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 20
NOBODY'S DOG
September 9, 1994
Toledo, Ohio
John F. Savage Hall
...
Ten-thousand Degenerate Matter fans filled John F. Savage Hall, but tonight Hyde cared most about two: Forman and Donna. They had VIP seats sidestage, near Hyde's post. He'd arranged and paid for their trip to Toledo, not just so they could see a kickass show but to bring together long-separated parts of his life.
Ro knew who Forman and Donna were and why they were there. She glanced at them now and then during the band's first set, especially during "Interplanetary Dust". That made Hyde think she'd unlocked the meaning behind the lyrics, but he never could guess with her.
Toward the end of the show, after her "Because I'm a Girl" stage dive, Hyde dashed from the sidestage bunker. He rarely played a security role nowadays, except in extraordinary circumstances. But he helped pull Ro out of the pit, to plant a seed in Forman and Donna's heads.
He met them backstage once the show was over. They wore laminated passes around their necks and excited expressions on their faces.
"That was so damn cool!" Forman said, and it acted as an opening for Donna, who followed with a list of the gig's coolest moments. But they both clammed up when he brought them into the greenroom.
The band was relaxing on the couches inside, drinking water, eating snacks. Forman stayed by the door, but Donna joined Hyde in the room. She was used to meeting rock musicians, thanks to her career.
"Forman, come on," Hyde said and waved at him to come closer. Forman did so hesitantly, and Nate—being the wiseass he was—bounded off the couch and grasped Forman's hand with both of his and gave it a vigorous shake.
"Nate Stack. You're amazed to meet me," Nate said, his normally pale cheeks flushed from the show. He thrust Forman's hand away from him. "Now get out."
Ro and Lee laughed, but Sherry elbowed Nate aside. Not hard for her to do. She had a good half-foot of height on him, and she said, "Don't mind him. He gets loopy after our gigs."
"And during," Lee said. "That's why we keep him."
"Yeah. Anyway..." Hyde scratched his cheek and cleared his throat. Doing introductions was never his strong suit, but this one was particularly tough. His pulse was pounding, and his eyes fixed on Ro. "This is Donna and Forman—Eric Forman. Grew up with them. They're basically—fuck it. They're family."
"Hello, family," Sherry said. "I'm Sherry." She nodded at Nate, her black curls bouncing slightly. "Don't let Jokey Smurf, here, put you off. We're happy to meet you."
Lee stood and offered both Forman and Donna a handshake. "Lee. How'd you like the show?" he said with no attitude. Hyde had half-expected him to act like an asshole, but he was on his best behavior tonight.
Donna began an enthusiastic but journalistic analysis of the gig, but Forman lost his shit and reenacted his favorite part of the night, flailing his arms and imitating guitar solos with his voice. Donna patted his shoulder fifteen seconds in and said, "I think they get the point."
"Right." Forman rolled back his shoulders as if to center himself. "Well, you were there," he said to the band. "I mean, you know what you guys did."
Ro came forward next. Hyde laid his hand on her sweaty back and said, "This is Ro … my fiancée."
"Your what?" Forman said as Donna stared mutely at Hyde.
Ro hiked her thumb at Forman. "Hard of hearing, that one?"
"Nope." Hyde slid his arm around her waist. "Shock'll do that to a person."
"When?" Donna said and rubbed her chin, like she was mentally trying to reconstruct a crime scene. "When did … engagement … what?"
"Last November," Hyde said. "We're keepin' it quiet, though—"
Lee smirked. "Yeah, real quiet."
Ro answered him with her middle finger, and Lee's smirk became silent laughter.
"Which means no tellin' Red or Mrs. Forman," Hyde said to Forman and Donna. "Or anyone else. Can't have MTV or the tabloids breathing down our necks."
Donna didn't argue. She must've understood the seriousness of his situation, how big a show of trust Hyde was giving her. If anyone had the power to blow up his life with Ro, it was her. She could use this information to get her career back on track if she wanted. Degenerate Matter was one of the hottest bands in the world right now. Its lack of interviews made the media and public even hungrier for intel.
"Welcome to the family," Forman said to Ro with an awkward grin. "When's the wedding date?"
Ro hooked her arm around Hyde's hips and squeezed. That was her signal for him to answer. For all the power she commanded on stage, in the band, and with Hyde alone, she was relatively shy around strangers. But Donna and Forman wouldn't be strangers to her after tonight.
"Haven't set one yet," Hyde said. "We'll get to—"
The greenroom door slammed open, and Pete, the band's tour manager, rushed in. His eyes were wide, and his receding curly hair was a frizzy mess. Ro stepped away from Hyde as Pete said, "K-Jam's caught wind of how fans line up outside the venue, waiting for you to leave. Some dipshits named Bruce and Kenny are out there with their mics. Looks like they're willing to wait as long as it takes to ambush you guys."
Lee pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket and a lighter. "Fucking radio."
"Can't live with it, can't live without it," Sherry said with a shrug.
"We should kick Bruce and Kenny's asses." Nate balled his fists and raised them high. "I got two drumsticks with their names on 'em."
"They're trying to get a 'get,'" Donna said. "If you give them anything, it'll open you up to a lot more."
Ro blew out an audible breath. "Fantastic."
Donna probably could've said a lot more. She knew tabloid tactics due to her time at Come On Magazine, but she was wise to keep her mouth shut about it around the band.
"Get me a SECURITY shirt," Hyde said to Pete, "and have our security crew meet us at the venue's back exit in twenty."
"On it," Pete said and darted from the greenroom.
Hyde yanked his own pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. He passed Ro a stick, stuck one in his mouth, and lit them both with his Zippo. Normally, the band would hang out in the greenroom or backstage while the road crew loaded out gear. This allowed time for the crowd outside to thin. But John. F. Savage Hall was located on the University of Toledo's campus. If anything, time would draw more fans to the venue. Better to leave earlier than later.
"What's happening?" Forman said.
Hyde exhaled a puff of smoke and re-inhaled part of it into his nostrils. "You and Donna are gonna go back to the hotel. I'll see you there in the morning."
Degenerate Matter had the day off tomorrow. Then it was onto Maryland. But tonight, Hyde and the band were going to do a little misdirection.
Security surrounded Hyde and the band as they left the venue. Hyde had on the SECURITY shirt Pete brought him. His hair was hidden in his Milwaukee Brewer's cap, and Lee had his arm around Ro's shoulders. They were laughing together, ignoring the radio dicks Bruce and Kenny. It was part of the act, though Hyde doubted Lee was acting all that much.
The band liked its short, impromptu meet n' greet with fans, but Bruce and Kenny had made that impossible tonight. Hyde ushered Ro and Lee into the band's black van. The other band members hurried inside, and Hyde climbed in last.
Half a dozen security guards held back the crowd as the van sped down the street. Nate hooted from excitement or adrenaline, but Sherry said, "What do you think Bruce and Kenny'll make of what we just did?"
"There's not much to make," Ro said. "I was palling around with my bandmate. They can go fuck themselves."
Hyde glided his hand over Ro's knee, and she leaned into him. "How's about we fuck each other?" he whispered into her ear.
She wove her fingers between his on her knee. "You want to start now or wait 'til we get to our hotel?"
He kissed the top of her head, giving her his answer. If he'd gone for her mouth, the band would've griped at them to stop, same as the driver. Hyde felt freer than he had since the engagement. Forman and Donna knew about it. Ro had met two of the most vital people in his life, and soon she was going to experience just how damn happy that made him.
The next morning, Hyde arrived at Forman and Donna's hotel around ten a.m. They were staying at the Swan Suites, two miles from the University of Toledo. Degenerate Matter fans who'd flown in for the show might've been staying here, too, but they wouldn't recognize Hyde. He'd kept his hair out last night while working. But now his hair was stuffed into his backward Brewers cap.
He found Forman and Donna in the lobby's seating area, but Forman focused on the empty space beside Hyde. "Where's your bride-to-be?" he said quietly.
"We don't let ourselves be seen in public together unless the band or road crew are around." Hyde clutched his belt buckle and surveyed the lobby. No one was standing too close to them. No one seemed to care about their presence, either. "So, you two up for brunch?"
"Actually, I'm not staying," Donna said. "I've got a friend from college who lives here—weirdly enough, in a neighborhood called Point Place—and I'm meeting up with her. But..." She gave him a folded-up note. "Don't read this until after you and Eric talk."
Hyde eased the note into his jeans pocket. "Being dramatic?"
"Just doing my part in a compromise."
She left the hotel without further explanation, and Hyde glared at Forman. "What the hell is that about?"
Forman patted Hyde's arm. "Let's go have brunch."
Hyde's jaw clenched, but he didn't push the issue.
They ended up at Mab's Diner, ensconced at a booth with no one seated nearby. But enough people were in the diner, including the waitstaff, to make Hyde edgy. The subject of his engagement would be off-limits here.
"Belgian waffles?" Forman said from behind his menu. That was exactly what Hyde had planned on ordering. No surprise Forman had guessed it. They'd known each other too long and too well.
"Yup," Hyde said. "Bacon and scrambled eggs and more bacon?"
"Uh-huh."
They put down their menus at the same time, and Forman had that important talk glint in his eye.
Hyde spoke first. "No discussion on what I told you and Donna last night." He gestured to the other diners. "Too many ears."
"It's not about that. It's about Jackie."
"Jackie?" The hairs on Hyde's nape prickled. He hadn't expected to hear her name today, especially not from Forman. "What about her?"
Forman nodded over Hyde's shoulder, and Hyde twisted around in the booth. Their waitress was approaching, her heels clacking on the floor.
"Belgian waffles, real maple syrup." Hyde said once she was closer. "Scrambled eggs for him and a big plate of bacon, extra crispy. Two orange juices."
"Will that be all?" The waitress said, scribbling the order on her notepad.
"Also, hash browns," Forman said.
The waitress left with their menus, slower than she'd arrived, and Hyde drummed his fingers on his knees until she was out of earshot. "What about her?" he repeated.
Two untouched glasses of water sat on the table. They'd been placed by the busboy when Hyde and Forman first slid into the booth Forman grabbed his glass now and drank from it, causing this conversation to move even slower "Donna says you two have become friends."
"So?" Hyde said. "Quit bein' cagey and spit it out."
"Why do you want to go back there?"
"I'm not goin' back anywhere. This is about the here and now." Hyde drank water from his own glass. He couldn't be pissed at Forman for being afraid, and he said more softly, "I've got to help her."
Forman hit the table with the flat of his hand, making his glass jump and its water slosh around. "Damn it, I knew it! No, Hyde. This isn't good."
"Forman, it has to be done."
"Bull. You have a choice here."
"And I've made one." Just like Hyde had chosen to strand Jackie fifteen years ago. To let her believe, maybe, that he'd chosen Kelso over her. The idea sickened him. All his fucked-up choices sickened him.
Forman glanced around the diner, as if trying to find someone who'd back him up. "You don't see her in a decade and a half, don't talk to her—don't ask about her—and all of a sudden she's your pet project?"
"Don't minimize this. Don't freakin' belittle it."
"Why's it your job to help her? Some screwed up sense of obligation? Guilt? You don't know her any better than you do that guy." Forman pointed at a gray-haired man a few tables away, eating a salad. "Maybe he has cancer. Are you gonna pay his medical bills?" His gaze fell on Hyde, but Hyde didn't shy away from it. "Maybe she can't be helped by you. Ever think of that?"
"I just want..." The memory of Jackie at Izzy's birthday party rose in Hyde's mind, how she'd reacted like a burn victim to his accidental touch. Forman wouldn't get it, and Hyde sipped his water to give himself time. To find a measured response, but no words came.
"Shit," Forman said. "You love her."
Hyde looked toward the wall, staring at the old-timey pictures hung on it. Forman had the uncanny ability to call him on the truth. Hyde did love her. It was an odd kind of love, one he'd stored away on a shelf where it gathered dust. But once he loved someone, he loved. No matter how much time had passed or the experiences he'd had. Even if hate was piled on top of it. Or pain after pain.
"I just fucking want Jackie to be Jackie," he said, and blood throbbed in his ears. He glided his fingers over his mouth. They clamped hard onto his cheeks, but he'd said what he'd said, felt what he felt, and he couldn't shove it back in.
"I've seen a lot more of her than you have the last fifteen years," Forman said. "Man, I'm telling you, that is Jackie."
"It's not." The Jackie she was meant to be had been bludgeoned to pieces. If he'd known then what he knew now about his fury, why it threatened to escape his chaotic mind to become action, he would've stayed with her. Slid that engagement ring on her finger. But the needle on his compass spun out of control. He left to find his way back to the girl he loved. To contain his madness, but rage escaped his skull, destroying the road he should've gone down. "I don't know who the hell that is," he said, "but it ain't her."
Forman shut his eyes and massaged his temples. "She's just been humbled. She's experienced real life and realized most people aren't going to treat her like a princess."
Hyde grasped the Zippo lighter in his jeans pocket and twirled it in his palm. He craved a smoke, to slug Forman in his condescending face, but he owed Forman his life—despite Forman's resentful, inaccurate perspective on Jackie.
"It's more than that," Hyde said. "You think what Kelso did to her in Chicago was 'humbling'? She wasn't humbled. She was—"
"We shouldn't go there," Forman said, and he was probably right. Once the cops cleared them of being suspects in Kelso's assault, Forman came to believe Jackie made up what happened in Chicago. That she'd lied about Kelso raping her so Hyde wouldn't end their relationship—what would've been their engagement—when Kelso inevitably bragged about sleeping with her. "And she can't go back," he went on. "None of us can."
The waitress returned with their food. The smoky smell of bacon woke Hyde's stomach, and he stole a few pieces from Forman's plate.
"You can't undo the past," Forman said and scooped scrambled eggs onto his fork. "She is who she's become. You're who you've become. That's what happens. We grow up. We change and get older. Some of us decay. It's entropy."
Hyde poured maple syrup onto his waffles. Forman had a point. People's lives traveled the roads they traveled, but Jackie's had taken a detour through hell. "She shouldn't be like that, man."
"Well, she is. You just have to accept it and let her go."
September 10, 1994
Beverly Hills, California
Pam Burkhart Eliassen's House
...
Jackie arrived at her mom's house with her small, rolling suitcase. The housekeeper, Wilhelmina, welcomed her at the front door with a thick Swedish accent: "Hello, Jackie. Your sister is excited for your visit."
Jackie followed Wilhelmina into the foyer. It had a different style than Jackie's childhood home. Less romanticism and more modern. From the ceiling lamps to the furniture, the décor had sleek lines and left plenty of open space without feeling sparse. The living room was the same, and Wilhelmina hurried upstairs to fetch Jackie's "sister".
But Pam should have greeted Jackie at the door, not the housekeeper. Or, at least, been in the living room already. Jackie had flown in from San Francisco, a short flight, but her mom likely hadn't paid attention to the time.
Jackie understood why, though, when Pam emerged from her bedroom. She descended the stairs in a costume of youth. She was too tan and wearing a designer dress that ended above her knees. Plastic surgery had removed years from her face, but her hair and makeup added to the illusion.
"Jackie, darling!" she said at the bottom of the stairs. She gripped Jackie's arms at the elbows and air-kissed both of Jackie's cheeks. That was as much contact as Jackie could tolerate, and her mom seemed to respect that, at least for the moment. "I've so been looking forward to this weekend."
Jackie forced a smile to keep from sneering. Pam's speech became more affected every day, and she pointed toward the dining room. "Come. I've got so many wonderful things planned."
The word planned sank in Jackie's stomach like a rusty anchor. Her mom's plans were usually awful, but Jackie left her suitcase for Wilhelmina and went to the dining room. It was huge, and the table—though long enough for a dozen guests—appeared tiny in comparison.
"We mustn't take too long to eat," Pam said as the cook served lunch, which consisted of roasted lemon sole, sea beans, and porcini mushrooms. "We've got an appointment we can't be late for."
Jackie didn't bother asking. Pam must've scheduled a manicure or a facial. Plus, Jackie needed to discuss a sensitive topic with her, so playing the good daughter-sister this weekend was in her better interest.
"I'm delighted to hear you've started dating again," Pam said after her first bite of fish.
Jackie coughed, but before she choked to death, she spat the sea beans she'd been chewing into a napkin. "What?"
"Oh, Ann-Marie told me all about it, how all your friends have been setting you up. I know none of their selections have made it past a first date, but mine surely will—"
"You didn't."
"I did!" Pam said cheerfully, revealing most of her bleached-white teeth. "You're meeting him tonight at Spago, and—"
"No, I'm not." Jackie forced another fake smile. "I'm here to see you, remember?"
Pam waved dismissively. "Oh, tosh. You'll tell me all about your date tomorrow morning. He's a little older than you, and..."
She went on, but Jackie tuned out after "a little older". That meant at least fifty-years-old. Rich. And likely in the movie industry.
"Mom," Jackie said when Pam finally finished, "I'm not dating someone older than your husband."
"Don't call me Mom!" Pam whispered, but if her cheeks blushed or paled, Jackie couldn't tell beneath her tan and makeup. Plastic surgery also limited the expressiveness of her face, but horror was loud and clear in her hushed voice. "You know how much I hate that joke. Just because I'm your older sister doesn't mean you have to date someone younger than me. There's no rule on that."
"Anders isn't here," Jackie said. He was off for the weekend, doing charity events. It was one reason Jackie had agreed to visit. Anders was a nice enough man, but she could play pretend only so much, especially when her mom was involved.
"Yes," Pam said through gritted teeth, "but if you get into the habit of calling me that while he isn't here, you might slip when he is."
Jackie sliced her fish indelicately, shredding the meat, and she swallowed down a chunk without chewing. The housekeeper, cook, and any other staff Pam and Anders employed had to know the truth, and Pam probably bribed them to keep their mouths shut. Or threatened to fire them.
"All right, Pam,"Jackie said, "but no Spago. No date. I'm celibate—"
"That's not what Ann-Marie said," Pam sang.
"Well, it would be nice if you took your family's word for it instead of an acquaintance's," Jackie sang back. For someone who always criticized others for their lack of decorum, Ann-Marie had no sense of it herself. The Blonde Brigade was full of filthy gossips, every last one of them. "If you try to make me go on this date," Jackie said, "I'll catch the next flight back home."
Pam plumped out her bottom lip, a pout of obvious and overblown disappointment. Jackie was glad she'd culled that expression from her own arsenal years ago, but Pam said, "Fine. I'll let him know you aren't interested."
Jackie flinched. Her mom never gave in that easily, but Jackie wasn't about to ruin it. "Thank you."
Eating became Jackie's focus after that. All she had to do was listen as Pam chattered about parties, ones she and Anders had hosted or attended. When lunch was finished, however, Pam led Jackie outside. A black Mercedes-Benz awaited them, parked on the gravel-strewn driveway.
The chauffeur opened one of the back passenger doors, but Jackie said to Pam, "Are we going to Heavenly Spa?" Pam had brought Jackie there before, where she had to endure getting her nails done, a facial, and almost a massage. That last one, Jackie had tried to tolerate. But when the masseuse's hands touched her bare back, Jackie jumped off the table and left.
"No." Pam rubbed Jackie's arm roughly. "Just relax and trust me."
"Hah," Jackie said but got into the car. By declining the date Pam set up, Jackie had a strike against her. All she could hope for now was to reach the part of her mom that loved her.
The Mercedes drove through Beverly Hills, past one mansion after another., until it reached a gated estate larger than even Pam and Anders's. The chauffeur exited the car and spoke into an intercom by the gates. Jackie couldn't hear what he said, so she turned to her mom. "Where are we?"
"Trust me."
Jackie's breath grew short. Trusting her mom rarely had positive results, but the chauffeur returned to the car. The gates opened, allowing the chauffeur to drive into the estate. Lush, well-tended gardens sped past the windows until the chauffeur parked in front of a grand mansion.
"Where are we, M—"
"Shush!" Pam said. "We're here."
The chauffeur exited the car again and helped Pam do the same. Jackie considered climbing into the driver's seat and speeding away. But she joined Pam outside as the chauffeur rang the mansion's bell. A butler opened the door soon afterward, and the chauffeur announced: "The ladies Eliassen and Corin are here to—"
"Burkhart," Jackie said.
The chauffeur stumbled over his words. "T-to see Mr. Tagliare."
"Right this way," the butler said, and Pam and Jackie entered the mansion. The foyer opened into a great hall with dual staircases leading upward. Jackie glimpsed what she could of the architecture, but the butler's stride was quick. He turned left, led them down a narrow corridor, and they reached the parlor. "Please have a seat," the butler said and left them there.
Finger sandwiches were laid out on a Victorian, marble-topped table. So was a porcelain tea service with many kinds of tea: English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Darjeeling, fennel, and peppermint. Pam chose Darjeeling for herself, but Jackie had no intention of drinking any of them.
"Mom, where the hell are we?"
Pam had the porcelain kettle in her hand, and she spilled water onto her saucer. "Damn it. Jackie, look at what you made me do!"
Jackie intended to keep calling her Mom until she got a satisfactory answer, but footsteps padded on the thick carpet. A tall, well-dressed man stepped into the parlor, bringing the earthy, spicy scent of his cologne with him.
"Hello, hello!" he said in a loud but welcoming voice. His hair was gray but full, and his skin seemed artificially smooth. His bright, blue eyes fixed on Jackie's, raising gooseflesh on her arms.
She shifted her gaze to her mom, who stood from the table. "Don!" Pam said and kissed him on both cheeks. She indicated for Jackie to stand, too, and Jackie complied, albeit reluctantly. She had to earn some points this weekend. Otherwise, Pam would never listen to her request—and she needed Pam to listen. It was about Dad, and her mom was in the best position to help her.
Don stepped back and looked Jackie up and down. He was studying her, examining her, but she peered over his shoulder at the parlor entryway. She'd knee him in the balls if she had to, and scratch her mom's perfect face, before she was trapped here.
"You must be Jacqueline," he said warmly. "Your sister's told me all about you."
"It's Jackie," she said.
"Ah, good. I prefer casual names myself." Don laughed, and the butler returned with a box of rubber gloves. He placed them on a small side table and disappeared back into the corridor.
Jackie shivered, feeling like she'd shrunk to a fraction of her size. She was a fly, and Don was a spider, and her mom had led her into his parlor.
"Now, Jackie," he said, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, "if you'd remove your shirt for me."
"Excuse me?"
Pam laid a hand on Jackie's shoulder. "Honey, Don is the most famous and well-respected plastic surgeon on the West Coast. If anyone can remove those stretch marks of yours, it's him."
Jackie's heart beat wildly as her hands and lips grew numb. She couldn't speak. Panic had taken the ability from her. Four years earlier, her then-husband had cajoled her to the office of a different plastic surgeon. She'd taken her shirt off then, and the surgeon drew black lines underneath her breasts.
"I'd make the incisions here," the surgeon had said, "for minimal scarring."
Ralph gestured with his hands in front of his own chest. "Will those be large enough to make her at least a D?"
"I don't want to be that big," Jackie said. "We talked about this."
"But you could be the next Tawny Kitaen, baby!" Ralph grasped her upper arms and pressed his forehead to hers. "I want you on the cover of the next album. Starring in my videos. That can't happen unless you've got a decent-sized..."
His voice and the surgeon's turned into static as they discussed her breasts. With the surgeon's lines drawn on her, the sanctity of her body—of her very life—was being violated. She already viewed herself as ugly, as an enemy inside and out. But her then-husband hadn't cared.
Now, in this cologne-slathered surgeon's parlor, she was being violated again. The cold, tacky feel of rubber smoothed over her stomach. Pam had opened the bottom-most buttons of Jackie's blouse, giving Don access. Jackie had lost presence of mind long enough to allow it to happen.
"These are still pretty red, huh?" Don said. His gloved fingers traced the lines running toward her pelvis, but he stopped before going lower. Instead, he pinched the flesh just above her khakis' waistband. "But the skin here is pliable. I could remove the scar tissue and connect this piece to the skin just beneath her belly button."
"She also has scarring on her thighs and hips," Pam said.
His fingers went the fly of her khakis. ""May I?"
Pam spoke like she were the one he'd asked for permission: "Go ahead."
He undid Jackie's fly and pushed her khakis to her ankles. Breath filled her lungs. Her blood was pumping, but Don treated her like an upright cadaver. She wasn't acting much differently from one, but she couldn't find her voice. His fingers traced the thinner scars on her upper thighs. Nauseating electricity arced across her nerves, but it wasn't enough to restore life.
"We have some experimental laser treatments that we've been trying," he said, rubbing Jackie's exposed hips. "Not a hundred-percent success rate, but they'd lessen the look of the scars. There is the risk, though, of making them worse. But we can also do a little liposuction to get rid of this bit of fat."
He gazed into her eyes and practically spoke into her mouth, subjecting her to his minty-sour breath. "Well, my dear, you're a very pretty young woman. It'll be my pleasure enhancing your beauty."
His hands dropped from her hips slowly, sensually. She gagged at the urge to vomit, but she yanked up her khakis and zipped the fly. She buttoned her blouse as her mom said, "Jackie, did you hear that? You'll be getting a two-for-one! Scar-removal and a tummy tuck."
"No," Jackie said hoarsely.
"'No,' what?"
"No," she said again, more solidly. She strode past Don and out of the parlor, but Pam caught up to her in the corridor.
"You're being terribly rude," Pam said. "Don gave up part of his weekend for this consultation."
"I don't give a flying fuck."
Jackie quickened her pace, but Pam followed close behind. "You allowed yourself to get those marks. You were lucky one man could overlook them, and now you have a man willing to remove them. Did you hear what Don said? He already thinks you're beautiful. You can still have everything, Jackie. It's not too late."
"Spago," Jackie said, entering the great hall. Don wasn't meant to be only her surgeon but also her date.
"Yes!" Pam grabbed Jackie's arm and yanked her backward. "Now go back into the parlor and be the lady I trained you to be."
"No!" Jackie shouted and wrenched herself free. She bolted outside the mansion, fast enough that her lungs burned, and thrust herself into the Mercedes-Benz.
"Drive!" she ordered the chauffeur, but he didn't obey. She slapped the back of his seat. "Drive, damn you!" But Pam scooted beside her, and Jackie curled up against the passenger door.
"I have never been so humiliated in my life! François, please drive us home."
"Yes, ma'am," the chauffeur said, and the Mercedes pulled away from the mansion.
"What is wrong with you?" Pam whispered to Jackie. "What in God's name is wrong with you?"
The memory of Don's touch oozed over Jackie's skin. "Ask yourself the same question."
"I'm trying to save you from your own stupidity. You keep rejecting what's best for you."
"Being carved up like a pumpkin isn't what's best for me."
"You're such a self-righteous snob," Pam said, and Jackie contorted her body into a tighter ball. If she continued to engage, they'd have one of their catastrophic fights. This one had already gotten physical.
Pam muttered under her breath, but Jackie sang Degenerate Matter songs in her head, blocking out all but the thrum of the car's engine. François would get them to Pam's house in minutes, but this weekend was unsalvageable. She'd have to find another way to honor Dad's life.