Chapter 3 – Life is Good

Thanks for all the reviews. My aim is to get out one chapter each day.

Life is good, Steven Hyde thought as he lay next to his stripper wife on his fold-up cot in his friend's parents' basement. This was a phrase Hyde had been saying to himself quite frequently since he became a married man. It had become his mantra. Life is good, he would think after he finished pumping into Sam, because now he doesn't have to deal with all that nauseating lovey dovey crap that used to mess up sex. Life is good because now sex is all hot and bad and… mechanical. But hey, mechanical is good too - he'd always liked working with engines. Life is good because he didn't miss Sam when she was away for a week taking her clothes off for other men. Life is good because when he took her clothes off and found love bites on her body that he hadn't put there, there was no black jealousy destroying his cool. And to top it all, the blessing among counted blessings, life is good because he had not seen nor heard from Jackie Burkhart in the last 3 months. No Jackie with her whining voice, her lame burns, her pain-filled eyes. No Jackie and her needy grabs at attention, her petulant demands, her perfectly shaped legs set off by tight designer jeans that would hypnotise him so he would catch himself zoning out on everything else whenever she was walking by. Thank God for sunglasses and his pot-smoking reputation or people might have started thinking of him as some lovesick sap like Forman.

In her sleep, Sam cast her arm over Hyde's chest. Hyde let it lay there for a few seconds, but for some reason it kept getting heavier and heavier until the smothering pressure became unbearable. Damn, he thought, sliding out from under that arm and pulling on some pants, why is her arm always so heavy? Unbidden, the thought popped into his head Jackie used to sleep with her whole body lying on top of me and it never felt heavy. Shaking his head free of this useless memory, he made his way up to the living room wherein resided the only cable television in the house (despite his best cable-stealing efforts). He checked the clock – 3.00 am. The replay of the 6.00 pm Chicago news was about to start. He popped the beer in his hand and settled down to watch. Only because he liked to stay current with what was happening in the world. And the Chicago news had a hotter weather girl than the Wisconsin news. And 3.00 am was a perfectly sane time to watch the news – it had nothing at all to do with keeping his harmless nightly ritual a secret.

Twenty minutes later, Hyde was getting annoyed. Only ten minutes left, and all the reporters had left him dissatisfied. They were too tall, too old or too male. Finally, just when he had given up on seeing her tonight, the image of a petite brunette standing outside a seedy Chicago factory flickered across the screen. His body language immediately transformed from bored to total absorption as Jackie Burkhart reported on the discovery of exploited illegal immigrants stitching clothes for 14 hours a day on starvation wages. The objective viewer of Hyde would have found the close attention he gave Jackie's report ironic considering he had previously tuned out her voice as white noise back in the days when it had been a constant fixture. But then, the Jackie who had droned on about her hairstyle and bitched about rival cheerleaders was not quite the same as this serious faced young woman whose expressive eyes and voice communicated her pity for the downtrodden subjects of her story. Hyde crossed his fingers and prayed for a Jackie moment – every now and then, usually when the subject matter stirred something deep in her, Jackie would deviate from what she read on the teleprompter and put in her own totally Jackie viewpoint. Tonight was Hyde's lucky night.

"I would just like to say to all you bargain basement shoppers out there – please, cough up the extra ten bucks and buy retail! Not only will you be withdrawing your support from sweat shops such as this one, but the world will be a much more beautiful place with a lot less polyester." Retrieving her professional manner, she finished "This is Jackie Burkhart for CRN News." Despite himself, Hyde could not stifle an appreciative chuckle. "That's my girl," he said softly.

"Oh my," said a high pitched female voice behind him. "So, it's still that way?"

Hyde jumped so sharply he spilt his beer. "What? No! I just turned this on now – couldn't sleep – I was waiting for the weather girl to – it's not what you think."

Kitty Forman ignored his outburst and leaned her elbows against the back of the sofa, eyes trained on the TV. "I must say, she is really coming along. Two months ago they had her reporting on cat shows and water-skiing hamsters. Now Jackie's uncovering crime and corruption – and her outfits are always the cutest thing."

"It was a water skiing squirrel," Hyde said absently. "I mean, I think I heard about that from some guy down at the Hub – you know, we just started talking about… um… squirrels and… other manly topics…"

"Oh, give it up, Steven. I knew you liked that girl before you did. Do you really think you can make me believe you're not still crazy about her?"

"Mrs Forman! I'm a married man," Hyde said, a picture of offended prudery. "Jackie was just a case of temporary insanity."

"That lasted two and a half years?" Kitty said sceptically.

"I think there was some mind-altering chemical in her hairspray," Hyde said seriously. "I'm not saying it was all her fault – I think the government might have had something to do with it."

"I see," Kitty replied. "Well, I'm sorry for doubting you, Steven. I figured from the way you've been sneaking into our lounge room almost every morning at 3.00 am for the past two and a half months to watch the only news show that features Jackie that it had something to do with your unfinished relationship with her. Sometimes I jump to the most far-fetched conclusions – ha ha ha ha ha" she finished with her trademark laugh which Hyde half-heartedly joined in on until it stopped abruptly. "Don't you wish," she said, spearing him with a pointed look, "that this was one of those times?" With that, she sauntered back up the stairs to the peaceful sleep which would elude Hyde for the rest of the night.