Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC. The fictional band 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 29
DISEMBODY

November 23, 1994

West Hollywood, California

Memorial Medical Center
…

The last forty-five minutes were a whir of beeps and Anders Eliassen's Swedish accent. A hospital representative had taken Jackie and her stepfather on a tour of Memorial Medical Center, where Anders had sunk a trove of money. That gave him carte blanche to talk, apparently. The representative remained quiet while Anders explained the high-tech machines and patient care he'd funded.

Jackie oohed and aahed at the right places, fighting to stay mentally present, but hospitals were an immense trigger. To her, they symbolized suffering and death, despite the good they did.

On top of that, she was still recovering from her night three weeks ago with Rod. Letting him inside was as good as injecting her body with poison. Maybe that had been her intention all along, to keep herself from being touched by people.

"Any questions, Jackie?" Anders said in the hospital's main lobby.

"No, you were thorough," she said, forcing herself to reply. Her senses were being pulled apart by her surroundings: the ding of elevators opening, people hobbling on crutches, the musky odor of a security guard's cologne. She'd experienced a similar, jarring sensation upon leaving Dutton Hospital in Michigan, after a doctor pronounced her dad dead. "Actually," she said, "can we get out of here?"

"Of course."

Minutes later, she and Anders were on the road in his 1993 Lexus SC300. Anders was driving. He clearly enjoyed it, and François, the chauffeur, was at her mom's beck and call anyway.

The drive back to the Eliassen Mansion consisted of eleven-minutes' worth of turns. That was eleven minutes to make her plea, and she said, "Has Pam talked to you about my—our dad's death?"

"Your sister doesn't like speaking about such things," Anders said and turned left onto San Vicente Boulevard. "They upset her."

"Do they upset you?"

His forehead wrinkled, and a lock of his blond, combed-back hair fell onto his eyebrows. "Not really. I have tried speaking to her about your father before, but she changes topics."

"The ninth anniversary of his passing is in January," Jackie said, twisting the hem of her cardigan. "I'll be visiting his grave in Michigan, and I would really like her to go with me."

"Oh, Jackie..." He glanced at her before turning left onto Sunset Boulevard. Bushy evergreens lined this section of the road, blocking houses from sight. "I will ask her for you."

Her breath caught. She hadn't expected that response. "You will?"

"Sure. We can make a trip out of it."

"She'll probably get angry at me for discussing this with you."

"I'll tell her not to be."

"Then she'll be angry at you for telling her not to be," she said, and he laughed. "I'm not kidding. She'll also think I put you up to this. Then she'll disown me."

"She'll do no such thing—and I wouldn't allow her to. Family is important. I lost both my parents when I was too young to lose them, and both of you have lost yours. I won't allow you to lose each other."

His accent grew thicker as he spoke, but she understood every word he said. What she didn't understand was how her mom had snagged such a kind, naïve man. She pressed her lips together to trap the question inside. He deserved better than her mom, the lies she forced Jackie to keep, but Jackie also had no right to destroy her mom's relationship.

Even if that meant being her mom's "sister" the rest of her life.

November 24, 1994

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Vnuck's Lounge
...

Hyde had a root beer in his hand and family and friends surrounding him in Vnuk's Lounge. His dad had booked the place to celebrate Hyde's thirty-fourth birthday. Coincidentally, it fell on Thanksgiving, just like the actual day of his birth had. This was the first year he'd allowed Dad to throw him a party—the first year he'd felt like celebrating it—and Dad had gone all out.

On the rock club's decently-sized stage, Ro was leading a newly-formed band comprised of herself, Scotty Roxx, and two members of the Spasms: Patrick Brennan and Callie Saluvage. They called themselves the Beardfaces, a joke in Hyde's honor. But the Beardfaces' repertoire consisted of his favorite songs from classic bands like Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones and newer ones like Pearl Jam and Soundgarden.

Angie sidled up to Hyde as the band tore into the Ramones' "I'm Affected". She patted his back and nodded toward Ro. "You should have invited her to lunch."

She meant to their dad's Thanksgiving feast, but Ro wouldn't feel comfortable being around Angie's kids. And Angie sure as hell wasn't supposed to have any clue about his and Ro's relationship. His sister could be sneaky, but she wouldn't get any info out of him.

"A&R guys don't invite band members to family holiday meals," Hyde said. "Got to hold a professional line."

"Oh, bull. She's looking right at you, and I know you too well."

He pulled his attention from the band. He and Angie had a sizable amount of space around them, despite that spectators filled the floor. They weren't crowding him, but he generally avoided discussions of his personal life in public.

This party was closed to outsiders, and Dad had done his best to keep the event private, to the extent of banning cameras of any kind. Hyde suspected, though, that some part of tonight would get out to the world. The lead singer of Degenerate Matter playing with the bassist and drummer of the Spasms—and the lead guitarist of the defunct Wildebeest—that was rock news, and the soundboard recording would become an expensive, sought-after bootleg if it ever got out.

"Don't worry," Angie said with a smile he recognized. He had the same one. They'd both inherited it from their dad. They shared quite a few physical traits in common, despite his pale, white skin tone and her warm brown one. "I can keep a secret. I have for the twelve months."

He choked on his root beer. "Twelve months?" He coughed and banged on his chest. "You've known for a fuckin' year?"

"I'm not stupid, bro. Everything you do with your bands crosses my eyes. While you're out there helping the Spasms and Degenerate Matter make their records, I'm reading about it in my monthly reports."

She brushed her fingers through her hair. It was dark russet and curly like his, another physical trait they had in common. A behavioral one, too. "While you're off being Rosheen's personal roadie," she continued, "I'm approving Grooves's entire budget, including the secondary salary that would be yours if you didn't split it up among Degenerate Matter's road crew."

"The Executive VP sees all and knows all. I got it. Now keep it down, would ya?"

He refocused on the band, on Ro, but neither dread nor apprehension spread through him. His sister knowing—at least partially—about his relationship with Ro was freeing. If he could find a way to let the rest of his family in on it, too, without sharing it with the world, he would.

Hyde sank Scotty's seven-ball in a corner pocket. He, Scotty, and Ro were playing a game of cutthroat pool near the front of the rock club. The Beardfaces had finished its set fifteen minutes ago, and both Ro and Scotty had approached Hyde for a friendly birthday game. He was glad they did. It meant he could spend some time with Ro without anyone getting suspicious.

"So I've got this project," Scotty eventually said, once half the balls were cleared from the table.

"A record?" Hyde said.

"Yeah." Scotty lined up a shot. He was gunning for one of Ro's balls. "Been laying down tracks the last few weeks. Wondering if Burnout would release the album if we get it finished."

Hyde looked at Ro. "'We'?"

"Not me," she said and grimaced when Scotty knocked her one-ball into a side pocket. "You want to tell him, Scotty, or should I?"

"Awkward info always sounds better from a woman's mouth," Scotty said. "Go ahead."

"Lee's the singer—" she struck the pool table with her cue, right where Scotty was standing—"and don't you dare go after my number three." She nodded at Hyde. "Go after one of his testicles for a change."

Scotty, though, affirmed his strategy. "I'm trying to stay on his good side here. If I sink his balls, he might say no."

"Kiss-ass scunner," she said and backed away from the table.

"Why isn't Lee asking?" Hyde said, and Ro laughed like the answer was obvious. "Whatever. I'll release the record. Help promote it. All that crap."

"Cool, man! Thanks a lot." Scotty reached across the pool table and shook Hyde's hand. Then he took his next shot but missed Ro's ball by a few inches. "Damn. I'm getting another soda."

"Finally." Ro passed in front of Hyde on the way to line up her shot, and her butt slid against his crotch. It was likely deliberate, her way of thanking him for supporting Lee's side project, but he couldn't be a hypocrite. Ro supported his growing friendship with Jackie, and he owed her.

Jackie had called a few times since Halloween, and Ro never interfered. She gave him privacy during their conversations and didn't ask what they'd talked about. Most of the discussions were brief, but he'd learned a few interesting facts, like Jackie's knowledge of astrology and that her mom was married to Anders Eliassen, vice president of A&R at Red Slate Records.

He'd shared some intel about himself, too, though he had to be careful. Concealing the truth from her was harder than from other people. Certain topics were roped off, but she'd come close to approaching the forbidden zone during their last conversation.

They'd spoken about Thanksgiving. Usually, he spent the holiday weekend with Brooke and Betsy. Ro sometimes went with him to Chicago but stayed with a childhood friend. This Thanksgiving was different, however, first and foremost because his birthday had landed on the same day.

Secondly, Brooke had specifically asked him not to come.

She and Kelso wanted to try the family-thing with Betsy. Hyde's presence would only interfere. He understood, but Jackie was concerned.

"Betsy's not ready for that kind of change," she'd said to him. "It's too abrupt. You've been there almost every year, right?"

"Right."

"So I suggested to Brooke I go with you. Then Betsy could have both her dads there. I wouldn't feel as uncomfortable around Michael as I normally do because you'd be there. And Michael wouldn't feel as threatened by you because I'd be there, talking your ear off."

He laughed at that, but he also said, "Kelso's earned his place. It's time for me to back off."

"You don't sound happy about it,"she said, and that was when he shifted the discussion to neutral ground. He wasn't happy about his shrinking role in Betsy's life, but he'd sworn only to keep Kelso's spot at the family table warm. He'd done that and had to vacate the seat.

"So what's with all the bad blood between you guys?" Scotty said now, over the club's chatter. He'd returned to the pool table with a Coke, and Hyde was setting up his next shot. "Lee doesn't talk shit behind your back, but you'd have to be blind not to see the animosity."

"Resentment," Hyde said, eyeing Scotty's ten-ball. "It's not mutual."

Ro drummed her fingers on the table's top rail, right in Hyde's line of sight. "Lee thinks Hyde's a no-good, corporate thief."

"Hyde?" Scotty snorted "Hyde's as corporate as my left nut. Less corporate, even. I did play guitar for Wildebeest."

Hyde took his shot. The cue ball collided into Scotty's ball, sending it toward a corner pocket, but the strike lacked power. He'd made the shot from an awkward position, and the ball stopped at the edge of the pocket. "Doesn't want me corrupting what he loves," he said.

"Too late for that," Ro said. "You're part and parcel of what he loves."

"If that's the case—" Scotty walked around the table, searching for his next move— "then he should consider you, the band, and himself in a creative three-way."

Hyde and Ro glanced at each other and burst out laughing. Scotty had no idea Hyde wrote half of Degenerate Matter's lyrics and some of the music. He also didn't know Hyde and Lee had been Ro's lovers at the same time. Not in a ménage à trois but an open relationship. Hyde had invaded so much of what Lee valued because Ro had incorporated Hyde into it.

"Did I say something funny?" Scotty said.

"Yes, but the punchline's secret." Ro grasped the tip of Scotty's pool cue and directed it toward Hyde's twelve-ball. "Your next shot, or I'll shove my stick up your ass."

Hyde hooked Ro's waist with his arm and pulled her away from the table. "Ignore her—and don't file sexual harassment charges."

"I could use some sexual harassment," she whispered as he let her go.

"Wait 'til the party's over," he whispered back. "I'll harass ya plenty."

The glass dining table at the Eliassen Mansion was full of Pam and Anders's friends and colleagues. Padgett Montague, Pam and Anders's personal chef, had prepared a Thanksgiving feast, including Galette de Pomme de Terre, which was a crusty potato cake, and a sage-brined roast turkey.

Jackie ate the food, but her presence ended there. She'd hidden away in her mind, allowing the memory of Steven's voice to embrace her. On Halloween night, his love had overcome her treacherous inner landscape. It climbed through the debris cluttering her heart and into her broken emotional machinery. Among the strangers in the dining room, under the watchful gaze of her mom, Steven's love was her safe haven.

"Jackie, what are you thankful for?" her mom said beside her. She hadn't forced Jackie into the inane dinner conversations, but this was a tradition Jackie couldn't back out of.

"Degenerate Matter," Jackie said.

Her mom jerked her head, like she hadn't quite heard Jackie's answer. "Degene—what?"

"It's a band," Anders said.

One of his colleagues, a gray-coiffed man named Fred, jabbed a forkful of turkey in his direction. "From a rival label."

"Oh, yes," her mom said. "But you like Ecliptic much better, don't you? Their sound is more modern."

Ecliptic was the band Anders had signed to Red Slate Records, both to compete with Degenerate Matter and to benefit from Degenerate Matter's success.

"No," Jackie said. "Their sound is more psychedelic—on the few original songs they have on their album. The rest of Celestial Sphere copies Degenerate Matter."

"Not quite," Fred said. "Certainly, it delves into the sound Degenerate Matter has itself mined from classic rock and the punk scene, but to say Ecliptic copies the band's songs is disingenuous."

"The first single couldn't have made it more obvious," Jackie said, and her remark drew a glare from her mom, but she continued. "The chorus of 'Twenty-Four Hours Long' is so close to Degenerate Matter's 'Pulse as a Clock' that people confuse the two when they come on the radio. Not only that, but—"

"Jackie," her mom said.

Anders rubbed Pam's shoulder. "It's all right. She's entitled to her opinion."

"Yes, she is," Fred said and scooped up the last part of his potato cake. Then he looked pointedly at Jackie. "Even if that opinion's based on ignorance. If you asked Skirving or Turnbull their opinions on Ecliptic, I'm sure they'd be favorable."

Jackie scoffed. "I doubt it," she said, and Pam's silverware clanked onto her plate. "I'm friends with the man who signed Degenerate Matter, and he—"

"You're friends with Steven Hyde?" Another of Anders's colleagues had spoken up, Marissa. She was sitting beside Fred, and she resembled Sigourney Weaver in Working Girl. Same high cheekbones. Same wolfish, predatory gaze. "He wouldn't have happened to tell you who O. MacNeil is, would he?"

"Jackie—" Pam gripped Jackie's knee beneath the table—"we must speak privately. Now."

"In a moment, sweetheart," Anders said. "Jackie, you never told me you knew Steven Hyde. Did Ralph introduce you?"

Jackie inhaled in relief. Anders had called her ex-husband by his birth name, not his stage name. Using his stage name would've drawn the whole table into the conversation. "No, we're old high-school friends," she said.

Across from her, both Fred and Marissa leaned forward in their seats. Their faces were several inches closer to hers, as if that would bestow telepathic abilities. Fortunately, the table was wide enough to keep them from her personal space, but predatory hunger rose off them like steam.

"I'll give you ten-thousand dollars right now if you give me a name," Fred said.

"Don't insult the girl," Marissa said. "We'll give you twenty-thousand."

Their rapaciousness was alarming, but Jackie flinched from the pain in her knee. Pam was squeezing it harder, and a wave of combustible energy built up in her leg. If she didn't rid herself of Pam's touch, whatever control she had over her emotions would disintegrate.

"I haven't been a girl in fifteen years," Jackie said, "and—"

"And you haven't known Steven Hyde for as many years, either," Pam said, causing Fred and Marissa to lean back in their chairs. "I'm terribly sorry about all this, but my sister and I really must excuse ourselves for a few minutes. We'll be back for dessert."

Pam's grip transferred from Jackie's knee to her wrist, and she yanked Jackie to her feet. Jackie could have fought, but she let herself be dragged from the dining room to the kitchen, down a narrow hallway, and into the living room.

"Up! Upstairs!" Pam whispered, and she prodded Jackie toward the staircase. Their destination was Pam and Anders's spacious bedroom. Its gray-and white color scheme resembled fog, and the door squeaked when Pam closed it.

Jackie needed it open. She reached for the doorknob, and Pam struck her across the face with an open hand.

"How dare you!" Pam bared her bottom teeth, a sign of absolute fury, and Jackie stumbled to the bed. "Are you purposely trying to humiliate me? To humiliate Anders?"

Jackie rubbed her burning cheek. "I didn't know our Thanksgiving dinner was a business meeting!"

"What did you think it was? You see who's at the table." Pam stepped closer. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor, and Jackie fled to the back wall, constructed from river rocks. "You, friends with Steven Hyde? You had a fling with him twenty years ago—"

"Fifteen," Jackie said, keeping her voice steady. "We were almost engaged."

"Oh, please. Do you know how many times I was 'almost engaged' before and after marrying your father?"

Jackie leaned against the river-rock wall. The air had grown thicker, as if the room's colors were leaching into the atmosphere and turning to actual fog. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing!" Pam shouted and clenched her fists. "I want you to say nothing." She bared her bottom teeth again, and the sight pushed violence into Jackie's fingers. Jackie shoved her hands into her pants pockets, but if she didn't escape this room, the scariest part of herself would emerge.

"How could you do that to us?" Pam said. "Insulting one of Anders's star bands? And you have the gall to claim you're friends with someone like Steven Hyde."

"Who are you insulting? Him or me?"

Pam backed off and sat on a gray ottoman. Her adrenaline had to be fading. "You don't think I know who Steven Hyde is? Of course I do. He's up there with Gary Gersh, Michael Goldstone, and Michele Anthony. They're responsible for what the music scene is today … and I know all about Degenerate Matter."

Jackie's mouth went slack, and Pam grinned an ugly, smug grin.

"That's right. Anders tried to woo them to Red Slate after Ultrarelativistic. They have a unique contract with Burnout Records, an album-by-album deal. They can leave Burnout anytime they want, but they foolishly rejected the money Anders offered them.

"So you see, Jackie—" Pam readjusted her skirt over her knees, smoothed out the wrinkles—"I'm far more knowledgeable than I let on, but it pays to keep quiet at opportune moments. Were you trying to impress Fred and Mari by name-dropping Steven Hyde?" She studied her French-manicured nails. "Because they would've seen through you in a heartbeat once you couldn't tell them who O. MacNeil is."

"It's not that I couldn't tell them," Jackie said and strode forward from the river-rock wall. "It's that I won't."

"Excuse me?" Pam pushed herself off ottoman as Jackie headed for the door. "We're not done here." She grasped Jackie's wrist before Jackie could turn the knob. "Are you telling me you reconnected with Steven Hyde?"

"I'm not telling you anything until you let go," Jackie said, and Pam's fingers sprang off her. "Yes, Steven and I are friends."

"Can you prove it?"

She could, and an overwhelming need to do so took over. Her mom assigned worth by association, and if Jackie climbed higher in Pam's value-assessment, maybe she'd gain some respect, too. "Apologize to me first."

Pam's features pinched together, as if she'd bitten into raw cilantro. "For what?"

For everything. "For this," Jackie said and pointed to her cheek.

"Fine." Pam heaved a sigh. "I shouldn't have slapped you. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Jackie went to the bed. Her mom followed her, but Jackie gestured for distance. Her boldness had grown exponentially since Halloween, pissing off almost everyone she regularly socialized with. Ultimately, she still gave into her friends' demands, fearing their abandonment, but briar patches had sprouted along the road to her acquiescence.

Her mom stood back as Jackie used the phone on Anders's nightstand. She hugged the receiver between her ear and shoulder, and she dialed Steven's number at W.B.'s house in Milwaukee while shielding the touchpad from her mom's gaze.

The call connected, and the first ring trilled in her ear. She waved her mom in, directing her to pick up the phone on her own nightstand. She did just as Steven's answering machine message began to play: "Steven Hyde. Leave a message."

"Happy birthday, Steven," Jackie said as cheerfully as she could. "It's Jackie, and I hope you're having a great time tonight. Happy Thanksgiving, too."

She hung up the phone, and her mom gawked at her. "What?" Jackie said.

Pam walked around the bed and opened her arms wide. "Darling, I am so, so sorry for doubting you." If she expected Jackie to hug her, it wasn't happening. Jackie didn't hug anyone voluntarily. Even if she did, Pam wouldn't make the cut.

Wordlessly, Jackie walked away from the bed, heels clacking on the marble floor, and Pam's arms dropped to her sides.

"Honey, I know I treated you poorly tonight," Pam said in her most coaxing voice, "but let me make it up to you. We can go back into the dining room, laughing and talking, and no one will think anything was ever amiss."

"Did Anders talk to you about 'our' dad yet?"

Pam cleared her throat. "No. Why?"

"He will, and I encourage you to hear him out. You evidently want something from me, and I want something from you."

"We can go over Jack's list of contacts together."

"I've called them already," Jackie said, and an apparition of her dad collapsing appeared in front of her. It was a memory, and chills wracked her body. She was sweating, too, engulfed by a feeling of loss. A fear of it. Her dad was already dead.

Steven. Her mom knew about him, could invade their friendship, ruin it. All Pam had to do was get a list of outgoing calls from her phone company to learn his number in Milwaukee. Then she could tell Steven Jackie's life story from her own, warped perspective.

"I tricked you," Jackie said as her heart beat frantically. "I was trying to show off to you and Anders and—and Fred. To all of them. I looked up Steven Hydes in the phone book. I called them until I found one with an answering machine message."

Pam covered her mouth, and her chest rose with a heavy breath.

"I'm just so desperate to have you join me at Dad's grave, and I spent all last week coming up with a scheme to manipulate you. I am your daugh—sister, after all."

Raindrops slipped down Jackie's mind. Another memory, and she rubbed her thumbs against her fingertips. Her sense of touch sent the message that her skin was smooth, but her memory insisted it had pruned up. The bedroom now existed in the same space as Irving Avenue in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Apparitions of herself and Steven were standing beside the flesh-and-blood Jackie and her mom.

"You may be a lot of things I've got to learn about," Steven's apparition said, "but selfish ain't one of them."

"I could repay your trust with betrayal," her apparition said back.

"I won't," Jackie said, not her imagination-self, her actual self. The fog and apparitions in her mind were evaporating. "I know Ecliptic's sales aren't what you and Anders hoped they would be," she said to her mom. "I guessed O. MacNeil's identity would be a good bargaining chip. Sorry to disappoint you."

"You didn't disappoint me," her mom said. "I'm proud of you for being so clever. If we could have more of that and less of everything else, you'd be in good shape."

Jackie clutched her hands together behind her back, digging her nails into her palms. She had to remain grounded. Her mom's moods shifted faster than Lee Turnbull switched guitar chords. The alcohol made it worse, but everyone had ways of coping with stress. Jackie was no exception, as tonight had reminded her.

"Come, sweetheart." Her mom gestured to the bedroom door. "Dessert's surely halfway finished by now. Let's return before Fred eats our portions."

"You told Padgett just to fix me a bowl of mixed berries, right?"

"Of course. I don't want to sabotage all the progress you've made."

Jackie nodded her thanks and opened the door. They exited into the hallway together, and the word sabotage lit her synapses. She'd accused herself of it on Halloween, but she'd been sabotaging herself for years. It was a habit she didn't know how to break.

Ro yanked Hyde's shirt off him the second they stepped into his dad's house. She responded impatiently to his kisses, pushing her mouth deeply into his, rough and fast. She planned to give him his birthday fuck here and now.

She tugged him across the living room by the waistband of his jeans. They had the house to themselves, arriving separately. His dad and stepmom were staying with Angie's family for the night, a birthday gift. Hyde and Ro had trouble spending time together that wasn't in their Minneapolis home or on a tour bus. Staying in a hotel room—here, in Milwaukee, or anywhere else—might tip-off the press.

His hands slipped under her shirt and found bare breasts, no bra. She dropped to the sofa, taking him with her, and shoved him down on his back. She undid his jeans and held a wrapped condom over his head. "On or off, love? It's your birthday, your choice."

"Delayed gratification," he said, despite that he was ready for a good screw. Presents were piled on his dad's coffee table. Dad must've had someone bring them from the party, and at the top was a thick Manila envelope. It had arrived by mail; it was from Jackie, and his curiosity was stronger than his lust.

"I'm game," Ro said and sat back, giving him room to zip his fly. Her patience was a gift of its own, an unusual one, especially given her mood. "Why?"

He grabbed the Manila envelope and opened it. Inside was a detailed couples' astrological compatibility chart.

"What's that, love?"

"All about us," he said, and she cuddled into his side. The sofa cushions were stiff. Her softness stuck out by comparison, and he wasn't sure how to react. Gentle physical affection wasn't her normal deal, but he draped his arm around her shoulders. "This is new."

"You celebrating your birthday is new."

He squeezed her shoulders briefly, validating her statement. Maybe she was rewarding his behavior with tenderness, like he was Pavlov's dog. Training him to be present through positive reinforcement. But he hoped the reason was more benign, that she felt safe enough to be vulnerable.

He held the report in front of both their faces. He'd given Jackie his and Ro's birth info for it, down to the place and minute they were born. For Ro's details, he'd asked Ro's father, who provided them without question and with the story of Ro's birth. The labor took thirteen hours and occurred two weeks later than the expected due date. That wasn't the most compelling fact about Ro's life Hyde had ever learned, but it was another piece. The absolute beginning of Ro's existence on Earth.

Ro ran her finger over the title at the top. "Compatibility chart? I don't believe in astrology."

"Me neither, but we should check it out for shits and giggles."

"You mean bullshits and giggles."

"Sure," he said, but some parts of the chart were eerily accurate. He was a Sagittarius with a Scorpio moon and Aquarius rising, whatever the hell that meant. Ro was an Aries with a Taurus moon and Leo rising. But Jackie's analysis of how all that mumbo-jumbo translated into the real world had him going, "Huh," enough times that Ro slapped his chest.

Jackie hadn't shared how or why she'd gotten into astrology. Her folks raised her Episcopalian, but she'd always been more spiritual than religious. In fifteen years, her beliefs must have evolved, just like his had. But the chart nailed his and Ro's need for new experiences, his desire for deeper emotional intimacy and his fear of betrayal, and how Ro enjoyed the spotlight while he was happy backstage.

"Stars told her none of this," Ro said. "She knows you well enough, and she can make educated guesses about me."

"Hey, she wrote we'll never be bored with each other—"

"And that we have kinky sex, so let's do that."

She tossed the chart to the floor and kissed his bare shoulder. Jackie hadn't written kinky but bold, fun and adventurous. But kinky fit them, too. Or, maybe, messed-up was more accurate. The scar on his left arm was proof of that. Its redness would take months to fade from his skin.

A birthday blowjob on the sofa had him groaning and embarrassed. That experience was melding with a toxic one in his skull. He paused the action for a moment and brought her into his room, where their bold, fun, and adventurous night could continue without disruptive memories. Ro lay back on his bed. His face eased between her legs, but his answering machine was beeping.

He tried to ignore it, but the beeping infected his rhythm. The machine was on his nightstand, hard to avoid, and Ro gave him the shoulder tap.

"Let's put on some music," he said.

"Or you could unplug your answering machine and phone."

He couldn't take that chance. He had his own line here, which his dad allowed and Hyde paid for. Most people didn't know where he'd be at any given moment. Betsy and Brooke were exceptions, and Jackie had become another one.

"I see that look," Ro said. "If you listen to that machine, I'll masturbate 'til I'm done. And that's it. The gobble I gave you is all you'll get."

He slid off the edge of the bed and stood. He was fucked either way. "If I don't listen, I'm gonna worry about what's on that tape. You know that."

"Your choice." She swept her hands over her stomach, and when he pressed play on the answering machine, she carried out her threat.

Jackie's voice came out of the speaker first, wishing him a happy birthday. The second message, though, started with Betsy's crying, and his neck muscles tensed. He hadn't heard her cry like that in years

"Steven, it's—it's Betsy," she said eventually. "Please call me back."

The next message was from her, too. "I can't do this. My dad's such an asshole. He doesn't get it! And Mom's totally taking his side, and I have to get out of here."

He glanced back at Ro. She'd quit touching herself and pulled up her panties.

"Steven, it's Brooke," the fourth message began. "I'm sorry to call you like this—and on your birthday—but we need your help. It's an emergency. Call me at whatever hour you get this."

Ro's arms glided around his waist. She was standing behind him, and her chin hooked over his shoulder. "Sounds serious, love."

It was. Brooke had phoned him like this many years ago, after Kelso's first DUI. It hadn't been the last time, either, but those calls stopped once Kelso entered AA and got sober.

Hyde dialed her number now as Ro withdrew from him. The phone barely rang, and Brooke greeted him with, "Thank God you called."

"You and Betsy okay?" he said. Ro slipped a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand drawer, but he shook his head at her. He didn't smoke in his dad's house. The cigs he kept here were for outside.

"Okay is a relative term," Brooke said. "Betsy had a sullen attitude throughout dinner. She mouthed off at me when I asked if she wanted more mashed potatoes, and Michael told her not speak to me like that, and Betsy lost it. She had a full-blown tantrum. Left her plate half-eaten and stomped into her room."

He plunked down on the bed, but Ro paced the carpeted floor, studying the rock posters and paintings on the walls.

"I managed to lure her out," Brooke went on, "and Michael tried to explain his defense of me, and she couldn't handle it. She locked herself in her room for twenty minutes. Then, with a full backpack, she ran out of the apartment. She didn't wait for the elevator but used the stairs, and I chased after her. I caught her two floors down."

"That was no tantrum," he said. "She feels out of control of what's goin' on—"

"I used the wrong word. She was upset—is upset, and she let me have it on the stairs. But she told me things I needed to hear."

Brooke's breath whooshed into his ear, and she said, "She resents Michael for being a bad father when she was young. She resents me for letting him back into our lives. She said Michael hasn't earned the right to speak to her the way he did. The last five years between them have had their ups and downs, but I really believed they were making progress."

"Progress doesn't mean she's ready to accept Kelso as her dad," he said with no satisfaction or sense of vindication. Kelso and Betsy's relationship needed to heal. If that meant losing Betsy himself in the process, so be it, even if it also meant carving out a chunk of his heart.

"The only way she'd agree to come upstairs is if I promised to ask you to fly out for the weekend," Brooke said, and Hyde scratched his stubbly cheek. "At first, I said if I gave into her demands, I'd be setting a dangerous precedent. Then she started down the stairs again. I climbed after her, called after her, and she kept saying I don't get it. Actually, she was shouting … and Betsy doesn't shout, Steven."

Her voice cracked. She was holding on as best as she could, but he'd heard that voice too many times. "What'd you do?" he said.

"What else could I do? I gave in. It was either that or tackle my own daughter in the stairwell."

He looked at Ro. She met his gaze a foot from the bed and nodded. She must've understood the expression on his face. She'd seen it before, and he said to both her and Brooke, "I'll drive in tomorrow."

"Michael will still be here," Brooke said.

"Doesn't matter—unless he wants to figure this out on his own." Unless Brooke needed Kelso to figure it out on his own. "Then I'll step back."

"He wants your help."

That wasn't new. "He's got it."

Ro climbed onto the bed as Brooke thanked him profusely. When he hung up, Ro was lying back with her eyes closed and arms behind her head.

"I'm sorry," he said and slid his palm up her shin.

"You sure it won't fix itself?"

"I broke it. Got to wrench out the burdens I embedded in their skulls."

Her eyes opened, and she brushed her knuckles against his cheek. "You should put that into a song."

He pressed his lips into her hand. "Maybe I will."