Formans' Christmas this year."
"Maybe." Jackie stood away from the vanity. Shivers raked her body, but she couldn't distinguish one anxiety from another. "But is he honestly that nice a guy? He's basically a stranger to me, but you've been friends with him this whole time."
"Yes, he's a really good guy. He was before."
"But there's..." Jackie clutched her purse, hard enough to crack a few knuckles. "I don't know—a sweetness to him. I'd never have called Steven sweet back in high school."
"Are you kidding me? You called him sweet all the time."
Blood heated Jackie's neck, and she winced at the ache in her head. Donna was right. Jackie had called him sweet back then, but this was different. "I'm not talking about below-the-surface sweetness. Not one you have to search for. This sweetness is obvious, like a natural part of him."
"Huh. I guess he has become a bit of a softy," Donna said. "Especially around kids, but he's also more … complicated."
"He was complicated before."
"Not like this, he wasn't."
Donna's face and hair were blank canvases again. The makeup artist and the hair stylist stepped away to gather their tools, and Jackie got in front of the mirror. In front of Donna. "What are you saying?"
Donna squared her shoulders, but her expression grew pained, lining her forehead. "I wish ..." she said, and her face flushed. "Oh, God, I wish." She inhaled deeply, chest visibly rising. "But it's not my place to say anything. I'm sorry. I truly am."
Donna's eyes grew wet, and the pounding in Jackie's head became unbearable. The sight of Donna's anguish was as frightening, as confusing, as her words. Whatever secret she was keeping, it hurt her to keep it.
Jackie searched her purse for some Advil. She found it and asked for Donna's water bottle. Donna wiped the neck clean of lipstick before passing it to her, and Jackie swallowed two pills as Brie returned.
"What's going on here?" Brie said and gestured for Jackie to move aside. Jackie did with little thought. Her head ached too much for her to care. "You've gone all stiff on me, girl!" Brie said to Donna. "You need to loosen up. Let me show you the next outfit. It is gorge!"
Donna's face was still red, but her eyes had dried up. She stood, and Brie looped her arm around one of Donna's. "I know all this hullabaloo can be overwhelming," Brie said, pulling Donna toward the clothing rack, "but you're doing so well!"
"Be careful with him," Donna called to Jackie over her shoulder. "Be careful, okay?"
Jackie shut her eyes at the warning. She couldn't ask Donna to clarify, not until the next set of photos were shot.
Down a short hallway were the studio's bathrooms. Jackie rushed inside of one and into a toilet stall. She hung up her long-sleeved cardigan on the stall's door hook. Privacy was what she needed most right now—and for her headache to go away.
She pulled a marker from her purse and wrote, "CAREFUL FOR WHO?" on her left arm. "ME, HIM, OR BOTH?" The words were bright red, and next to them she wrote, "IT SHOULD BE ME! HE DESERVES SHIT!" But beneath that, in much smaller letters, she put, "I deserve shit."
Photo shoots. Confidence. Loyalty. Love. They were all out of reach, but helping Donna get this feature had been the right thing to do. Hopefully, it would restart Donna's career.
Thoughts, red and raw, covered Jackie's left arm when the Advil finally started to work. Pleas wove between invectives, but a little space remained in the crook of her elbow. "Hold me," she wrote. Then, over words previously written, she dug the marker into her skin and kept writing. "Someone, please, be safe enough for me not to feel disgusting."
The words burned her flesh. She'd pressed the marker so hard that the tip deformed under the pressure.
Jackie left the bathroom once she'd checked herself over. No red peeked out from her cardigan sleeve. Her written thoughts would identify her as insane, and maybe she was. Marking herself here was a crazy risk, but it was the safest, most non-destructive method she had to relieve her stress.
Back in the studio, Donna's second set of photos was finishing up. "Vous êtes belle!" Val said from behind his camera. "Magnifique, magnifique."
"If only she were famous," Brie said to him, "one of these shots could go on the cover." She probably thought she was keeping her voice down, but her voice always carried.
"Who knows?" Val said. "Perhaps this shoot will make her famous. If it does, call me. I want—comment dites-vous?—first chance at the cover."
Brie touched his arm. "Of course, of course. … She's very Joan Jett in this styling. Ro Skirving, even. She's got the anarchist's snarl down."
Jackie had to agree. The shoot was punk-inspired, and Ro would probably fit right in—if she did mainstream photo shoots, which she didn't.
"Oh, I really enjoyed that one," Donna said when she was back in the makeup chair. "If the interview goes half as well as the pictures, I might actually get hired by a reputable rock mag again."
"You will," Jackie said and glanced at her watch. Not even eleven o'clock yet. They'd get through at least one more set of photos before breaking for lunch. The shoot had begun early this morning. Donna arrived in town yesterday evening. Cosette had put her up in a fancy hotel, another sign the magazine was serious about this article.
She could have stayed with Jackie, but Jackie was glad that hadn't been necessary. Otherwise, Donna might've met the rest of the Blonde Brigade. Brie was the most benign among Jackie's California friends. But June's crudeness, Deborah's tactlessness, and Ann-Marie's pretentiousness would've set Donna against them and, likely, against Jackie, too.
The makeup artist cleaned Donna's face once more, in preparation for the next shoot. She made no comment about Jackie's presence, though she couldn't have been happy about it. Jackie wasn't happy about the makeup artist's presence either. She needed to finish her conversation with Donna in private, but that required a patience Jackie didn't have.
"Who's Rod?" Donna said before Jackie could speak. "I thought you were celibate."
Jackie exhaled a strangled breath. Of course Brie had gossiped. "Excuse me?"
"Brie told me you and this Rod person had a 'hot and heavy' night together last month."
"Hot and heavy? Not even close."
"Why'd didn't you tell me you went on a date that ended in sex?" Donna said, as if she had any right to be angry. "Why do you keep doing that, hold onto so many secrets?"
Jackie tugged her cardigan sleeves over her palms. "Like you aren't?"
"Ooh, it's getting hot up in here," the hairstylist said, approaching. He waved his hair brush in front of his face like a fan. "We need to turn on the wind machines and quick."
"Are you upsetting my model?" Brie called from the clothing rack.
"No," Jackie and Donna said together, and Jackie thought of an excuse to leave. But if she left now, her relationship with Donna would deteriorate again. She couldn't let Donna be sucked into the Blonde Brigade's machinations. Jackie had fought too hard the last seven years to repair what was broken.
"Let me improve you by making you pliant," Ro sang in Jackie's head. "Just a little additive to increase your fluidity. Fit inside this mold I've set before you. Be a perfect thoughtless copy, doing what you're told." The song was "Plasticizer" off Degenerate Matter's first album, and Ro's voice coiled around Jackie's fear. "Don't be compliant! Don't let 'em plasticize you! Perfection exists in imperfection. Own your own mind. Own your own mind."
"Do you really think it was Brie's place to share my date with you?" Jackie said.
"No, but—"
"We all have a right to privacy. Not just Steven. Not just you. Speaking of which, you didn't share with me what Eric's penis looked like, did you?"
"Jackie!" Donna clutched the arms of the makeup chair. "That's totally different and happened, like, a million years ago."
"And I thank God you didn't tell me when I asked because ew!"
The makeup artist and hair stylist glanced at each other and laughed quietly. They were getting the show of their lives today, like they'd stepped into the world of Briar Patch Plaza. That prime-time soap opera was full of dramatic conversations, often ending with a slap. But Jackie had no intention of slapping anyone or being on the receiving end of an open-handed strike.
Donna grunted, however. An argument was sure to follow, but Jackie said, "If I call myself celibate, you need to respect that. I wouldn't make that claim baselessly, would I? Do you think so little of me?"
Brie was at Jackie's back before Donna could answer. She cupped Jackie's shoulders and steered her away from the hair-and-makeup station. "I'm sorry, Jackie, but I have to ask you to leave."
Jackie shifted her shoulders so Brie would let go of them, but Brie's grip only strengthened. It was her way of controlling Jackie. Beneath Brie's non-conformist, sprightly attitude, and her above-average attention span, she was like rest of the Blonde Brigade: untrustworthy.
"You're spreading bad vibes," Brie said. "Val's feeling them. Donna's obviously feeling them. I won't have you ruining this shoot for me." She pushed Jackie toward the studio's entry hall. "I don't know what's gotten into you today. Is it PMS?"
Fuck you, Jackie wanted to say, but Brie would punish her ten-fold for a remark like that. "I'm sorry," she said instead. Her voice was a whisper when she should've been screaming ... about Brie's lack of boundaries. About her gossip-mongering.
"It's all right." Brie kept a hand on Jackie's back while opening the studio door. "We'll talk later. Have lunch on the weekend."
She guided Jackie outside with a shove. The glass door clicked shut, and Jackie's fists clenched. She imagined punching the door until it shattered, a shard of glass hurtling toward Brie's neck and slicing her head clean off.
But Jackie went to the studio's parking lot, hoping some of her rage would dissipate. It didn't. Driving home in this state wasn't safe. She was liable to get herself killed or kill someone else. So she sat inside her Mazda Miata and turned on the CD player.
Degenerate Matter's second album blasted through the speakers. She'd bought copies of the band's albums for her car, and Ro sang, "If I gave you the truth, would I be giving you up?"
Jackie had skipped to track ten, "Interplanetary Dust," and she mouthed the lyrics silently. "Because honesty could make you give up. Oh, please, let me be true. I want to be true ... without losing you."
She played the song again after it ended. And again. By the fourth time, she was sing-screaming the song with Ro. Her car doors were closed. The windows were rolled up. No one wandered the parking lot, and she had little fear of being caught. "You gave me a home," she and Ro sang together, "when all I had was dust. Your gravity grounded me when I was used to drifting. I grew accustomed to your way, fell into a smooth orbit. But what I carry at my core is explosive. It's explosive..."
She lowered her forehead to the steering wheel. The words were O. MacNeil's, and they'd absorbed her anger.
Soon, she was driving out of the parking lot. By the time she reached Highway 101 South, she'd written a letter to O. MacNeil in her mind. Thanking him. Sharing with him experiences and feelings she'd told with no one but her therapist. His lyrics had torn open a tiny hole in the darkness, letting in a thin ray of sun.
The letter moved from her brain to paper once she was home. She couldn't guess how O. MacNeil would treat her soul, with compassion or derision. Trusting a stranger, even one who seemed to lay his own soul bare, was reckless.
Then again, he must've had thousands of people writing him. Degenerate Matter's fan mail address was listed in the albums' liner notes. Some hired drone had to be the gatekeeper. Unsympathetic eyes reading her most private wounds, it was a sickening vision.
But Jackie could bypass the fan club.
"I'm your connection," Steven had said in Chicago. He'd offered to bring her to meet the band. Maybe he could take her letter to O. MacNeil directly.
Not that she expected him to write her back, but that was what she wanted. For O. MacNeil to give personal words of understanding beyond generic sympathy.
She folded the letter neatly and put it into an envelope. She wrote O. MacNeil's name on the front, heart thumping. He might someday learn who she was. He might even care … or not care at all.
Jackie stared through her solarium's glass door into the darkness. The lagoon became virtually invisible at night. Even with her house's back lights on, the water was little more than a black smear. Lit windows across the lagoon reflected in it, but loneliness spread through her like ink. The night often did that to her, especially after a day like today.
The phone rang. Her Caller ID listed the number as the Marriott Union Square Hotel. That had to be Donna. Jackie picked up the phone receiver, said a terse hello.
"Jackie?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry." Donna's apology came out with a sigh. "I screwed up, but there's too much to say over the phone. Could you come to the hotel?"
"Now?" Jackie glanced at the solarium's ocean-inspired wall clock. "It's almost ten at night."
"I know, but my flight home's in the morning, and we need to finish our discussion. I don't want to leave things the way they were at the studio."
Jackie sighed herself. "All right. I'll be there."
Donna's room at the hotel was spacious with two double beds and a breathtaking view of Union Square. The neighborhood's buildings brightened the night sky, hinting at the lives within. Jackie stayed away from the window. Cities at night used to excite her with possibility, about her own unique potential. Now, they served as reminders of her failures.
"Do want me to order room service," Donna said. "They have some amazing desserts here. Now that the photo shoot is done, I can stop watching my weight so much. I wouldn't mind having a second helping of the chocolate torte."
Jackie sat on the bed closest to the door, hugging her purse to her stomach. "No, thanks."
"Thanks is an apt word—from me." Donna sat on the opposite bed. Unlike most people, she generally gave Jackie the space she needed without Jackie having to ask. "Thank you for all of this," Donna said. "The interview went great. I finally got to tell my side of the story. Come On Magazine won't know what hit it."
Jackie smiled a weak smile. It was all she could muster. "Cosette doesn't sanitize its interviews. In a few months, Rolling Stone, Spin, and Circus should be knocking down your door, apologizing for closing their doors to you. I mean, how can they not see how trashy Come On has become in the last five years?"
"I know!" Donna shook her head, laughing incredulously, and for a moment Jackie felt like they were back in Point Place, on the Formans' stoop. "Apologize is another apt word…" Donna scooted forward so that her legs dangled off the side of the bed. She'd closed the distance between her and Jackie by a foot. "I am so sorry about today. I was being a total hypocrite. What you do and who you do it with are none of my business."
Jackie didn't respond. Donna's hands were clasped together, her fingers twisting against one another. She clearly had a lot more to say, and Jackie would let her say it.
"Brie shouldn't have talked about you to me," Donna went on. "I shouldn't have listened, but I feel so cut off from you. Cut out from your life." She leaned her head back, as if to hide it, but tears rimmed her eyes when she spoke again. "Ten years ago, you basically fell out of existence. Didn't even go to my wedding, and you never told me why. Did it have to do with Hyde attending? Or Kelso, what he did to you?"
Dale Fischer, a rebellious voice inside Jackie's mind said. Or maybe it was in her heart. She ached to share what happened during her junior year of college. Jackie's name was kept out of the news, thanks to the lawyers her dad hired, but Dale's hadn't been. With that name, someone with an intelligent, inquisitive mind like Donna's could discover everything.
"I fought with Eric to make sure Kelso wouldn't be there—" Donna said—"at the wedding, I mean. And he wasn't, like I swore he wouldn't be. I believe you. I always did, and Eric and I still fight about it sometimes. But if more happened, something even worse, I'll believe you. Okay?"
Jackie's throat tightened as the truth rose from her chest, but she couldn't release it. "I know it hurt you," she said, voice catching. "It hurt me, too, not going to your wedding. Steven's presence wasn't the problem. I was over him by then." Not over what he'd done, but over him. Romantically. "I'd planned on being more beautiful than you in my bridesmaid dress and pissing you off."
"You so would've tried that," Donna said with a laugh.
"I would have succeeded. But it's safer for everyone if we don't talk about why I couldn't go."
"Are you in trouble?" Donna scooted farther off the bed, closer to Jackie. "Did you have a secret affair with a mobster? A senator?"
"Put your internal journalist's pen away," Jackie said, and Donna sat back a little. "You're just better off not knowing."
Jackie was better off with Donna not knowing, too. Because if Donna ever did find out, she might think Jackie was too unstable to be around Izzy. Or dangerous. But Jackie's relationships with Donna and her daughter were vital to her sanity.
"I get it," Donna said after a few quiet breaths. "You're protecting me. Carrying a burden you think would hurt me, so you keep it to yourself."
Jackie hated to ruin whatever catharsis Donna was having, but she had it all wrong. "I'm protecting myself."
"You are. But you're also making a sacrifice, whether you realize it or not."
"Fine," Jackie said. "So can we drop this subject now?"
"Consider it dropped."
"Good." Jackie placed her purse on the bed. She'd been hugging it too tightly too long and shook out her arms. "My night with Rod was a hasty and horrible mistake."
Donna eyes widened, like she couldn't believe Jackie had revealed this tidbit to her. But she gestured for more, and Jackie told her—about how Brie had set her up with Rod, the intoxicating lights of Blister Night Club. "I was drunk," she said, "not on alcohol but on his looks. His swagger. Half of it had to be projection. If I'd met him in the daylight, he probably wouldn't have appealed to me."
"Well, that sucks. Was he good in bed, at least?"
Jackie opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her stomach churned with how much she craved Donna's perspective. Talking to her therapist was helpful, but she sorely missed having a girlfriend to trust.
Unfortunately, despite Donna's apologies, Jackie was still uncomfortable. Her trust had been broken by both her and Brie today. Donna hadn't earned enough of it back yet.
"That bad, huh?" Donna said.
He fucked me against the wall, Jackie's younger self would've admitted, but her present self couldn't say it. Because then she'd have to explain the rest, and that was hazardous ground. "It was just sex."
"See, I don't know what that's like. I've only ever been with Eric."
Jackie suppressed a gag. "As much as it pains me to say it, Donna, you're lucky." She meant it. Though Eric was less than kind to her, he was wonderful to Donna and their daughter. "I'm glad you have him."
"I am, too. But you shouldn't let one bad night ruin you for all guys."
"How about a bad marriage?"
Donna pressed her lips together in a tight frown. "That's a different story, yeah."
"Don't be embarrassed," Jackie said. "It's not like I've talked about it much. The plain fact is I'm terrible at choosing men, so I've decided to stop trying. You, however..."
"It took me a while to realize Eric was the one, though. Lest we forget Casey Kelso?"
"That was my fault."
"No, it wasn't. I got drawn in by his hair … and his arms … and his Trans Am. God, I loved that car."
Jackie giggled, but the sensation was strange, like putting on a dress she hadn't worn in ages. She wasn't sure it fit her style anymore.
"Are we okay?" Donna extended her arm across the gap between the beds. She was offering Jackie her hand, but Jackie couldn't take it. They were okay, relatively. She trusted Donna more than the Blonde Brigade. But to take Donna's hand would mean reestablishing their sisterhood. And that would be impulsive. Premature.
"I don't do the touching thing, remember?" Jackie said, and Donna withdrew her hand. "But we're okay—except for this: your warning to me about Steven."
"What about it?"
"Why should I be careful around him if his niceness isn't an act?"
Donna combed her fingers through her hair, somewhat frantically. "What I'm saying is he's pulled in a lot of different directions. Don't expect to become best friends with him."
Jackie flinched as if Donna had smashed her nose and re-broken it. "I've barely begun talking to him again!" she said shrilly. She hadn't spoken like that in a decade, but her high-pitched tone couldn't be helped. "And I don't do best friends with anyone anymore. Why would you even say that about me?"
Donna raised her hands in supplication. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Guess I did a time warp. You know, us sitting on the Formans' stoop, talking. ... Dr. and Mrs. Jackie Hyde."
Jackie pushed herself off the bed and went to the window. Union Square shone dazzlingly through it, mixed with nightmare darkness. "I'm not her, Donna. I'm not that girl."
"I know."
"That girl had no idea what was waiting for her." Jackie dragged her fingertips along the cold metal of the window sill. "She was naïve and arrogant. I'm—" barely holding on—"careful." Her gaze fixed on the tallest skyscraper outside. So many lives dwelt inside. Happy, miserable, anywhere in between.
Donna was standing now. "I won't ask you about it," she said, "but if you ever want to tell me—"
"All I want to know is if Steven's not some duplicitous, two-faced dog. Because he left me, Donna, when I needed him most. And I can't go through that again."
"He'll do everything in his power not to cause you pain. That'll be his first priority. I can promise you that much."
"Specifically me? Or anyone?"
"Both." Donna stepped toward her, twitching up her hand. She probably thought to rub Jackie's arm, warmly, comfortingly, but she stopped herself. "If I trust him with my daughter's life—and I do—you should be safe."
Jackie gave Donna's shoulder a soft, brief pat. She'd heard what she'd needed to tonight. It didn't resolve all her misgivings, not even by half, but for now it was enough.