Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.
Author's Note: This story was written for the 2022 Zenmasters Anthology on tumblr.
CHAPTER NINE
INTERSECTION
Jackie plunked out Für Elise on her family's piano. The baby grand was a focal point in the living room, and playing it was her dad's passion. He was a great singer, too, but he'd chosen Harvard Law School rather than Julliard. "For a financially secure future," he often told her. "Creative passions were best kept as hobbies."
Behind her, the sunset gleamed pink through the French doors. Their white drapes blocked glare but not light. The room was expansive and sometimes felt cold, but the color added a sense of intimacy. Perhaps because her own room was pink, and she'd had many intimate moments there, like friendship with Donna and love with Michael.
"Now that the scary folks are gone," Steven said, "how'd your first week at acting camp really go?" He sat on the armrest of a wingback chair, legs dangling over the side. Her parents would've chastised him for it had they been here. They'd retired to their bedroom after dinner. The meal was in celebration of Jackie's first week at camp and Steven's at Trinary Records. But she wasn't sure what would be worse: her parents upstairs making love or discussing her and Steven.
"Good." She continued Für Elise, hitting wrong notes but not caring. She'd given up piano lessons in seventh grade. "We played improv games as an icebreaker. I mastered the choreography in dancing class the first day. I'm probably better than the teacher."
"'Course you are."
"You haven't seen me dance outside of a prom. Nothing choreographed."
"Seen you cheer, though."
"Then your sarcasm is unwarranted."
Steven chuckled, but his legs remained still over the chair's side. "Whatever. You actually have fun, or are you missing Kelso too much?"
"I did have fun, but I also miss Michael. I can do both."
"True enough."
She closed the piano's fallboard. "I more than miss him. I can't imagine my life without him, but I better learn."
"Bullshit."
"Unless Michael's successful at modeling, we'll be destitute. My parents won't support me financially if I'm with him."
"You're going to college, man. You're smart and talented as hell. You'll have no problem bein' the breadwinner."
"You think so?" Talent and intelligence might not be enough, but Steven tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and pressed his lips together. She knew what that expression meant. "You wouldn't have said it otherwise."
His face relaxed, but he tapped a rhythm on top of his thighs. He was wrinkling his slacks, but he knew how to iron. She'd watched him do it over a year ago. That morning, he told her he'd prefer kissing the iron than going to Funland with her. Strange how attitudes could change so drastically.
"Michael used to be okay with me 'being the breadwinner'. He let me buy him stuff constantly. Or he'd trick me into it, but ..." She left the piano chair and leaned against the the back of the piano, closer to Steven. "When I chose him above money and pushed him to get a job, I might have pushed him too hard."
Steven removed his sunglasses from his shirt collar. A heartbeat later, he returned them to his collar, revealing his disagreement through his eyes.
She continued nonetheless. "Yeah, it took him months to find one with genuine prospects, but he goes too far on things. For instance, honesty. I don't have to know every thought he has about girls who aren't me. And now he's against me working."
"That'll pass."
"What if it doesn't?"
"It will by doin' what you want. Acting. Becoming a perfume mogul or talk-show host. Then he's got the choice to let go of his upside-down idea or let go of you. Which do you think he'll choose?"
The pressure in Jackie's chest dissipated and propelled her to Steven. She wrapped her arms around his middle, causing him to lose his balance on the wingback chair. She lurched forward as he lurched backward, but he slammed his hand onto the seat cushion before they both fell. He straightened them upright, and her embrace tightened. "Why do you always make me feel better when I most need it?"
He returned her hug with one arm and half the strength. "Just speakin' truth, man."
"I didn't ask how." She released him. "I asked why."
"Does it matter?"
A bizarre sensation hit her stomach, like it was expanding and contracting at once. "Maybe not," she said, "but thank you anyway."
"No problem." He hiked his thumb in the general direction of the chess table, set up in a corner of the room. "You cool for a game before I go?"
"Sure."
At the table, he chose to play the black pieces. That gave her the first turn. She'd learned more than the basics of chess from matches with her dad, and she put the king's pawn two squares forward. Steven countered by copying her opening. Their kings' pawns were facing each other.
"You're planning to claim your section of the board's center," she said, "but the tactical advantage is mine. I move first each time."
"I like a challenge. I beat almost everyone I play with."
"Who do you play with?"
"Folks in Mt. Humphrey Park. Mr. Jenkins is the one guy who kicks my ass every damn game."
Jackie studied the board. Underestimating him in this match would be dangerous. Truthfully, underestimating him in general had to stop. He'd proven repeatedly that her old assumptions were false. She tended to forget his actual nature, but her parents hadn't.
"Your turn," he said.
She placed her queen's pawn beside her king's pawn. She'd lose a couple of pieces early, but those loses would give her an opportunity to win the game.
Friday dinners at the Burkharts' had become a weekly event.
Hyde welcomed the free food and reducing his burden on the Formans. But in his experience, most adults forgot how they were as teenagers. Hearing the messy stuff led to lectures or concern or punishment. So he and Jackie recounted sanitized version of their days with her parents.
Jackie had won the part of Susan in Two Directions. That was a main character in the camp play. Her folks learned about other campers' acting abilities, according to Jackie's assessment, and the director's hyperfixation on emotional authenticity.
Hyde, however, heard in private about the social shenanigans at Jackie's camp. Who was Frenching who. The tree stump campers decorated for fake rituals. That kind of info. Just as she knew gritty details of his internship at Trinary Records: the urinal-talkers, how the VP of marketing regularly picked his nose.
The summer was jetting by. He'd grown used to Jackie's parents, enough that he'd tease Jackie during meals. One Friday he'd hummed the Star Trek theme song. She kicked him under the dining table and said, "The play is written by Cadence Kirk, not Captain Kirk from the Enterprise!"
Mr. and Mrs Burkhart laughed. Genuinely freakin' laughed, and that added a new element to his interactions with them. They joked with him, which was weird since he figured the Burkharts had no sense of humor. They also debated chess. Those conversations sometimes became heated but stayed civil.
Spending weekends with Jackie alone was now the norm, too. They'd go to the movies, Irish Al's Wee Golf, bowling. Normally, he'd be hanging out with Forman and Fez. But Fez was busy with Rhonda, and depression had gotten hold of Forman again. When he wasn't building Star Wars models in the basement, he returned to a lumpen state in bed. Letting pride steal his second chance with Donna was killing him from the inside-out.
Hyde understood the feeling. Every second with Jackie created pain from joy. Hiding how far he'd fallen for her was mental turmoil. And inescapable. Reneging on his word to Kelso, withholding support from Jackie, went against his moral code. Once he agreed to help his friends, he was all in. That was why he usually helped secretly, without obligations attached. Then if shit grew too hot … he was still all in.
Fuckin' idiot.
On the fifth Friday of summer, Hyde came home and found Mrs. Forman pacing the basement. She ran to him, a crumpled tissue in her fist. Her eyes appeared wet from crying, and she said. "Steven!Howareyou?DidtheBurkhartsfeedyouwell?YouhavetodosomethingaboutEric!"
"Hold on, slow down." Hyde guided her to the sofa and sat with her. "What about Forman?"
Mrs. Forman inhaled a few deep breaths. "Eric. He's mutated into some kind of—of robot! Whenever Red and I talk to him, nobody's in there. He only showers for work, barely eats, and sleeps when he isn't working or sleeping."
"Or building those." He pointed at the Star Wars models displayed in the basement.
"He's trapped. Red's threats do nothing. My love does nothing. He needs his friends."
"He needs Donna."
"Well, he screwed up that one!" Mrs. Forman raised her hand and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm just afraid. Unless he snaps out of this funk, I'll have to bring him to the hospital."
Hyde shrugged. "What do you want me to do? He doesn't listen to me, either."
"Take him out tomorrow. You, Jackie, Fez, and Rhonda—the whole gang. Go somewhere fun. Force him to enjoy himself to break him loose." She cupped Hyde's shoulder then touched his cheek. That did him in. The "Please," she added afterward was unnecessary.
The next morning, Hyde, Jackie, Fez, and Rhonda tried to coax Forman out of bed. He was as belligerent and resistant as he'd been during his first depression. The difference here, though, was they had Rhonda. She lifted him from the bed like he weighed a pound.
"Dress him, fellas!" she said, and Jackie fled the room before Hyde and Fez got Forman out of his pajamas.
Once Forman was dressed, Rhonda carried him over her shoulder. His struggles were useless against her. In the kitchen, Mrs. Forman passed Hyde a thermos. "Orange juice. Make sure my little snicklefritz drinks it."
"Oh, he will," Rhonda said.
"Have fun!" Red said, grinning from the breakfast table. He waved at Forman as Rhonda brought him to the patio.
Driving to Funland was the opposite of fun. They took the Vista Cruiser with Hyde at the wheel. Jackie sat shotgun and tuned the radio to a pop music station. Fez and Rhonda were in the back seat with Forman. They pulled an obnoxious but effective good cop, bad cop routine, and Forman eventually drank the orange juice to get them to stop.
That infusion of sugar had Forman repeating, "I miss Donna," every half-minute. It was soon joined by, "Why didn't I take her back?" At the amusement park, these lamentations turned into, "She'll never forgive me. Why should she forgive me? All I ever do is think about myself. See? I'm doing it now."
"I can't stand this anymore!" Jackie said in line for the Vine Swinger, Jungle Land's roller coaster. "Eric, Donna loves you. She always has, you dumbass! And that's what's keeping you apart: your stupidity. Do you understand why she wouldn't accept your promise ring?"
Forman blinked. He'd been in a depressive daze for weeks, but her question seemed to sharpen his focus. "That was a year ago."
"Answer the question," Rhonda said.
The sun was relentless today, with few clouds in the sky, but Forman had the most visible sweat. "Because she thought it—she wanted an open, unwritten future. The ring symbolized a closed future, a choice that erased all other possible choices?"
"Very good." Jackie spoke like a first-grade teacher. If she'd had gold-star stickers, no doubt she would've stuck one to Forman's shirt. "Neither of your futures is written yet, but you're a bad writer. I read one of your horny Derek and Wanda stories. Yeah, I found it in the trash. It was terrible."
"What?" Forman's face regained the life it had lost five weeks ago, and the Vine Swinger line moved forward a step.
Jackie indicated the wooden roller coaster ahead of them. "You're at the bottom of a drop. You're scared of rising in case you drop again—"
"You know what else is rising?" Fez said. "It's in my pants."
Rhonda snort-laughed, but Jackie ignored them both. "Eric," she said as the line inched another step forward, "Donna and I write each other letters. Any day, you could've written her yourself. You still can. She's wondering why you haven't yet."
Forman flinched. "She's—why couldn't you—I have to write her!" He grasped Jackie by her shoulders. "I love you!" he said and kissed the top of her forehead. Then he began maneuvering out of the crowded line.
"Let someone proofread your letter before you send it!" Jackie shouted at him. "You need adult supervision!"
"And Donna's address," Fez said. "He doesn't have that."
Jackie rubbed her forehead until the skin became red. "Ew! I can't believe he kissed me. Steven, am I sprouting mushrooms?"
"Nope."
"Then why are you smiling at me like that?" She rubbed her forehead some more. She'd bleed if she didn't quit.
He slid the back of his fingers over her heated cheek. The contact must've startled her because she quit terrorizing her skin. That was his goal, and he said, "No mushrooms. You're fine."
The line moved two steps forward. They were so close that the ticket taker had become visible. So had Hyde's feelings for Jackie, and he shoved them deeper inside himself.
"Hadn't thought that would happen," Rhonda said.
"That I'd get Eric-cooties?" Jackie wrinkled her nose. "He kissed me. I'll be unclean forever!"
Hyde looked away from her. Another smile was forming on his lips. "You got through to him, man."
"And now he loves you," Fez said. "That is going to be strange when school starts. You'll be with Kelso. Eric, if he doesn't mess up his letter, will be with Donna. Eric will also be with you, and Kelso—"
Rhonda patted him on the head. "The sun's getting to you, mashed potato." Then she said to Jackie, "And Eric doesn't have Donna's address already because ...?"
"He never asked, and I didn't think about it."
"That's pretty dumb." Rhonda snorted without the laugh. "You could've just left it in the basement for him."
Jackie brushed her hair off her shoulder and raised her chin. Rhonda had half a foot on her in height, but Jackie acted like she were the taller one. "The only part I heard is, 'That's pretty,' so thank you."
Hyde covered his mouth. That damn smile had reappeared, but they'd arrived at the ticket taker. The guy allowed the four of them through to the Vine Swinger, and they headed for a roller coaster car.
Funland wasn't a disaster. Hyde won Jackie a lion stuffed animal at the Balloon Pop. Jackie bought him a funnel cake as a reward, and he learned she liked extra powdered sugar on hers. Another Jackie-detail he probably wouldn't forget.
Forman joined them by the bench at Fun Boulevard. He had a third draft of a letter and asked Jackie for her opinion.
"I'll leave my revisions in the basement," she said after reading it. Forman reached for the three-page letter, but she crammed it into her shorts pocket. "You'll get this back by Monday or Tuesday. Then we can discuss, and then I'll give you Donna's California address." She smirked. "Do you still love me?"
"That was a phase. It's passed," Forman said.
"Thank God." Jackie placed the lion doll on her lap and caressed its mane. "Look at what Steven won me."
"Oh, a stuffed animal version of himself." Forman glanced at Hyde. "It's got your hair."
Hyde scratched his sideburns. "Not these, though. If it did, Jackie would shave 'em off."
"Don't let her near you with a razor, buddy," Forman said. "You fall asleep and boom! You'll be as baby-faced as Fez."
Jackie's mouth dropped open a little, but Hyde said, "I'm lucky she'd just cut off my sideburns. Used to be she might've—" He glided his index finger across his throat.
"I wouldn't have killed you." Jackie cupped his knee. "That's what hit men are for. I could've afforded one then."
He stared too long at her hand on his knee. She withdrew it, but its effect on him remained. He crossed his legs in response and repositioned himself on the bench toward Sweet Auntie's Candy, the opposite direction of Jackie. Fez and Rhonda were inside the shop. If they didn't hurry up, he'd go in there and drag them out himself.
Mrs. Forman met Hyde in the kitchen early Tuesday evening. He'd had hours of busywork at Trinary Records, and a root beer would've been a tasty pick-me-up. Instead, he got a letter placed in his hand.
"It's from France," Mrs. Forman said. "See all those stamps?"
He examined the envelope. It was from Kelso, and he opened it at the kitchen table.
"Hyde," the letter started, "I would've sent this to Jackie, but I don't want her parents intercepting it. I've been totally faithful. The hottest chicks you could imagine are everywhere. Everywhere. But I don't kiss or touch any whenever they hit on me. And they hit on me a lot.
"Could you please, please tell Jackie that? Tell her I miss her. I love her.
"You're the best friend a guy could have,
"Kelso"
Hyde replaced the letter into the envelope. Mrs. Forman hadn't left. She was seated at the table and gave him a root beer. A beer would've been better, but even at eighteen the Formans preferred him to forgo booze. Too much of a risk, they said, considering his parents were both drunks. He couldn't argue.
"So, what did Michael have to say for himself?" she said.
"Not much."
"Has he seen the Eiffel Tower?"
"No idea."
Mrs. Forman's wedding ring struck the table with a clack. "Out with it, mister. I've finally got one son almost back to normal. I won't have you slipping into a funk."
He laughed nervously. "Me? Just tired from work." The sound of his laughter scraped his ears. Reacting aloofly used to be automatic. Now he had to fight for it, and he was losing.
The door to the basement stairs opened. Jackie skipped into the kitchen like a little kid, an endearing sight. "Mrs. Forman, your son is cured," she said. "Well, he will be once he mails his letter to Donna. I helped him perfect it."
Mrs. Forman stood and hugged Jackie. "Oh, you are such a doll! I'll go make sure he mails it."
She vanished through the door Jackie had come through. Rather than sitting, Jackie indicated the envelope clenched in Hyde's fist. "Are you sending Donna a letter, too?"
"Already have. This is for you."
He handed over the letter, and Jackie read it while standing. "Huh," she said.
He'd expected more, but she sat beside him and gestured at his root beer. "Go for it," he said.
She drank from the bottle and read Kelso's letter again. "I believe him ... and I'm glad he misses me." She returned Hyde's root beer to him. "And you are the best friend someone could have."
"There are better ones, but thanks." His muscles tensed. A beer really would've hit the spot—which meant the Formans were right. He shouldn't touch that crap unless he wanted to become just like his folks.
