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

CHAPTER 7
CIRCLED GAME

Chicago

Two Years Later

...

"Bein' so close by to Shade is nice," Steven told Jackie over coffee, "and Chicago ain't that bad, either."

They'd met at a café shortly after his move to the city. His fingers curled around his cup in a way she shouldn't have noticed, but she'd stared at his hands a lot over the years, especially as they coaxed their cat into a purring ball of bliss. His hands were both masculine and gentle, just like Steven himself. But she shouldn't have been thinking about that...

Or about him.

After two years of working mostly behind the camera on Wake up, Chicago! she'd become an anchor for the show's third hour. Not only did she get to create segments, but she also got to present them on air. Fashion trends, hair, and makeup were her primary topics, though she also interviewed experts on relationships and money. And her presence on-air had increased the show's ratings in the 18-34 demographic, not just women but men, too.

They were attracted to her "youth, beauty, and intelligence," her producer, John, claimed. Those were also the three attributes that had attracted John to her. He was thirty-one but still looked like he was in his early twenties. He always wore a neatly trimmed beard, which she hated, but he needed it to "project authority" over his staff. So she dealt with the rug-burn on her chin whenever they kissed.

"No more hour-and-a-half drives to see him," Steven said and took a swallow of his coffee. It left a liquid mustache above his upper lip, but he didn't use his tongue to lick it off. He'd never been one to do that. Instead, the back of his hand wiped the coffee from his face. Then he rubbed the coffee residue from his hand onto his jeans, and she watched with too much interest. Some things in life were easily transferred from one thing to another—like coffee from a cup to an upper lip—but love, passionate love, could not be so effortlessly switched over.

Her year-long relationship with John had been filled with spontaneous trips to Europe, ever-strengthening commitment from him, and promotions. Co-workers believed she'd slept her way to the top, and maybe she had. But so what? She had the talent and drive to justify her quick advancement. And a few months ago, around the time of her upgrade to anchor, she and John had upgraded their personal situation, as well.

She'd moved into his giant house in Northbrook, Illinois. Chicago was only a half-hour away by car, and despite her lofty ambition, she preferred living in a suburban village. It was what she'd grown up with, what she was used to. A big city could make a person feel anonymous, but in Northbrook—as in Point Place—the locals became part of an extended family.

That was what she told herself, at least.

Steven put his coffee cup down on the table. His fingers laced over the cup's front with their unchewed nails and smooth cuticles. He never let his nails get too long. They were just the right length, long enough to scratch Shade's cheeks; but they didn't extend over his fingertips like those smelly folk guitarists who played in "L" stations.

"Jackie," he said and drew her focus to his face. His sunglasses couldn't hide the crinkle of his eyes. He was smiling, not a big smile, but its warmth surprised her. "Bein' close to you is nice, too."

Her breath caught. Through a year's worth of terse and tense relations, she and Steven had eventually become friends again. At the start, they related to each other only through the cat. But his anger at her seemed to have completely burned off.

She'd felt no unhappiness when he announced his Chicago move. More accurately, he'd moved to a suburban village called Glenview. It was fifteen minutes from Jackie's own village of Northbrook, and the coincidence still astounded her. W.B. had given Steven and Angie joint ownership of the entire chain of Grooves. Angie dealt with the money side of things while Steven handled the creative—and along the way, he'd decided to run the flagship store in Chicago.

"Bein' close to you is nice, too."

Jackie wasn't breathing. She should have been, for more than one reason. Firstly, her romantic feelings were safely ensconced with John. He was an attentive lover, despite his annoying, unshaveable beard. Secondly, Steven followed up his statement with, "It's good knowing someone out here, man. Starting fresh in a freakin' city is tough enough, even harder when you're alone."

She sucked in some shaky air and said, "You don't have to tell me." Chicago's skyscrapers still intimidated her, and its noisy streets drove her a little batty at night. But with Brooke's support, she'd transitioned to city life without much trouble. "I'm an excellent tour guide, though."

"I bet you are." Laughter was in his voice, slight but present. "Seen you on your show. You dissected Water Tower Place so even a rube like me could navigate through it—not that I'm plannin' to. A hundred shops is a hundred too many."

"You saw that?" A grin burst on her face. She'd come up with the segment by herself, back when she was a part-time reporter for the show. She'd figured out the best route through all eight levels of the mall, and John had given her free rein on the shoot.

"Yeah," Steven said, "I watched your show when I was scoping out places to live."

Her grin faded, and her breath caught again, but she made herself speak. "But that segment aired five months ago."

"So?"

"So it means..." She lowered her gaze back to his fingers. Only half of them were holding his coffee cup now, and he raised the cup to his mouth. "It means, why did it take you so long to actually move?"

He shrugged. "Hadn't found the right neighborhood."

"Mm-hmm," she said and sipped at her own coffee. The cup had been clutched in her hand, forgotten, and the coffee had become colder than she liked—just like Steven's truth was more deceptive than she liked. He wasn't lying to her, per se, but he also wasn't saying everything. She knew him too well, understood his tells. His aloofness was habitually natural, but today it had the hint of force.

She wouldn't press him, though. Whatever he was keeping to himself was his business. And his business hadn't been her business in a long time. A year-and-a-half ago, she'd gotten a raise big enough to move into a one-bedroom apartment. Steven drove up to Chicago with Shade and returned him—with the old caveat of unlimited visitation rights.

She'd agreed for the cat's sake. With all the transitions he'd had to undergo, Shade's little heart had been stressed enough in his young life. Her own heart had calcified against Steven's presence. She was too distracted by work, and then by her burgeoning relationship with John, that her past with Steven was just that: the past.

But now, transitioning to life with Steven "so close" promised difficulties. His visitation rights with Shade had already been curtailed. In no scenario did she imagine John being okay with her ex dropping by their house to "see the cat". Better for all of them if she gave Shade up to Steven again, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't let him go.

"I'll have to talk to John," she said, "about you visiting Shade."

Steven slid his palm onto the table. His eyeball ring clinked against the lacquered wood, and his fingers began to drum. "Yeah, you do that... and let me know."

His fingertips were inches away from her coffee cup. She knew intimately how tender they could be, but they didn't fit into her present. Didn't belong. She finally had everything she wanted, her dream career, a dream man. Her perfect life should have felt complete, but it felt perfectly and inexplicably not whole.

"I will." She patted the top of Steven's hand. "I'll let you know. Now let me give you that tour."

His thumb reached up and stroked her knuckle. "Sounds good."

Angie was helping Hyde unpack his things. She'd insisted on staying with him during his first week in Glenview, and he was glad. In spite of himself, she was a good influence on him, and she cared—maybe too much at times, but he'd rather that than the alternative.

"I still can't believe you're doing this," she said. They were in his bedroom, and she'd spread all his clothes on the bed. She was currently rolling up his socks. "I thought your idea of romance was not belching in a woman's face."

He fake-laughed at her. The chicks he loved were always able to cut through his Zen, but Angie's jibes didn't bother him. They made him feel like her brother, something he was still getting used to.

"Ain't nothin' romantic about it," he said and grabbed a stack of folded shirts. They tumbled from his arms into his dresser drawer.

Angie groaned. "Steven! What's the point in me organizing your things if you're just going to mess them up right after?" She rushed to the dresser and pushed him aside. "You're supposed to place your clothes into your drawer, not toss them in like a child." She began to refold his shirts, but then she stopped. "Oh, I know what you're doing..." her eyes narrowed, and she jabbed him in the chest, "and you're not getting away with it."

"It was worth a shot." He returned to the drawer and refolded the shirts himself. His attempt at distraction had failed. Angie would barrage him with questions until he answered at least one truthfully. "She's not happy, man," he said. "All it took was three minutes for me to figure that out."

"So you packed up your life and moved fifteen minutes away from her? She's not your problem anymore—"

He shut the dresser drawer loudly. "What can I say? I love her."

Angie closed her eyes touched her forehead as if she had a headache. "You're a fool."

"Won't hear an argument from me."

He opened his closet. It was mostly full of empty hangers. He wouldn't be changing that too much. The closet was a decent size, big enough for two. His new house was a rental, about as large as the Formans'. He had the option to buy it after a year if he wanted, but for now, he was content to be an impermanent resident.

His decision to move here hadn't been easy, but it had been quick. Three minutes was all he'd needed to make the call. Half a year ago, during a visit to Shade, he'd had the unfortunate instance of meeting Jackie's boyfriend.

"He's too rough with her, Ange," Hyde said and plucked a hanger from the closet. He tried to unbend its wire hook. "Behavior's subtle, but it's there. He squeezed the back of her neck while she and I were talkin'. Grabbed her wrist instead of her hand. If he's like that with his chick, how the hell is he with the cat?"

"Are you sure you're not making too much of it?" Angie had gone back to rolling his socks. "No, let me rephrase that. I know you're making too much of it. You've left everything to—what? Steal your ex back from the man she's living with?"

"First, I haven't left everything. I got you to keep me company—"

"For a week. I don't plan on moving from Milwaukee in the foreseeable future."

"Whatever. Second, I got a kickass job here. I'm part of the scene, man. Lots more underground bands in Chicago than in America's freakin' Dairyland. And third, I don't plan on stealing anyone from anything. I'm keepin' an eye on her and Shade. That's all."

"An eye I'm sure she'll more than appreciate." Angie's tone was drenched in acid, but it didn't faze him.
The hanger in his hands, however, had become a grade-school art project. It was misshapen and warped, and he put it back in the closet. "What are you doing?" Angie said and dashed to the closet. She snatched out the deformed hanger."Honestly!"

"It's sculptural. A grownup conversation piece."

She glared at him. "You don't even know what any of those words mean."

He knew what every word meant. Not having a college education didn't mean he was a moron, but he felt no need to correct her. She was scared for him, and her fear often transmuted into condescension. It was her go-to place, an emotional shelter, just like his had been to numb himself. She'd watched him do that after he and Jackie were over. And she'd also helped him come out of it.

"Look, Jackie doesn't have to be with me, okay?" he said. The time had come to dive into the line of conversational fire. "She's just gotta stay safe. It's my damn fault she ended up here—"

"No, it's not."

"Yeah, it is. I was too slow, but John Boy is bad news. If I see one black and blue mark on her—"

"Steven," Angie cupped his shoulder, the way their father often did, "Jackie's not the type to pick someone like that. Have some faith."

"Her track record's crap." He pulled away from her and slumped down on the bed. "She picked Kelso, who cheated on her. Then she picked me—and I hurt her. I really freakin' hurt her."

"Oh, bro..." she sat on the bed with him, "she hurt you, too."

Angie stayed by his side in silence Sometimes that was all he needed, a silent companion, but not tonight.

"She's past me, I get that," he said. "I'm her past, but she's gotta have a future—a happy one."

"What about you?" she said. "What about your future?"

"Forfeit for now."

"And other women?"

"Forfeit."

She slipped her palm over his knee and squeezed. "You idiot. You really do love her."

"Yup."

"Why? There hasn't been anything substantial between you in two years."

"Sure there has." A smile threaded across his lips, and Angie must have noticed because she slapped his thigh.

"No!" she said. "Not—"

"The cat."

"Oh, God. A cat is not enough to keep you in love with someone who cheated on you, Steven!"

"She didn't cheat on me," he said. "She was tryin' to free herself, just like I did with that damn nurse. The way she is with our cat, man—whenever she pets him—it's there."

"What is?" Angie pushed herself from the bed and stood in front of him. She was exasperated, that much was clear. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her foot tapped on the floor. "What's there?"

"Everything, man," he said hoarsely. His throat suddenly felt very thick. A lump had formed. He tried to swallow it down, but how did one swallow two years of regret?

"Everything what?" she said and clutched her own arms. Her nails dug into her skin. "Steven, I don't like vague. Vague makes me break out in hives. Be specific."

He gathered his rolled-up socks before answering. "Everything I want."

"We'll have him for dinner," John said,. "next week. Invite him over."

"Are you serious?" Jackie sprang for her chair. Her dressing room at the TV studio had no windows, but the sun seemed to be shining through the walls. Her relief and joy had to be influencing her. She'd told John without padding or preparation that Steven moved to Glenview. John didn't flinch or frown. His demeanor remained calm and smooth, and she ran her palm over his bearded cheek. "Thank you, baby."

"Of course." His arms curled around her back, and he drew her to his chest. "It'll be nice for you to have an old friend around."

"Y—yeah." She had trouble breathing as tightly as he was holding her, but his affection was always super-charged. She never had to question how he felt about her, which was a nice change from her relationship norm. "I have to get into makeup for the show," she said, and he let her go, but her mood was so bright that she'd probably glow on camera without translucent powder or blush.

Her hour of Wake Up, Chicago! went by in a flash, as did her various staff meetings and creative sessions. John's private moments with her throughout the day reinforced her earlier glee, but once they got home, doubt crept in.

Because of Shade.

John normally ignored Shade's presence. He wasn't an animal person, and Jackie had interrogated him thoroughly before she moved into his house. Would he be all right with Shade living there? Even at four-years-old, Shade still acted like a kitten. He had a tendency to knock things over. Any delicate knickknacks John was partial to would have to be put in a safe place.

John had answered all her concerns graciously, and he'd placed most of his treasured items on shelves Shade couldn't reach. The only thing John kept in harm's way was his local Daytime Emmy award for Outstanding Talk Show. He was understandably proud of it, and he refused to remove it from the living room.

Jackie warned him repeatedly about the danger. His award was displayed on a bookcase, on a shelf Shade could easily step onto from the neighboring bureau. Fortunately, Shade never seemed interested, and she was thankful relations between her two loves had remained peaceful. Until tonight.

The discord began with a slight shove. Shade often liked to greet John with a curious sniff. John never petted him in return or really touched him. But tonight at the dinner table, Shade trotted up to him and sniffed his ankle. John should have ignored it, but he half-kicked Shade away with his foot.

Jackie said nothing about it. The behavior had to be a fluke. That was what she told herself, at least. John didn't repeat the act when Shade sniffed his hand before bedtime, but during their next evening at home, John did something else he hadn't done before.

Shade wasn't a vocal cat. That Wednesday night, however, his claw got caught on Jackie's afghan. The knitted blanket was draped over the leather sectional sofa. Shade liked to sleep on it, but sometimes he got stuck.

"Jackie," John called from the living room, "take care of your cat."

She rushed out of the kitchen but not in time. Shade was tugging on the afghan and meowed in fear.

"Shut up," John said and swiped his hand in Shade's direction. Cat and man were beside each other on the sofa, and walking around it took some time. "Jackie, do something already. I'm trying to watch the game here."

"I can only move as fast I can move," she said. "This stupid sectional is a monster. Ever think of freeing Shade yourself?"

"Come on, babe. I've been working all day—"

"So have I."

"I don't want that thing to bite me."

She swallowed a groan. Shade had never bitten anyone, not even when he was getting shots at the vet. She'd told John this countless times, but he never seemed to absorb it.

Shade fell to the floor in his attempt to get free. The afghan remained on the sofa, though, and his paw was stretched out above him. Jackie finally reached him after a frantic few seconds, and she unhooked his claw from the afghan's purple yarn.

"It's okay, baby," she said as he bounded away. "You just need a nail-cut." She intended to get the claw scissors, but John grasped her hips and pulled her into his lap. "Hey!"

"Hey, yourself." He pressed a scratchy, bearded kiss into her neck. "Watch the game with me."

"I have to cut Shade's nails."

"Later."

"No, now." She pushed herself off his lap and pointed at him. "And you better think about your attitude."

"What?"

She sighed. "Never mind."

John was tired, a little cranky. She could still dismiss his behavior as a fluke, so she chose not to confront him. But on Thursday, the discord escalated to an intolerable degree.

Shade was curled up on the leather sofa. To rational eyes, he looked like an adorable ball of cream-colored fur. John, though, seemed to see only an invader. Shade just so happened to be sleeping in John's favorite spot, and to Jackie's horror, John yanked Shade up and tossed him to the floor.

Jackie's heart folded in on itself. Shade had purred a split-second before John hurled him down. Actually purred with affection.

"John!" she shouted. She'd never truly fought with him before, but tonight she yelled for a good five minutes. "Don't you ever do that to him again!"

John didn't yell back. Raising his voice wasn't in his nature. He always responded in an even, aggravatingly even, tone. "It's an animal," he said. "He'll get over it. I didn't even drop him from that high—"

"You're over six-feet tall, and you threw him from chest-height."

"Jackie, his DNA is encoded to deal with evading predators. A little fall is nothing."

She glared at him, hoping her anger had translated into her eyes. "So if I drop our future babies from above my head—"

"Shade isn't a baby. It's a damn cat." John cupped her shoulders, and he forcibly turned her toward the dining area, situated at the far end of their living room. Shade had retreated beneath the iron-and-glass dining table and was licking his paws obsessively. That was his self-soothing behavior. "See?" John said. "He's gotten over it already. He's relaxing, giving himself a bath. Maybe you should follow suit." He began to push her toward her bathroom.

"Oh, whatever." She tore his hands from her shoulders. Sometimes, he was too physically controlling, and now Shade had experienced the same thing. "You're so damn grabby," she said and stepped back from him. "It's disrespectful, and I don't like it."

He frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Don't grab me, and don't grab my cat. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and he seemed sincere. The next day, he romanced her with kind gestures. He left loving notes at the TV studio. They were hidden in her dressing room and taped to her anchor desk. He also bought Shade a ceramic fountain to drink fresh, streaming water from—and even petted him a little.

Peace had returned to their house, but the following morning, Jackie's nerves sparked into anxious fireworks. Her ex and current boyfriend would have hours together tonight. In the last year, they'd clocked only five minutes of interaction between them, thanks to a scheduling error on her part.

Steven needed to come to the house, though. He hadn't seen Shade in months, not since Jackie moved in with John. Steven's visitation rights had to be reinstated.

He arrived at 7:04 p.m. John shook his hand in the foyer then offered him wine. Steven refused politely and crouched down. Shade was already loping up to him.

"Hey, Cat," Steven said but let Shade make the first move. Shade's tail was high in the air, and he butted his head into Steven's chin. "Miss me?"

"He did," Jackie said.

"Amazing." John was laughing, and he said to Steven, "He hasn't seen you in—what, three months? How the heck does the critter even recognize people? "

"Scent," Jackie and Steven said together, and she giggled. John really wasn't an animal person, but people could change.

The earthy smell of John's cooking permeated the house. He'd prepared pork in a mushroom cream sauce, and the aroma drew everyone to the dining area. Shade followed. He brushed himself against Steven's legs, and Steven picked him up.

"Need some attention?" Steven said, and his tone was so gentle that Jackie's breath hitched. He cradled Shade like an infant to his chest. His fingers scratched Shade's fuzzy cheeks and chin until Shade's eyes closed, and his purrs took over the room.

The sight prompted Jackie to join them. She stroked Shade's side and kissed the top of his head. Then she and Steven engaged in their usual cat-talk while John went to the kitchen.

John's trust in her was heartening. Unlike Steven, he seemed to know an ex-lover was just that, an ex. And after a dinner of boring but safe baseball conversation, he extended Steven a generous offer of biweekly visits to see Shade.

Jackie could hardly believe it; Steven would get to come over twice a month. The situation elated her, perhaps, more than it should have. But moving to Chicago two years ago, leaving everything and everyone she knew behind had taken an emotional toll. She was only beginning to realize how much of a toll, to feel it. With Steven fifteen minutes away, though, the two halves of her life—past and present—would stop warring with each other.

That was what she told herself, at least.