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

WELCOME TO JACKIEVILLE

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:
HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG

Part VI

Hyde's breakfast of Cocoa Puffs and coffee wouldn't sustain him for long. He hadn't woken up in time for Mrs. Forman's cooking, a typical Saturday morning. His shift at the Fotohut started in an hour, but he'd made himself a sandwich last night. It was thick with ham and Swiss cheese and wrapped in tinfoil, and he checked the fridge to make sure no one had pilfered it.

"What do you prefer a girl wearing," a familiar voice said behind him, "a girl you might..." paper rustled, and Donna's voice flattened, "a girl you might possibly be attracted to?"

Hyde's sandwich was where he'd left it, safe and uneaten. He closed the fridge and turned around. Donna had a creased piece of notebook paper in her hands. She was slightly red-faced, and her stance was hunched, like she wanted to disappear into the kitchen floor.

"Mornin'," he said and returned to the breakfast table. He still had some coffee left, and he drank it up. "Tell Jackie to wear whatever she wants."

Donna sat across from him. Then she read off her paper in a monotone. "'These questions aren't from Jackie. They are purely from my own curiosity.'"

"Man." He laughed. "What's she got on you?"

"Guilt." Donna flattened the paper on the table. "I didn't try to stop Jackie from sleeping with Kelso, even though I knew about him and Laurie. I also knew he never uses a condom, and Jackie had to get a blood test because Laurie's so … 'free with her body,' I'll call it." She pulled a pen from her jeans pocket and took off the cap. "I owe her."

"Lot of that goin' around."

"Is that why you're going on a date with her tonight?"

"Yup."

"Oh, God, she's like a mob boss." Donna inhaled a deep breath and bit her upper lip. "Sorry about this, but..." her pen hovered over the paper, "what do you want her to wear?"

"Told you, she can wear what she wants." If Jackie catered to Hyde's whims, then she wouldn't be showing him her "true self," the point of their damn date. It was too big a loophole, one she'd use to harangue him into a second date. "You tell Forman 'bout any of this?"

"Hell no! He'd think he'd been sucked into a parallel universe or something."

"Good thing he's down in the basement, eating Fruity Pebbles and watching The Flintstones."

"He's such a kid." She shook her head, chuckling. "Anyway..." She wrote down what had to be Hyde's last answer then read off the next question. "'What kind of scents do you like? Citrus? Floral? Woodsy? Or hippie patchouli?'"

Hyde absently clanked his spoon against his cereal bowl. "Shit, I don't care, all right?

"Hey, I'm just the messenger here."

"Sorry." He dropped the spoon into the bowl. "Put down, 'He doesn't give a crap,' to all her questions. Or, if you wanna be simpler, 'Whatever'."

"Got it." She began writing. Then she said, "Oh, and she's going to pick you up an hour earlier."

"No-can-do. Shift at the Fotohut doesn't end 'til six."

"She knows, and she'll pick you up there."

He swallowed a grunt and carried his mug and cereal bowl to the sink. An eight-hour shift in the cramped Fotohut meant sweat. He'd have to bring a change of clothes—although him stinking would probably end Jackie's crush. Huh. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He just needed to quit showering, brushing his teeth, and ignore basic hygiene.

"Are you seriously going through with this?" Donna said. "I mean, your excursion to the 'dangerous, drug-riddled slums' of Point Place is a total exaggeration, right?"

"Point Place doesn't have a slum." He turned on the faucet with too much force. Hot water coursed out and splashed onto his nightshirt. "Damn it!" Had Jackie confided everything in Donna? Would she confide everything that might happen tonight? He flinched at the idea. Nothing would happen. He was going to stink and have cheese stuck in his teeth and be as unappealing as possible.

Donna laughed once. "Thought so. She loves hyperbole almost as much as she loves herself."

"You got any clue where Jackie's takin' me?" He squeezed liquid soap into the cereal bowl. "You know, so I can plan an escape route."

"No, but she did tell me the places she's ruled out, including Kenosha strip clubs and anywhere that serves alcohol."

"So all the fun places.

"And did you know she's calling you 'Steven' outside the circle now?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

"You have to put an end to this, Hyde. Tonight."

"She can call me Steven."

"No," Donna said. "I mean, Jackie's infatuation with you. It's becoming a little crazy."

Hyde scrubbed the bowl hard. He was becoming infatuated with Jackie, too. Badly enough that part of him was looking forward to their date. Watching her with Shawny the other night had kicked the Jackie virus into overdrive. It was multiplying faster than his immune system could create antibodies.

"I'll take care of her," he said, and Donna cleared her throat. "It. I'll take care of it."

"You better, or she'll follow you around like a puppy-dog all summer."

The bathroom at Fatso Burger could've been cleaner. The tiles had stains Hyde refused to identify, but he'd gotten ready for his date in record time, left the Fotohut as soon as Leo arrived. On Saturdays they worked Hyde's last hour together, but Leo was fifty minutes late. That gave Hyde an excuse to leave ten minutes early.

Fotohuts had no bathrooms, which was why he'd gone across the street. At five-past-six, he walked out of the burger joint with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Jackie's Lincoln was waiting for him, parked near the Fotohut. Jackie herself was out of the car. She had on a pair of pink corduroy pants and a white T-shirt. Her hair was down with the ends curled, and her makeup was minimal.

"Casual looks good on you," he said then pressed his lips together. He ran his treacherous tongue over his teeth. They tasted like peppermint, like his toothpaste, and needed to be knocked out.

"Everything looks good on me, but thank you." She gestured at him. "I didn't know you owned a shirt with buttons."

She should have. He'd worn the same shirt to Bob and Midge's vow renewal, but Jackie hadn't paid any attention to him then. And he'd been too busy working through her cheer squad to care.

"You look so classy," she said, but the timbre of her voice gave her away. Classy was a euphemism for foxy or hot. She was digging his appearance, and the sensation plaguing his chest buzzed lower than it belonged.

"Yeah," he said and scratched the back of his head. He was scratching hard enough to draw blood, but his curls acted like a shield. "A tucked-in shirt can make even a rat look like nobility. How do you think King George the Third got crowned?"

"By being King George the Second's grandson." She dangled the Lincoln's keys in front of his face." "You're driving."

"I don't even know where we're goin'. How am I driving?"

She answered by closing his hand around the keys and getting into the front passenger seat.

"Guess I'm driving." He tossed his backpack onto the backseat and glided behind the steering wheel. "Is this the date?" he said. "Me chauffeuring you around Point Place?"

"I'd be sitting in the back for that," she said and a road map fell onto his lap. "Have you ever driven to Milwaukee?"

"Nope."

"According to Daddy's chauffeur, it's basically north on I-94 West. He wrote out directions." She passed Hyde a piece of notebook paper. He read over the directions and compared them to the map. "Frederick—the chauffeur—said it should take less than an hour."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not drivin' us to Milwaukee."

She frowned, and his chest hurt. It shouldn't have, but it did. "But that's where the Rolling Stones are playing," she said.

The ache in his chest became a vibration, wholly different than the buzz. This one was musical, like a guitar string had been plucked. "Yeah," he said, "they've got a sold-out show at MECCA Arena."

"Daddy received a pair of tickets from a business associate. They were in his desk drawer, untouched, and he's in Chicago on business. He said I could have them, so..." She produced an envelope from her purse, and Hyde's palms began to sweat. "Here."

He held onto the envelope and pulled out the tickets, but he put them back quickly. His sweaty hands would smear the ink. "You better hold onto these." He gave back the envelope and wiped his palms on his jeans. "Never thought I'd see the Stones play in concert..." His lungs had trouble taking in air, and he said a breathless, "Thanks."

"See?" She patted his leg and smiled with that endearing crinkle of her eyes. "I told you I'd bring you somewhere you'd love."

He grinned back and tapped the underside of her chin. Then he turned to the steering wheel, and his back stiffened. The tip of his finger was buzzing. He'd touched Jackie's face. Where had that move come from? His hands were betraying him, too, expressing affection he couldn't possibly be feeling.

Just drive, he told himself. They were going to a Stones concert, and he had to make sure they didn't get lost on their way.

Hyde and Jackie's seats were low in the wings. They had a great view of the MECCA Arena, of the thousands of people surrounding them. The energy of the place was both intoxicating and easy to block out. All he had to do was focus on Jackie or the Rolling Stones, and everyone else vanished.

Front-row seats would've been cooler, but Jackie's dad probably had a policy against being on the floor. A rich, high-society type like him would never stand elbow-to-elbow with sweaty, screaming Stones fans. Being in the wings meant personal space, but Hyde and Jackie still saw plenty. Mick Jagger's pursed lips were distinguishable on his face, as were the droopy eyes on Keith Richards's. But Hyde was happy just to be in the building.

The smooth riff of "Beast of Burden" flowed and ebbed against his ears, and the sweet smell of pot swirled in his nostrils. People were smoking up all around him. Some had offered him hits, but the last time he'd driven high resulted in a cracked headlight. That car had been borrowed. Debt was paid off, but Jackie's skull couldn't be replaced like a headlight.

His gaze drifted to the crowd behind the stage, but it faded from his consciousness. Not long ago, he would've paid to replace the contents of Jackie's head. Now, though, he felt like an explorer. Spelunking in the caverns of her mind, eager to push deeper.

Before getting to their seats, they'd stood in the merchandise line. He'd bought himself a Rolling Stones shirt and changed into it. Wearing a dress shirt with buttons at a concert? Not happening, but Jackie hadn't been pleased with the switch. She scoffed at the Stones' tongue logo, but then she said, "Do they have smaller sizes?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because I'm getting one, too."

She got back in the line, and he said, "When in Rome, huh?"

"No."

Her answer made him curious, so he joined her in the line. By the time they got to the merch booth again, his money was out. He paid for her shirt despite her protestations.

"Steven, you didn't have to do that," she said and slipped the black shirt over her white one.

"And you don't have to wear that, but you are."

He led them toward their gate, his eyes periodically flicking in her direction. She'd seemed nervous earlier, clinging to his arm when they entered the arena. But as they walked the tunnel, her stride was confident, even sprightly. Her spine was straight, her arms pumped with each step, and her head bopped to a tune only she heard.

"What's gotten into you?" he said.

"A better memory." She patted the Rolling Stones logo on her chest. "This is a much better tongue to think about than that hophead's."

He arched up an eyebrow and allowed himself a smile.

He was smiling now.

He'd been doing that a lot tonight, letting joy show on his face. His cheeks were beginning to hurt, and he felt somewhat foolish. But the Rolling Stones were playing in the same room as him—currently, the song "Shattered". He was memorizing the setlist, though he doubted he'd forget this night. Bill Wyman's bassline bounced against his chest, and Jackie's hip bounced against his leg. She was dancing, mouthing the lyrics, and his smile transformed into quiet laughter.

He'd expected her to be bored, a total square. Jawing his ear off about her favorite topic: herself. But she wasn't. She was being completely and utterly … cool.

The band left the stage after "Jumpin' Jack Flash," but the house lights didn't come up. The crowd was getting an encore, a rare gift from the Stones. Hyde and Jackie sat down in their seats. Their bodies were damp with sweat, and their voices were hoarse from eighteen songs of singing and cheering.

"This is—this is the best date I've ever been on," Jackie said, out of breath.

"Diggin' the Stones, huh?" He nodded at her proudly. "You've done well, Grasshopper. Finally learned to appreciate good music."

"No—I mean, yeah, the music's nice—"

"'Nice'?"

"—but being with you, I didn't know boys could do that."

He squinted at her. "Do what?"

"Have fun without trying to feel a girl up." Her hands combed through her damp hair. "You danced with me—"

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. That was you I shook my shoulders with, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but—"

"And you sang with me. Steven, you were with me." She wiped a drop of sweat from her cheek, or maybe it was a tear. "I'm not used to that. The only time Michael really focused on me was when he wanted sex. He listened when he thought it would lead between my legs—sorry." Her gaze dropped to the floor, which was sticky with spilt beer. "I know that's not the kind of thing you wanna hear."

"Can't say it is." But not for the reason she probably believed. His knuckles had a date with Kelso's face, maybe a second and third date, too.

"And Daddy's always off on one business trip or another..." Her gaze stayed on the floor, and her fingers knotted together. "Even when we're in the same room, it's like he's not there."

Hyde jerked the material of his shirt repeatedly, generating a cooling effect. His discomfort was beyond physical, but he said, "My folks were the same way. Drunk on booze, not cash."

Jackie finally looked up. "Your dad, too? But I thought your mom was—"

"Both of 'em."

"Oh."

He rocked his boots on the floor. They made crackling noises thanks to the sticky residue "You kinda fucked up here. Place serves alcohol. I've got two strikes against me—"

"It's not where you come from, Steven. It's what you do." She planted a hand on his knee. "You know better than your parents. You are better. Besides..." she squeezed his knee before removing her hand, "the beer's overpriced and watered-down. You're too smart to waste your money like that."

"Too smart for my own good," he muttered.

Then, as if he were being spied on, someone behind him tapped his shoulder. A shaggy-haired guy in a vest held out a joint. "You want?"

Hyde did want, but he refused the offer politely. His attention returned to Jackie, who looked exasperated. "What?"

"I bet that's exactly how Michael started cheating on me," she said. "Laurie offered herself, saying, 'You want?' and instead of declining—like a faithful boyfriend would—he said yes."

Her jaw clamped shut, twitched at her temples, and she shook her head slightly. "You're right, Steven. I am full of girly fantasy crap. I never should've gone back to him after he kissed Pam Macy. Or after he set fire to my living room. But I had this elaborate plan: marry the most beautiful boy, have beautiful children. Be rich forever."

She laughed once, as if it were the most ridiculous idea in the world. "Michael's personality kept getting in the way … but what I couldn't control, I ignored. How square is that?"

"Pretty square," he said. "But you're sheddin' your square skin."

"I am?"

"Rockin' out at a Stones concert, keepin' your wits with Shawny Gridders. It was a clever move to tryin' to buy him off with that pot."

"But it didn't work."

"Doesn't make it any less clever, man. You coulda turned tail, screamed, cried. But you were badass." He cupped her shoulder then realized what he was doing. He un-cupped it, but he was too late. She took his touch as an invitation and cradled his cheek.

"You're unlike any boy I've ever known, Steven." Her thumb caressed his sideburn, like it had the other night, only this time he didn't pull away. The contact tingled in his cheek, his lips. "You're brave, and I don't just mean against skeevy junkies. You're brave enough to question your own thoughts."

He was about to question her, but she said, "You fought them to go on this date with me. To open yourself to the possibility of being loved."

She drew his face closer to hers, and his insides rearranged themselves. His tongue should've blown a raspberry at her. His muscles should've shoved her away. But his organs, soft tissues, and bones were puzzle pieces pounded into the wrong positions. His own body made no sense to him, how it was reacting to her.

Her mouth brushed against his lips, and the crowd burst into white-noise. The Rolling Stones had returned onstage, but Hyde opened his mouth wider as Jackie's tongue eased inside. Escape was still possible. Keith was playing one of Hyde's favorite songs, but Hyde delved further into the kiss, lips pressing eagerly, tongue gliding and tasting. Jackie saturated his senses, and the buzz shaking his body exploded into gnawing heat.

He needed more of her, wanted more. Not just her skin and breath but her mind and whatever fueled the organ beating in her chest. And that revelation shocked him from the kiss.

Jackie stared at him, eyes round, as if a bomb had gone off in the arena. "Oh, my God."

"Uh..." his body became preternaturally still, "yeah."

"Steven, we can't do that again."

Relief didn't flood him, only profound disappointment. "We can't?"

Her breath grew shallow, and her voice quavered. "Not tonight. Because I made Michael wait a year, and I don't think that'll happen with you." She clapped a hand to her mouth. Then she moved it to her flushed cheek. "I won't be the girl who gives it up on the first date."

He'd had plenty of those kinds of girls—enjoyed those kinds of girls—but none of them jumbled his thoughts like Jackie did. Or stampeded through his blood. "And I'm not the guy who'd pry open your legs."

"That's not—Steven, no." She stroked the side of his face with her fingertips. He fought the urge to close his eyes, to soak her in through his skin. "I'm saying that I'd want to. You're an amazing kisser—" Her fingers dropped from his face, and she giggled. "And I thought my shirt would make me forget that junkie's horrible tongue. Wow."

Her last word summed up his own experience well, but you're doomed also fit. Sex wouldn't be enough for him, not with her. Screwing and bolting was his policy. No responsibilities, no real connection. No consequences. He'd seen how Jackie treated Kelso, demanding, berating, but he'd also seen how Kelso treated her.

Hyde never made promises he didn't keep, and he wasn't afraid to stand by his no. If Jackie could get these two things about him … "Never sign me up for roller-disco lessons again," he said.

Her nose wrinkled, as if he'd confused her. Understandable. His statement had seemingly come out of nowhere, but she said, "I won't."

"Or anything else."

"Okay."

"'Okay'? Not," he imitated her voice, "'Oh, Steven, you're such a kidder!'"

"Yes. I understand you better now," she said. "You need to be you, and you want me to be me, and maybe—just maybe—there's an us somewhere in between."

He didn't respond verbally. Anything he said could and would be used against him a court of Jackie. But he stood up and gestured for her to do the same. Mick sang about not getting satisfaction, an anthem inscribed on Hyde's heart. But as Hyde's arm settled onto Jackie's shoulders, and her arm slid around his waist, he knew the song no longer applied to him.

The parking lot was jammed with cars. Everyone wanted to leave the MECCA Arena at the same time. Horns honked, wheels screeched on pavement, but Hyde sat patiently in the Lincoln with Jackie. A path would open up soon, and Foghat's "Stone Blue" played on the radio. Jackie hadn't fought him over choosing the station, so life was good.

"Our first date's just about over," she said. "What did you think?"

Getting to see one of his top two bands in concert, with a chick who'd upended his grasp on reality? Best date he'd ever been on, but he said, "'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.'"

"Is that Shakespeare?"

"Somethin' you'll read next year in Mrs. Murphy's class."

"What does it mean?" She put up a hand before he could answer. "No, I know what it means. But why did you say it?"

Because he'd written her off while knowing next to nothing about her. "It means: where do ya wanna go on our second date?"

Her face brightened, and his mood brightened with it. That red X he was painting over his life, she made him want to douse it with turpentine. Made him believe he could.

She flung her arms around his neck and inadvertently pulled him toward the windshield. He bumped against the steering wheel, causing the Lincoln to honk, and the BMW in front of them sped out of the parking lot. The opportunity to leave had presented itself, but also had an opportunity of a different kind.

He embraced Jackie back, really held her for the first time. She was soft in his arms and fit against him like she belonged there. "So," he said, "our second date?"

"I don't care where we go as long as I'm with you."

"How's about we swing by my old neighborhood? Left my torsion wrench in the—"

"A movie!" she blurted by his ear. Then she lowered her voice. "Let's go to the movies."

He laughed into her hair. "The movies it is," he said, even as his stomach shrank with embarrassment. No girl had ever gotten him to be this moronic and unguarded.

Or as happy.