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Beautiful Music
THAT 70's SHOW
Jennifer Ryan
05/23/07
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Burning Out The Same
My back hurts so bad I'm afraid to move, but I do, and realize I fell asleep face down on the couch with my hand resting in the box of unfinished pizza on the floor next to me. I'm not real clear on the events of last evening, because I dreamed about Polish hookers, poverty and Eric blaming me for ruining his entire life. In my experience, burned out, depressing dreams like that are best chased away with alcohol, which I downed quite furiously. And now I just feel like shit. My last coherent memory is coming down to the basement alone to watch Johnny Carson, leaving Forman slightly tousled, but sexually satisfied.
I'm sure it's not even noon yet when Kelso slams the door, forcing me to move. Franklin, the German Shepherd he swiped from the PD in Chicago, licks my hand roughly and devours the remainder of last night's pizza snack. Kelso's got that same stupid grin that I always want to smack off his face and says after the morning they've had, Franklin's got the munchies. He continues that Franklin is the super best dog in the whole wide world and when I bury my face in the sofa cushion and politely request that he fuck off, he throws about five large sandwich bags of weed at me and laughs. I gather them, dumbfounded, and Franklin barks his side of the story, which Kelso translates.
"I took Franklin to the park this morning to play frisbee and maybe, you know, pick up some girls. I don't know if you remember Denny Fisher from remedial math, but I saw him out with a couple of his stupid friends from marching band. So, I threw the frisbee in their direction, thinking it would be real funny to hit one of them him in the head and the next thing I know BAM! Franklin knocks him down and he's snarling and going nuts. It was primo!" He then explains that Franklin relieved Denny of a bag of pot and that he and Franklin spent the remainder of the morning cleaning out the park. "Did I tell you this is the best dog in the world or what?"
I behold the weed with goofy wonder, in sweet anticipation of the hundred circles that await me and mine. With this dog on our side, my merry group of directionless miscreants will be an unstoppable force for evil. "Kelso, man, for an idiot you're a genius!"
He announces loud and proud, "Yeah, I know. I say I bring some by the hotel tonight and we can all smoke before we hit the show."
"Yeah, OK. You know, Kelso, maybe I should hold some of this for you, you know, like for an emergency."
He smacks my hand and takes it all back. "Hell no, these are my children!" He details to me his plan, which involves combining them all into one really big bag and marrying it. He then excuses himself, because it's Friday and on Friday afternoons he and Fez like to discuss current events over coffee and pie. I don't even want to know what that means. I stretch and try to calculate how much time I have to shower and eat before work, and if t ime is enough for Eric to join me for one activity or the other. I drag my ass up the stairs to find Kitty making lunch for Red. She tells me Eric and Donna got an early start today, but I don't bother to ask why. Pour myself a bowl of toasted sugar flakes, I try not to think about the fact that Donna is back, maybe for good, and that she and Eric are going to go places and talk about stuff and do things - maybe a lot. Crap.
Making Money
The restaurant and the bar close well before eleven on Fridays, but tonight is special, thanks to The Ralph Covington Orchestra. I've never seen so many old people so excited. Believe it or not, they're as drunken and rowdy as any Shriners we've served, but they tip well and none of the elderly women can keep her hands off Forman's ass. He's tripped over two walkers and a cane and been forced to dance with several of the ladies. I watch and try hard not to laugh, because this lame big band music gives me a killer headache. I down a handful of aspirins given me by Jessica, who usually works behind the front desk, but plays hostess whenever we have a convention. I hang back in the kitchen, helping Roy smash carrots and doing my best to avoid the limelight until Forman tosses a crumpled wad of cash on the counter in front of me.
"What the hell! Forman, man, there must be fifteen dollars here."
He says calmly that there is twenty-three and shakes his fist at Roy. "You cannot make me go back out there, OK. I'll do anything. I'll wash dishes. No amount of money is worth that!" Roy chuckles when I offer to trade duties with Eric. "Oh my G-d, Hyde - you're not seriously going out there? Those women are crazy and they pinch really hard."
"Forman, if you can make over twenty bucks in less than two hours, just imagine how much a real man could pull in. Now, these carrots have to be soft, so use the big fork to smash them." I smack him hard across the butt and tell him to get one of the big boys with muscles to help him, if need be. As I exit, I overhear Roy saying that I'm a regular Warren Beatty. I've got to hand it to crazy Roy, when he's right, he's right.
I scan the room and notice the ladies here are in pairs or large groups, leaving me to wonder if their husbands have long since died. They're dressed to the nines in the finest polyester threads JC Penneys has to offer, some donning little white gloves, most wearing coordinating hats. It's sweet and sad at the same time, to see a bunch of widowed little old ladies wearing far too much makeup and slow dancing together. We learned in health studies class that women traditionally outlive men by several years and I've seen that it's true.
The guests here often mention how their beloved and loyal husbands died some twenty or thirty years ago and all of them shared a similar fate. If it wasn't a heart attack, it's was the war. And G-d have mercy, don't let any of them get started on the war. They can talk for hours about those days. "Oh, what fun we had then, just us girls," they tell me. "Betty was the only one who could drive a car and our group would be off to the factory at morning's first light."They talk about how they worked, smoked and drank together, just like men. Lunch breaks consisted of cold sandwiches, card games and tom foolery on a scale so grand they promise that a handsome young man like myself just wouldn't understand.
And they glorify their long dead spouses as such thoughtful husbands, men who never raised their voices even once. Bullshit. Few of these girls were married more than a year before her old man got blown to hell by a Nazi. Twenty years from now will I romanticize the fact that Forman sucked me off in the shower? Probably. Hell, I'm just a sentimental kind of guy.
I take drinks orders and clear glasses, wagging my tail in a come hither manner meant to encourage free spending, but few seem to notice or care. I do hear some ramblings about how cute I look in my little outfit, but I've heard that all night and about each one of us. After twenty minutes of forward behavior and double entendres, I'm almost too frustrated to care about money until I see a five dollar bill held up for my attention. It's owner sits at the large table of drunken, giggling old nuts who have been extremely attentive to Forman all night. The grand damme hands me the money wrapped in a phone number and commands, "You may give this to the other waiter. He may call my grand daughter, Suzie, on Saturday night."
I graciously accept it and ask if she is the notorious Flossie. The tiny lady next to her, no more than five feet and one hundred pounds with chained eye glasses and shining white hair pulled into a loose bun, looks both frail and mischievous as she volunteers herself. I pull Jessica's aspirin bottle from my pocket and place it on the table in front of her, leaning in to explain. "I figure your fingers must be sore from pinching my boyfriend's ass all night."
The ladies squeal with tipsy delight, as if Forman and I are some sort of rare novelty they've set sights on. Flossie beams, embarrassed but having fun, "I can't mix these pills with my wine, but perhaps you boys could stop by my room and help me rub in some asper cream?"
I roll my eyes and take away empty glasses amidst their immature school girl laughter and once my back is turned, the pinches are frantic and hard. I yelp in surprise and jump forward, looking back at several guilty but satisfied waves bye-bye. I hope that when I'm old I still know how to have a good time. I hope that when I get old, Forman hasn't been dead for twenty years. I don't know why I think depressing shit like this. Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere and I can't push it out of my head or keep it from invading my dreams unless I drink. As I clear the next table, I drain the alcohol from each glass before I place it in the bin, cringing as I accidentally swollow the tiny onion that floated in an abandonned Gibson. For the last thirty minutes the guests have been leaving, but I didn't notice.
Only Flossie and her girls remain now. When I turn I see they've been watching me with interest, as lost in thought I took out my frustration on the tableware. Kelso, Leo and Fez arrive and I motion them straight to the kitchen until I can get rid of the ladies. They laugh as I approach them and when and I ask if there's anything I can get for them before we close for the night, sweet Flossie asks, "Got any Mary Jane, sweetheart?"
~ Twenty minutes later ~
Agnes passes me the joint and I admit that I almost didn't come to work tonight. She giggles and takes a long drag before passing it to Forman, who's still stuck in the middle of the same story.
"And Hyde told my dad, Back off, old man, unless you want MY foot in YOUR ass.And then my dad completely backed off. He hasn't given either of us a hard time since."
Kelso laughs loud, genuinely thrilled to spill the beans. "That's crap. You know what his dad calls them? Erica and Stephanie."
"When my sister and I were girls, we would kiss each other for practice," Flossie says. This information appears to give Fez a boner and he quizzes her nonstop. I'm convinced if he had a notebook, he'd be writing it all down, but he files it mentally, along with her sister's name and hair color.
Roy asks Kelso if Red really calls me Stephanie, and Michael explains he only does it behind our backs. "Sometimes, when I call on the phone, I just cut to the chase and ask if Stephanie and Erica are at home."
Eric hasn't heard a word anyone else has said, as usual. "Basically, it's like, if someone comes up to me with attitude, I just take a step aside and motion for him to take up his issue with my complaint department, aka, my psychotic boyfriend."
This is a mind blowing newsflash to me. "Forman, man, you think I'm psychotic?" He rewards me with a dreamy smile so I reach over and kiss him, ruffling his hair. He tells me thinks I'm a violent psychotic and I couldn't be more pleased. I take a drag and announce, "That's why I love him."
"Cinnamon hair, just like my Robert." Ruth laments as she attempts to smooth down one of Forman's fly away locks. "G-d rest his soul." She whispers, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "We had sex on the kitchen table when he came back from Germany. He still had on his army uniform."
Kelso laughs generously in approval and volunteers a couple of the stranger places he's done it, then addresses me as Stephanie and says we're going to miss our show if we don't leave in the next thirty minutes. I reach across the table and smack him, a sight at which everyone but he laughs. "Well, damn, Hyde, this is the last weekend for Animal House." He fills in the ladies about the plot and announces that he's seen it five times. "That movie almost makes me wish I'd gone to college."
Roy jumps up and says we can leave everything trashed for the day shift to clean up if we'll just please let him go with us. So we wrap up the party and each of our inebriated guests is escorted to her room, and knowing Fez, probably kissed on the forehead and tucked in to bed.
Only Eric and I are left, so I take off my coat and fling my dorky bow tie across the room. He busies himself clearing tables like the good little employee he is, which makes me sick. I've had a little too much to drink tonight to clean anything safely, so I turn on the radio and pilfer a Michelob from behind the bar. The Eagles are playing so I tell Forman to get his ass over here and dance with me now, which he does, even though he's looking at me oddly. I put my arms around his neck and tell him to loosen up and have fun. It's a love song playing and we're in love, so there's no reason to be so uptight.
"You call this a love song?"
"I call this beautiful music, Forman. Now hush." We dance slow a while and ignore the world around us. But I've played it cool long enough and have to ask, "So where did you and Donna go this morning?" I feel him smile against me and know I'm sunk. "Not that I give a damn where the two of you went together, Forman. I'm just trying to make conversation."
"The college next to Dairy Queen. Donna's dad heard a radio ad about a late registration blitz for the winter term, so he handed her a blank check. She wants to keep busy, you know. Not think about her mom or Todd or," he gestures to himself, "losing out on the hottest guy she'll ever meet."
I roll my eyes and sigh. "Wait, Pointless Place Junior College?" I have to say I'm surprised. I always kind of pictured it as an ultra lame alternative to a real school. I twirl him around and ask if it's the same place where Kitty took ceramics class.
"She took basket weaving and a class in cake decorating, too."
"So, do you think you might like to go there for awhile?"
He smiles, thrilled that I'm interested, but realistic. "It costs almost $400 a semester, Hyde. There's just no way." He rests his head on my shoulder and says softly, "I can't believe I even thought I'd be able to go away to Madison one day. College is for rich people, like the Pinciotti's."
Ouch, man. Four hundred bucks a semester won't be easy to swing. Kitty doesn't need us to contribute the way we did when Red first got sick, but still. The muffler shop is doing alright and Mrs. Forman gets good hours at the hospital. Of course, Laurie's back now and I doubt Red will make her lazy ass get a job.
Soon they'll be a baby in the house and tons of extra expenses to consider. It's not fair that Eric is always the one left out. There will always be something to keep Eric from going to school and I'll be damned if his sister's selfishness is the reason. Laurie is an adult and by no means is she helpless. I can bring in a little over $100 a week if I really hustle, so one semester is four months is $100 a month or $25 bucks a week. This could work.I'll cut back on beer, weed and music - the big three. Better yet, I'll quit eating.
Eric tells me my eyes are crossed and asks what I'm thinking so hard about. I don't want to tell him, so I sing along with the Eagles, "If it all fell to pieces tomorrow, would you still be mine?"
He promises me yes and confiscates my beer. Before we know it, we're slow dancing to a bank loan commercial and I begin to realize that I've mixed so many weird drinks I'm about to throw up. I keep it cool, though, and don't get sick until we hit the parking lot. Man, I can't wait for the dayshift to come in.
Take it to the Limit
So Christmas is coming in less than two weeks, but our little family is keeping the fanfare to a minimum. Red and Kitty bought new mattresses and since Eric and I insist on sleeping together in a twin size bed, we were to inherit the old one. That is until Laurie pointed out how hard her old bed is on her back now. Needless to say she got it, and after a little strategic whining on her part Red made Eric and I clean out her old room out from top to bottom, paint the walls puff pink, install an extra shelving unit, lay new carpet and put together the crib.
When we finish, Laurie puts her hand on her stomach for effect, even though she barely shows, and thanks me on baby's behalf. I accept graciously, of course, and inform her that I may have accidentally painted the window shut. "Good luck sneaking in the Marine Corp, whore."
Eric's room presented more of a challenge from a decorator's point of view so we both shoved a bunch of his crap in storage boxes, pushed the two twin beds together, then made out for the rest of the evening. We were so exhausted we fell asleep in our clothes. I wake in the middle of the night, greeted by a dark, cool and quiet house. I see soft snowfall through our window and decide I'd like to have a cigarette to celebrate it, but I never make it outside. Laurie sits at the kitchen table with a tall glass of milk, a mug of coffee, a half eaten box of donuts, a legal pad and an assortment of colored pencils. It's three am and she's up, again, so I help myself to some coffee and join her. This has become our ritual. She holds up the paper for me and explains tonight's idea.
"My name is Laura Evelyn. My baby's name will be Lynn Evangeline. We'll have the same initials, L.E.F."
"What if the baby is a boy?"
She gives me the dirty it's not happening look she usually reserves for her brother. The other day when Red mentioned how nice it would be to finally have the little boy he's always dreamed of, he got the it's not happening glare from Laurie and the wide eyed what the helllook from Eric, both at the same time. Personally, I don't care which gender this kid turns out, I'm just hoping he or she is a communist, the only thing that could ever make Red angrier than having a gay son. "Let me hear the list again."
"Well, I crossed off Lois and Louanne because they're fat names."
"I agree."
"Lana or Loni are still possibilities. You know, like Loni Anderson. She's got great hair and I admire that in a person. Lane and Lacey are too different, I'm not even sure Lane is a girl name and Lee Anne is definitely out because only hillbillies have two names." She downs the rest of her coffee, knowing well Kitty warned her to avoid it, then polishes off the remainder of the donuts. I take the legal pad and see she's written baby's name about a hundred times and in different colors, styles and combinations. Lynn E. Forman, L. E. Forman, Lynn Forman, L. Evangeline Forman.When I ask why she's not using Jerry's last name, which I don't know but imagine is DICK, she looks sadder than I expected. "I'm going to leave the father's name blank on the birth certificate."
"You still might get back together. Maybe he'll call you."
"No," she wrinkles her nose and says sensibly. "I wouldn't take him back now. He was a jerk. I can't believe I was stupid enough to think he'd ever marry me." She smiles, almost laughing, "If it weren't for his uncle, he wouldn't even have his janitor job. Jerry's going nowhere fast and I'm beginning to understand, he doesn't ever want more than he's got."
"Well, you know, it wasn't so long ago that you had a loyal husband who worshipped the quicksand you bathe in." She rolls her eyes in disbelief that I'd bring that up. "A guy who maybe even still loves you and would take you back, baby and all." I write out the name Lynn Evangeline Zayaswith the red pencil, big so it takes up five lines. I can't read her expression, but I see what looks like the start of tears as she holds it up and stares through it.
"Fez and I SO have nothing in common."
"You both love disco and things that are pink. For G-d's sake, you both feather your hair. He treated you like a princess and he cooks, cleans and puts up with your self-centered crap."
"Yeah," she nods. "Well, orphan, that's enough strategy planning for tonight." She belches and pats me on the head before she heads up the stairs. I pour the rest of the coffee into my mug and head outside for a quick smoke. It's snowing harder and covering the ground in a thick blanket that begs to be formed into a snowman or a fort. I can't believe 1978 is almost over; so much changed in my life this year that I'll be sad to see it go. So many of my old dreams have burned out, only to be replaced by new ones.
A few years ago I saw my future self as a roadie for Aeromsmith, waking every afternoon in a new city with a stranger in my arms. Life was going to be an adventure, a never-ending party with a limitless supply of weed and alcohol. Much like Laurie, I've never been a huge fan of domestication, at least not until now. These days I dream of simple things, like a house, a dog and time to spare with Eric. My dreams have definite limits, but pleasant ones; boundaries that keep me together with the people I love, instead of trapping and suffocating me. It's just the nightmares I have to worry about now.
I toast to the promise 1979 surely holds and extinguish my cigarette in the ashtray of my El Camino. Eric is going to work in a few hours to cover for Jessica, so she can do some family thing neither of us cared to ask about. I've got a nine a.m. appointment to talk to the lady in the office at Pointless Junior College about setting up a monthly payment plan for Forman. The main reason is a selfish one; I want all my friends to know I'm nailing a college man.
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To be continued ...
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For those illegally downloading the soundtrack
:) Take it to the Limit by The Eagles