:)

Beautiful Music
THAT 70's SHOW
Jennifer Ryan
04/17/07

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Taking It To The Streets

A funny thing happened when we arrived at Todd's apartment. I knocked on the door and introduced myself as Donna's friend, Eric as her ex and Kelso and Fez as our foster children. The moron had the nerve to scoff at my prismatic retinue, which was completely expected. Then I hit him in the face so damn hard I broke his nose.

Now, here's the rub: would it have killed anybody to tell me his dad is a cop? The gentleman was kind enough to label me a filthy punk and arrest me while his son cussed me out and Kelso pointed and snickered like the eleven year old girl he is. I'd planned to have the Toyota back in the driveway before morning, not to be spending the rest of the week in the slammer.

I stick my nose through the bars and sigh. Jail in Chicago is different than jail in Point Place and probably different from anything else we have in Wisconsin, really. There's a lot of graffiti on the walls here and most of it involves some variation of the f word. I like it. When I was in holding back home, the matron yelled at me when I tried to write on the wall and then again because I was slouching. That's something I don't see happening here.

My cell mates compliment the drab environment by making scary faces at me and chain smoking. Mr. Giant guy - head shaved, tattoos everywhere and about three hundred pounds of muscle in a denim vest - comes up behind me and leans close. "What you here for?"

I reach for his cigarette and he lets me take it, so I feel I owe him nothing less than the honest truth. "I urinated on my probation officer. What about you, man?"

His eyes grow wide and he swears, backing into the corner farthest from me and says he has too many unpaid speeding tickets. I grin and he turns his attention to the little guy sitting next to him, striking up a conversation about anything that can distract from where we are. I turn away and concentrate on holding the bars, since that's what they do in the movies, and I don't know what else to do.

The guard brings Eric through the door and the look on his face tells me something is very wrong. When his hand reaches over to cover mine, I brace myself for whatever sorry news is to come.

"Hyde, I ..." he stumbles. "I know it's only been four hours but ... I met somebody in the parking lot. We just hit it off, you know." I exhale in relief and call him an ass, which he doesn't hear over his self-congratulatory chuckling. "No seriously, I'm really proud of the way you kicked that guys ass. I mean, he was bigger than you, but you didn't care, you just walked up and WHAM!"

"I'm glad you find my behavior admirable, Forman. So what are the chances of my getting out of here before Monday?"

"Not promising," he says solemnly, "but I will wait for you. I want you to know that. I'll wait two, maybe even three days, if I have to."

"Of course you will," I grin, pressing my nose to his. "I have the car keys." I almost kiss him before realize I've forgotten myself. There are way too many stereotypes eye balling us. I might be here a few days and I don't want to get picked on because I'm new or possibly fall in with a bad crowd.

I find I'm too late when the unwashed masses part for a gentleman I hadn't yet noticed. He's even taller and bigger than the first guy, but black and just as bald. He rises from the bench and heads straight for me, looking every inch the tough guy, though he doesn't seem angry or as if he has something to prove.

His eyes follow Eric's every jitter and he lays his hand on my shoulder very gently, asking in a deep baritone that seems strangely shy, "Is he yours?"

Eric's eyes widen in fearful surprise and he tenses visibly. I relish every sweet and hilarious second of his nervous disbelief, then proudly exclaim that not only is he mine, he's also for rent.

Our new friend gets down on one knee and pleads to me with soft, surprising reverence, "Can I ... can I sing to him? Please."

Mere seconds ago I despaired in the knowledge that a dillhole like Michael Kelso walks a free man while I languish in this filthy cell. And now - and NOW, some love struck flake wants to sing to Forman? This approaches the unreal and was well worth the road trip. "Of course you can sing to him, man. I'd actually be offended if you didn't."

He introduces himself as Louis and tells my Eric that he's one beautiful baby. He tries to take Eric's hand in his, but beautiful baby's jaw drops and he jerks back. I grab him so he can't escape and tell him under my breath, "Don't be rude, Forman. He wants to hold you. LET HIM."

An odd, high-pitched noise that I can't describe escapes Eric's petrified throat and he shakes his head tightly from side to side like a child being forced to kiss his gramma. And Louis looks up at him with such earnest adoration that I'm ready to send them home together. Eric studies the ceiling as Louis takes his hand, crooning slowly in a near whisper, "I bless the day I found you. I want to stay around you. And so I beg you, let it be me."

I suppose the guys in back know better than to laugh, but when Louis is finished I intend to applaud. I lean against the wall, savoring each second of Eric's understandable yet hilarious mortification. We lock eyes and time stands still as I mouth the words Louis sings to him. "Now and forever, let it be me."

Todd's old man, Officer "Chuckles" Dunleavy, chooses Louis' serenade as the perfect time to join us, startling all save Louis himself, who clearly isn't finished courting my idiot beloved. Kelso stands back, laughing loud at the scene, but Officer Dunleavy looks confused and disgusted. He asks what the hell we think we're doing and I explain with the coolest of calm that no actual thought was required. I make clear that my new friend Louis is fawning over my boyfriend for reasons that are both unclear and unimportant. And since I'm such a nice guy, I not only said he should go for it, I gave him some suggestions.

"Are you seriously telling me that you boys are queer?"

Before I can counter that Forman is, Fez volunteers that both Eric and I are sweet little pixies sprinkling magical fairy dust all over each others bodies. Dunleavy's eyes cross, kind of like Reds' do when anyone talks about "the big Q" out loud. It would even be funny if this guy weren't the enemy.

When he unlocks the door and tells me to step out, I steel myself for a fight and move forward slowly. Eric, who has been chicken shit his entire life, decides now is the time to take a stand. My gangly little protector shields me with his body and argues. "Whatever you're planning, you won't get away with it, okay. My dad fought in Korea and he is ... absolutely ... nuts." Our group nods in remorseful agreement, as if to acknowledge how tragic it is when a man comes back from war insane. Of course, Red went there that way; it's just that most people don't know that.

"You're gonna walk out of here without a word and go home. If anyone finds out a pansy broke my son's nose, I'm going to track you down in Wisconsin and toss your ass back in this cell. All four of you." For the first time I notice Jackie standing back from us, glad to not be included.

"This is bullshit," I snarl. "Your son hit a woman. He gave Donna a black eye."

"And I'll deal with it. You kids get the hell out of here before I change my mind."

He leads us to the desk sergeant, from whom I retrieve my wallet, keys, smokes and lucky pocket comb, and only once I ensure that all my goodies are accounted for do I notice Kelso is missing. It's not cold enough that he could have gotten his tongue stuck to something and there are very few women on this side of the building. Eric says it would be best if we go home without him, an idea I feel has promise.

Lucky for Kelso, he's already in the car, which is in the parking lot across the street, facing the police station. Smoke pours from the slightly cracked back window and Eric breaks into a frantic run when he realizes that his fathers Toyota has been converted into a bong. He yanks the door open to yell but stops short at something I can't see until I'm closer. Kelso is blind stoned and so is the German Shepherd on his lap.

"Check it out you guys; the dog is a cop! Get it? He's a drug dog and I'm giving him drugs."

I advise everyone to get into the car quick, before all the smoke escapes. A disbelieving Eric has to be shoved in. "My dad's going to notice that his car smells like the basement. Kelso, you dumb ass!"

"It's a three hour drive, Forman, it'll air out," I promise. "Everybody just relax and take really deep breaths."

As soon as I open the driver's side door, Jackie pushes past me so she can sit between Eric and me. "I'm not sitting next to that animal, Steven." Kelso takes umbrage and defends his new pet, but Jackie counters, "I was talking about you, you spastic retard."

We all laugh and I kick back for a few moments of happy reflection before starting the car. Smoking grass in front of a police station with one of their drug dogs is the kind of moment a man likes to savor. We'll be home by lunch and so what that Red will flip. Taking the Toyota was a decision made based on economics and safety, something he'll respect. Besides, I'll tell him Eric's the one who hit Todd. He'll be so proud that he'll probably just let us keep the damn car.

Our return trip is a quiet one and once we hit Lake Shore, the windows come down so the car can air out at 50 mph. We should have been home hours ago, but I'm not sorry when I see Lake Michigan in the light of day. G-d, how I miss the soft and subtle sparkling beauty of water. Last night we took a different route, spent two hours lost in a maze of subdivisions, one way streets, and construction zones until Jackie had a fit. I sent her into an A & P to ask for directions and we continued the hunt for our quarry, missing the sweet shoreline in its entirety.

It's of particular interest to me that the name of the path we travel is Lake Shore Drive; LSD, man, L-S-D! Despite the cold, sea birds circle the water and dive. I think of how pretty and carefree they are, how they fly all around ... 'till somebody shoots you down.

I don't realize I'm singing aloud until Fez tells me that he loves that song. All but he and I sleep now. Kelso has his arms full of dog, Jackie uses Eric for a pillow and Fez and I have a long talk for the first time since I don't know when. He's glad Eric and I are together because it's made me less of a bastard. He's meeting a lot of women at the salon; meeting so many and having such a good time that he's thinking about taking technical classes to become a licensed cosmetologist. It seems everyone is finding his niche but me. Fez will do hair, Kelso will serve drinks, the girls will get fancy degrees and Eric, maybe one day if I can somehow swing it, will be a teacher or psychologist or whatever it is he's considering this week.

After all this, will I still be a waiter? Will I have a say in the matter? I don't know what to do, but I don't want to be the only one left behind.

The Shape of Things to Come

Yesterday morning Red took Jerry to the Price-Mart to see if his old boss had a job opening and that was it for ol' Jerry. He really wasn't planning on the working thing, just wanted to hang around the house rent free and fuck Laurie. After the lovebirds conferred by shouting match, they came to the sickening consensus that the baby probably isn't even his and that he was never going to marry her anyway.

It's well passed midnight and I sit at the kitchen table with Eric on my lap and we watch the two like the inevitable train wreck we knew they were. This 140 pound, greasy haired, effeminate jackass that Laurie - for some reason - drug home is yelling about all this shit being way too heavy. Then he says he doesn't support his other kids so why would he waste money on this one.

Time is frozen until I feel Kitty's hand on my shoulder and look up. She's as disbelieving as we are. Jerry is going and no one's really sorry but Laurie. None of us liked him. Though we've known him less than a week, I think it's safe to say no one wanted to know more. He's presented himself as a temperamental selfish dick, much like he is right now, except to Red for whom he played the role of Eddie Haskell. Jerry walks out the sliding door and Laurie turns to face us with tears streaming down her cheeks.

I tighten my grip around Eric's waist and bury my head in his side, promising silently that I will never leave and that I will definitely never be like Jerry. There are so many things I could say to Laurie right now, most of them cruel and none of them appropriate. I feel sorry for her, I really do, but I feel more sorry for this baby. She looks at her mother and at us, then says something I don't hear before she tromps up the stairs.

All the noise wakes Red and Marty, who appear in the kitchen looking confused. Kitty tightens the belt on her terry cloth bathrobe and asks if anyone else wants pancakes. Nobody does, but we eat together politely and have a civilized, if tense, family conversation. We introduce distractions in turn, from last night's episode of WKRP in Cincinnati to the new Pope. The whole Jonestown thing that has dominated the news for weeks quickly becomes the wrong topic; I've never seen Red look so damned depressed. The whole heart attack thing, the doctor said, was a warning; a preview of things to come if Red can't get his act together. I've never known the man not to be stressed, angry and worried all at the same time. Crappy jobs, no money, surrounded by a bunch of dumb asses and now his wife makes him drink decaffeinated coffee. Sometimes, when I see him unguarded, he looks like one more bad knock will cause him to crumble. I've felt that way many times before, so I recognize it easily and it hurts to see it in him.

He stares off into space, looking tired and asks aloud, "I wonder why they used grape kool-aid and not cherry." The entire world asks why they did it, how so many were manipulated so easily and how many were there against their will. Red Forman asks why they chose grape drink and that's why, no matter what, he is and wil always be my one true father.

Marty smiles and pats Red's back before he gets up and I suddenly find it strange that he's even here. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before. Red and Kitty invite him over on every holiday and he's always declined for one lame reason or another. One New Year's Eve he sat with a recently widowed elderly neighbor - translation: he met some new guy. Then last Easter he kept the clinic open with a sick Border Collie - translation: some new guy. Fourth of July weekend - I don't even remember the excuse, but I can only imagine it wore a cowboy hat and a moustache.

Kitty motions for him to sit down and she pours him a fresh glass of milk. He asks Red about helping him out at the muffler shop tomorrow, making big plans for some kind of brother thing that neither of them seems excited about. Then Laurie appears at the kitchen door, looking like she's been through the spin cycle a few times and announces to Kitty that she threw up. I bite down on my tongue to keep myself in check, wanting to make fun because I can smell it in her hair. Eric is almost dumb enough to mention it until his ever-menacing father points a fork full of pancake at him. Kitty tells Red to come upstairs with them, but he unwisely complains, causing her to give him the look.

Everything becomes clear when she tells him that the boys haven't had a chance to visit with Marty yet. I should have known. Understanding finally dawns on Red and he excuses himself quickly, leaving us Uncle Marty and a sink of syrupy dishes. Crap.

Marty seems uncomfortable, which - from my point of view, at least - is entertaining. "Eric, do you remember my roommate, Christopher? He came here to visit with me when you were nine."

He doesn't think long and seems excited to remember. "Yeah, yeah ... the guy in the sailor outfit."

Marty blushes and nods. "That was your dad's navy uniform he was wearing."

I can't help but laugh. Dumb ass. Eric is trying not to crack up and makes wide, innocent eyes at Marty. "Why was your friend wearing my dad's naval uniform?" I almost piss myself when Marty's hands cover Eric's and he tries to explain that he and Christopher were special friends. Eric holds his gaze, pretending to be bewildered and looking purposely and hilariously childlike. "You mean special friends like Johnny Carson and Ed McMahon?"

"No," Marty stammers, "not buddies."

Eric's sharp intake of breath is almost my undoing. He turns to me and whispers, loud enough for Marty to hear, "I think he's, you know ..." When I shrug that I don't, he says, "he's a ... he's just like Paul Lynde."

"Paul Lynde? Oh G-d, Marty. I do understand." I fold my arms, lean back in the chair and smile like the undiscriminating predator I am. He's joyously relieved until I speak again. "You've been trying to tell us that you're an alcoholic."

I've flustered him and he pleads, "No, Steven, dammit, no."

"Uncle Mary, if you have a drinking problem, Hyde and I can so get you help. There are meetings every night in Kenosha. It's less than a thirty minute drive."

He grows impatient and swears he's not a drunk, so I attack. "Jesus, man, you didn't push somebody out of a hotel window, did you?"

"No!" Finally fed up, he smacks the table and raises his voice. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm gay!"

"Wait a minute," I startle. "Are you seriously telling us that Paul Lynde is gay?" Marty walks to the refrigerator and takes out a beer while Eric and I argue over this revelation.

My dumb ass beloved is the biggest Bewitched fan in the universe and takes the news hard. "Uncle Arthur, everyone's favorite Hollywood Square, is homosexual? You think you know a guy."

We bust out laughing and high five , thrilled that poor Marty can't catch a break, not from us. Did Red and Kitty really think he'd give us some kind of gay pointers or that we'd somehow connect? He comes back to the table with a six pack, a deck of cards and a rotten smirk. "You two think you're sooo funny."

I put my arm around Eric's shoulder and squeeze him close. "I'm sure that Red filled you in about just how funny the two of us are."

Marty deals out the cards and admits that he did. "Kitty thought that you might want to ask me questions about things ... or even stuff."

Eric asks, "You mean that you're like, some kind of a gay guru?"

"Your father once called my an encyclopedia of queerdom." Marty smiles briefly, looking distant. "And you know, kiddo, you've got your dad's smart mouth. It used to get him smacked all the time." Marty deals the cards and asks if we have any questions for him that don't involve Paul Lynde. I query him, in great detail, about the guy in Red's sailor uniform. Eric and I ride Marty for the next couple of hours and when he finally decides to go back to bed, he promises to tell Red and Kitty that we had a really great talk so they'll never try to get us together again. When I thank him, he shrugs it off.

Marty's a pretty cool guy, actually. All the other times I've talked to him, he seemed real flaky, going on about yoga, psychics and reiki. And Red always making fun of him didn't help my opinion. I don't think I'll be needing any gay tips from him, like Eric mentioned, but it feels nice that he cared. I realize I'm surrounded by people who love me and care about my welfare, a sobering thought that seriously gives me the creeps, man. It's nice, though; real nice. My name is Steven Gregory Hyde and I've got this family that loves me a lot. Has a nice ring to it.

I throw my arm over the back of Eric's chair and turn to see a night gown clad Donna standing outside the sliding glass door. I point her out to Eric and kiss him good night, not the slightest bit curious about why she's here at four in the morning. I know all about girls and what they want, and it involves my least favorite thing - talking about feelings. So when I see Donna, I don't think of her as Eric's ex or any kind of threat to me, I think of Eric getting to discuss "girl feelings" at length. Sucker.

More Than a Feeling: Donna & Eric

We perch the hood of the Vista Cruiser and stare into the sky, much as we have always, as if there's something interesting in the stars that blanket our neighborhood. She's quiet and shy with me now, as if unsure of what to say. I am, too. She fiddles with the belt on her house coat and tells me Jackie is going home to Chicago in a few hours. This I knew already and she's aware of that; just trying for small talk. Jackie is returning to Illinois to finish high school. Donna will never go back. She'll take off the coming semester and come August, school will be somewhere Todd Dunleavy is not; probably Madison. Who knows, after all this, maybe we'll still go to college together. She'll live in the dorm room that her father can so easily afford, be popular and have a ton of friends and dates. She'll work on the school paper and write ground breaking articles about crappy cafeteria food, the inability of freshmen to enroll in much needed prerequisites and whatever big concert is in town. She'll have these great friends in the journalism department and they'll have fantastic adventures just like Woodward and Bernstein. I'm jealous, but I think back to something Hyde told me a long time ago: ... be happy for her instead of sad for yourself.

"What did you love about me, Eric; back when you used to love me?"

I'm always surprised when she's insecure, especially about me. I realize she was like this even before her mother left, maybe because she's a girl. Their feelings are more tender, soft like their bodies are. Hyde has often compared me to a woman, an insecure sissy, so I look to Donna as a measure. I can be insecure, just as she is, but I see no other parallel. I think Hyde needs to see me in a certain way because ... Oh G-d, he feels guilty. He regrets going after me because I've turned him into a total ... no, I didn't. I just said it myself, he came after me. He made the first move. He told my dad about us. He YELLED at my dad. He got us hot jobs and a hotel room and he YELLED at my dad.

A rush of adrenaline courses through me and I swell with the knowledge that I can do pretty much anything I want with no consequences because Hyde will YELL at anyone who calls me on it. This kicks ass. The other day Kelso was right; Hyde is whipped - by me. This really, really kicks ass! I've been uptight and terrified, a whiney, moody jerk waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since my dad found out - no, was TOLD. Damn, that makes me hot. I've been so busy tryin to fly under the radar, to please everyone, and here I have this boyfriend who will probably kick ass at my command. This power is G-d like.

"Eric, I asked you a question. You're like, a million miles away."

I jump from the hood and take Donna's hand in mine, moving fast, my words tumbling forth in a jumbled stream. "Donna ... knew ... best friend ... respect ... long time. Taught each other ... always love ... right behind you ... count on me ... never forget. Gotta go now!"

She smiles as I run into the house and through the kitchen, down the stairs to the basement and into the room where my boyfriend lay sleeping. I fly through the air and land on top of him and when he attempts to assault me with profanity I hold both his wrists over his head and kiss the living hell out of him. We've only done sex stuff with each other, like, two times, but I figure anyone who YELLS at my dad or makes it so I can get away with anything ever, is going to get sex about five hundred times a day. And since he loves me so much and sings Zeppelin lyrics to me, I think I'll put my mouth where ever he asks. He tries to pull me down flat, but I struggle and we both end up on the floor with the stupid cot broken. He pins me, but I hold him back with my knee to his chest and demand he preheat me with some of his not so original poetry.

He sings softly between kisses, a song of his own design, "... don't yank my crank, unless you mean it, baby ..."

I assure him I'm most sincere and proceed to demonstrate.

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Seagull by Bad Company
:) Let It Be Me by The Everly Brothers
:) Taking it to the Streets by the Doobie Brothers