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

CHAPTER 8
ACCUMULATOR

Jackie squeezed Steven's hand before he left the house. The gesture was surreptitious, hidden away from John's eyes. She didn't want him making more of it than it was, although he probably wouldn't have. He'd been nothing but gracious to Steven during dinner, and Jackie rewarded him by making love with him twice that night. She gave it all her effort, but mostly what she felt was a deep sense of gratitude.

She remained in his arms afterward, far longer than she liked. Usually, she'd retreat to her own corner of their king-sized bed, a dark brown monstrosity she abhorred. But at least it wasn't white, black, or gray like the rest of the house.

"We should make double-sex a thing," John said and held her tighter. "We could call it the 'Saturday Night Special'. I'll have Sandra in the contracts department write it up."

She smacked his wrist. "Don't you dare! Do you know how much work it'll be to get all my loopholes in? I mean, what if I want to do it twice on a Wednesday? Or three times on Saturday? Contracts have no place in love-making."

"You think I'm serious?" He was laughing. "I'd never do that."

She laughed with him, more as an apology than from amusement, and the conversation ended there.

John's head eventually lolled against her shoulder in sleep. She could have extricated herself then, but she forced herself to stay put. A disturbing question had risen to her mind: why didn't she enjoy sleeping in John's arms? She had no complaints about his physical prowess, but like everything else in her perfect life, something about his embrace felt incomplete.

She kissed John's dozing, bearded face, and an equally disturbing fact rose to her mind. Steven had squeezed her hand in return before she let him go, and the moment felt impossibly whole.

"No," she whispered into the dark. She'd had an exhausting day full of nervous anticipation. She couldn't be interpreting things correctly, but her body begged to differ. Disgust was spreading outward from her chest, as if a parasitic wasp had laid eggs in her heart. Those eggs were hatching, and her heart pumped the gnawing, blood-drinking larvae into her veins.

She hugged John's arms closer to her body, but that only increased her self-revulsion. She slipped free of him and the bed, but this feeling wasn't new. Normally, it happened under different circumstances, in combination with other emotions she couldn't untangle.. This time, she had something to work with, something to work out.

Her disgust drove her to the guest room down the hall. John had allowed her to keep Shade's cat tree there, and she found her cat sleeping on the second highest platform. Ambient light from the window allowed her to see his outline. One of his hind legs was dangling over the side, and she petted it. He perked up his head, clearly surprised by the wake-up call, but then he settled into a deep purr.

The sound soothed her mind enough to think properly. "It's not my past he represents," she said to an expectant Shade. He'd turned onto his back for a belly rub. She obliged until he began to wrestle with her hand. "No, we're not doing that, kitty."

A thick rope was attached to the cat tree, to the underside of Shade's platform. She pulled the rope up and put it into Shade's waiting paws. That seemed to satisfy him because he clawed at it and bit it while she petted his back.

"Steven isn't empty," she confessed quietly. She'd barely heard herself but grew paranoid. She couldn't risk John hearing her. He'd more than likely misinterpret what she was saying, just as she'd misunderstood her own feelings a few minutes ago.

John willingly gave Jackie so much, far more than she'd tried to force out of Steven. John didn't portion out his "I love you"s or cower from commitment. He spent money on her even though she had her own, he sang to her spontaneously—with a nice enough voice to pull it off—and admitting she was a beautiful had never been a struggle for him.

Yet every time Steven held Shade, Steven's eyes filled with a quality John didn't have: compassion. It lay at the bottom of Steven's heart like bedrock, a solid foundation. She'd once gambled on it to lead him to their future together. She'd made the right bet but folded before he'd shown his cards.

The game was different now, with a new player. He was full of easy affection but no tenderness. The cards seemed transparent, too. Nothing to guess, no mysteries to solve. But when Steven had squeezed her hand, he'd startled her with how a simple, quiet gesture could communicate so much.

Or, perhaps, nothing was in it. Maybe he'd just roused her own cicada-like self-doubt, but her uncertainty had a much faster life-cycle, rising from her subconscious every few weeks instead of every seventeen years.

"Thanks, cutie-pie," she said to Shade. She was feeling remarkably clear, and the morning brought more clarity. Her life was on the right trajectory. She merely had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, as if she were a robot programmed without emotion.

Jackie succeeded quite well at it, for a month.

Both of Steven's visits to Shade were uneventful, at least on the surface. He stayed over for an hour each time, the first with John present, the second without. Jackie and Steven took turns tossing Shade's foam balls. He fed Shade a few cat treats and cuddled him into a purring state of paradise.

During his second visit, Steven invited Jackie to pet Shade with him. Shade was sitting on top of John's huge, black sectional in the living room. She rubbed the fuzzy bridge of Shade's nose with her knuckle, but Steven's eyes lingered on her arm. A purple bruise had marred her creamy skin.

"What happened?" he said.

She groaned and shook her head at the memory. "This moronic segment on the showabout toys. I was interviewing Chuck Spry 'the Toy Guy'. One of his doohickeys, a spaceship that launched plastic missiles, misfired."

"Oh." Steven's shoulders slumped, as if he'd been holding his breath. "Glad it wasn't serious."

"Not serious? Steven, I have to wear arm makeup to cover up my deformity. Do you know how annoying that is? The concealer keeps getting on my clothes."

"'Deformity'?" He broke into laughter, loud enough to scare Shade off his perch on the sofa.

"Shh," Jackie pulled up his shirt collar and covered his still-laughing mouth with it. He reminded her of a little boy whenever he did that, and she looked elsewhere. The the sight was too endearing, but Shade didn't seem to agree. He was staring at Steven from a safe distance away.

"Crap." Steven's laughter vanished. He crouched to the floor and extended his hand toward Shade. "Come 'ere, Cat," he said and made kissy noises.

Shade's tail straightened up—an indication of happiness—and he trotted to Steven's side. He rubbed his kittenish, pouchy cheeks against Steven's fingers.

Jackie was giggling, so much so that tears rimmed her eyes. "You—you're adorable when you call Shade to you. I should do a segment on 'Tough Men who Kissy Their Cats...'" She smacked her lips together repeatedly, copying what Steven had done. "Kissy, kissy..."

Steven shrugged and kept petting Shade. "He's freakin' cute. Blackmailing me won't work."

"I'd rather blackmail your dad. He has way more money."

"Jackie..." He didn't seem to know how to respond. He scowled for a second then sighed. The evolution of his reaction stopped there, and Jackie stiffened. The sigh would've become a chuckle when they were dating and then, finally, a hug. His arms would wrap around her back while his chin slid over her shoulder.

It was a closeness she instinctively expected, but the moment didn't register until after his visit was over. She hadn't been embraced for almost a week. John was away, overseeing a shoot in Las Vegas. Wake Up, Chicago!'s first two hours were being broadcast from there. His absence must have mixed together with Steven's presence. She was missing her man, and she'd never been good at handling that.

Michael was gone? Just latch onto Steven. Steven not available? Then how about Fez?

She'd hopped off the carousel of love years ago, and she had no interest in getting back on. But with her house empty again, uncertainty crawled from the depths of her mind, carrying with it that sense of incompleteness. John usually wasn't home when she felt like this. Her throat tightened, and her stomach hurt. She lay back on her bed, unable to do anything but stare at her ceiling. Tears spilled over the sides of her face, but she didn't know what was in them. No thoughts were attached.

This was her current state of being, lying down with thoughtless tears.

Without fail, though, Shade leapt onto the bed and settled onto her chest. His purr vibrated into her heart, and frightening words slipped out of her mouth: "I miss him, Shade. I miss him... I miss him!"

Her voice was unleashing feelings she'd had no awareness of until now. She should have meant John. She willed her brain to mean John, but her traitor mouth spoke another name. "Steven! I want Steven." She turned her face into her pillow, as if that would stifle the truth. "I miss him so damn much!"

Her words eroded into screaming sobs, and she sat up abruptly, causing Shade to jump away. She huddled over her bent legs, pressed her forehead into her knees. Memories were flooding her system—of Steven's touch, of his warmth and laugh. She'd never properly mourned him, and her body could no longer hold onto the grief.

Two hours passed before she was done. She had to be done, but her revulsion whispered other truths. Grief wasn't her only affliction. A deep sense of yearning had infested her, something that could never be satisfied.

She refused to sit still anymore and paced through the house. It was almost as large as her childhood home—with too many unused bedrooms and an impersonal dining room. John's decorative taste was modern industrial, meaning a lot of metal. He'd allowed her to redecorate their private bathroom and add some details to their bedroom, but sometimes she felt like a visitor in her own home. And now her own body seemed foreign to her.

She made a stop in the living room. Its black sectional took up most of the space, and walking around it was a hassle. She scrambled over the back instead and fell onto the leather cushions. The act was something Steven would have done, something John would have admonished her for—an act of rebellion.

"Screw you, John," she said but didn't know why. He was so loving and supportive. He'd piloted her career to incredible heights, had no problem spoiling her with expensive, shiny things. Fifteen-year-old Jackie found fulfillment in him, but adult Jackie inexplicably wanted more.

John's sleek and cold metal telephone sat on the coffee table. Her fingers closed around the receiver. Steven lived fifteen minutes away. One call, and he'd come back over...

But not for her. Not to hold her in his arms or to brush tender fingers through her hair. He'd rush over for Shade.

Jackie raised her hand and struck herself across the face. Her cheek burned, but she did it twice more until she was thinking rationally. Grief did crazy things to people. Her own mother had started drinking because of it, had quit her career. Jackie couldn't abandon John the same way she'd been abandoned. He was her present and future, and Steven was nothing.

Two months later, Jackie received an incredible phone call. Wake Up, Chicago!'s rival show Illinois This Morning had made her an offer. The producers asked her to become a co-anchor for ITM's first two hours.

Their long-time anchor, the seventy-two-year-old Patty Sterling, was retiring. Illinois This Morning always skewed toward an older audience, and its network wanted to modern things up. Jackie would make double her salary from WUC and have the same creative input.

The answer "Yes!" clawed up her throat, but she swallowed it back down. Impulsive decisions usually didn't serve her well. Fortunately, the network gave her three weeks to decide.

"ITM understands my situation," she said to John over dinner. She'd brought him to his favorite restaurant in Chicago, Chardonnay. The French cuisine and austere décor often made him receptive to hearing unpleasant news. She hoped it would do so tonight. Wake Up, Chicago! had contracted her as an anchor for only a year. She was too new, and the network hadn't felt secure enough to commit for longer—despite John's enthusiasm about her. "They're more than willing to wait out my WUC contract—"

"Jackie," John said, in a tone that meant, I have a thousand ways to talk you out of this, but she wouldn't let him. Not yet.

"No, listen," she said. "My time on-air at WUC is essentially a year-long audition to become more permanent; you know that. I have seven months left, but ITM already believes I have what it takes—for their first two hours, John. Those are the prime viewership hours. I'd be moving up based purely on my talent. This is my chance to prove to people in the industry—and myself—that I made it on my own merits."

John sighed, and he reached for her hand. Her lobster ravioli was going mostly untouched anyway, so she let his fingers wrap around hers. "Jackie," he said in the same tone as before, "you won't have me championing you over at ITM. There are people, suits, who had major doubts about you at our show. But I fought for you—every day, I fought until they listened. You'll be alone if you take that job."

"Yes, baby, I know. And I fought for myself, too. If I make this leap, and I get the ratings you know I can get, I could have a long-term career at ITM—like Patty Sterling. There's no guarantee Wake Up, Chicago! will ever promote me to its first two hours."

"Or," he squeezed her hand, a little too tightly, "your youth could scare away ITM's core audience. Their ratings'll tumble, and guess who'll get the axe? It's a gamble."

"So was moving to Chicago," she said. "I left everything, but it turned out pretty great, don't you think?"

She flashed him her brightest smile, the one she used on promos for Wake Up, Chicago! "The most dazzling smile on television," TV Guide called it three months ago, but he didn't seem dazzled.

He withdrew his hand and resumed eating his prime rib. "WUC won't take kindly to you jumping ship. You could lose everything. Are you willing to do that?"

"WUC or you?"

"What?"

She hardened her gaze on him. "WUC or you wont 'take kindly' to me 'jumping ship'?"

"WUC," he said after a moment. "I'll miss working with you, but... you have to do what makes you happy. If that's going to ITM, then so be it."

"Thank you." She leaned over the table, cupped his bearded face, and pecked his lips. "Really, thank you."

"You'll do great over there."

Those were John's last words on the subject, and the next week consisted of Jackie accepting the job at Illinois This Morning and explaining the move to her boss at Wake Up, Chicago! He wasn't thrilled, to say the least. Neither were the rest of the suits at the network, but they wouldn't cut her remaining months on the show. She made too-good ratings, and they had no issue capitalizing on that.

By Saturday, Jackie was feeling proud of herself, confident. Her choices were sound. Finally, she knew how to navigate the rough seas of life successfully. As a reward, she'd planned a "girl's day" at the beach with Brooke and other friends. Her supplies were all packed, and she'd put on a swimsuit beneath her clothes. All she had left to do was give John a parting kiss.

She strolled out of the bedroom, but a metallic crash quickened her pace. In the living room, John had the purple afghan in his hands. He whipped it Shade's back, again and again, until Shade fled into the kitchen.

"John, no!" Jackie shouted, but too many feelings fought to escape her voice and eyes. She rushed to John's side and snatched the afghan from his hands. "You can't treat him like that!"

"I've had it, Jackie. I can't live like this anymore." He gestured toward the bureau, and she spotted the cause of his hostility. On the floor was his local Emmy, broken into pieces.

"I told you to put it in a safe place!" she said. "What did you expect?"

"It was in a safe place. I moved it to the bureau for a minute. A minute. I wanted to rearrange the bookshelf, and the next thing I know, BOOM! The damn thing jumped onto bureau and knocked down my Emmy. I mean, look at it, Jackie." He grasped the back of his hair and shook his head repeatedly. "I'm finished, okay? I'm not going to come home every day, worrying about what else he's smashed up."

"He hasn't smashed up anything before this, and we'll... we'll start using spray bottles. But you can't ever hit him—"

"I didn't hit him. I spooked him."

"You hit him, John. I saw it. He's a cat. What're you gonna do if one of our children accidentally breaks something? Whip her, too?"

John's jaw clenched. His eyes widened, and he sucked in a noisy breath through his nose. "For God's sake, get it through your skull: Shade is not a child."

"He's as vulnerable as one, as innocent as one."

"No, Jackie. Just... no." John marched over to his broken Emmy and put its pieces on the bureau. "For a smart woman, you can be—"

"Beautiful," she said. Because John had never insulted her before, and she couldn't let him start now.

"Yeah... and exasperating." He tried reassembling the Emmy, but the effort was useless. "Just give him back to your ex. He seems to like the thing."

"Would you stop calling him a 'thing'? Baby..." she eased her hand over his back and began to rub, "he helped me through some very rough times in my life. Why can't you—if not love him—care about him from that angle?"

"That's like asking me to care about a stuffed animal that poops in my house."

She groaned and left John to fuss over his award. Her main concern was Shade. She found him in one of the guest rooms, cowering under the bed.

"Kitty," she said softly and crouched by the bed frame, "I'm sorry. It's okay..." Shade eventually emerged at her coaxing. He butted his furry head against her chin. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'll keep you safe... even if means giving you back to Steven."

But as she stroked Shade's back, she knew giving him up would be her last resort. John would listen to reason after he calmed down. And he'd understand the consequences if he didn't behave.

Shade flopped onto his side on top of Jackie's foot. He began to purr, but the sound was slightly raspy. His breathing seemed a bit labored, too.

"Do you have a hairball?" she said. "That's a first."

He'd never thrown up, unlike her first cat who vomited hair balls like it was a hobby. Shade probably needed a little help, a kitty laxative. Did she have time to pick one up for him before she hit the beach? She looked at her watch just as the phone rang. Brooke had to be the one calling.

Damn. Jackie should've been on the road ten minutes ago, but the ringing stopped. John must have picked up the phone. She waited, refusing to leave Shade. He deserved some comfort after being traumatized, just as he always comforted her. If Brooke wasthe one calling, John would let Jackie know.

A few minutes passed, and no John. "Great..." she said and reluctantly left Shade, who was still purring, a little raspy, on the floor. His front paws curled and straightened, as if he were kneading bread. She'd brought him to a much happier place, and she smiled in relief before sitting on the bed.

She intended to call Brooke, but John peeked his head into the guest room. "That was your friend," he said. "I told her you had to cancel your plans."

"What?" Jackie's first instinct was to kick him, but she'd outgrown that behavior. "What is wrong with you?"

"Look, I'm sorry." He entered the room quietly and bent down by Shade. Shade jumped to all fours, but when John extended his hand, Shade rubbed his cheek against it. "I'm sorry," John said again, clearly speaking to the cat. "I was too rough. I won't repeat it."

"Cats go by actions, not words," she said. "So do I."

"I know." John remained on his knees. "Want to turn on the lights?"

"Why?"

"Please?"

"Fine." She turned on the lamp beside the bed, and he gestured for her to come closer. "What?"

He reached behind himself and produced a velvet ring box. "Babe..."

"Oh, my God." She covered her mouth. "Omigoff... omigoff," she said, muffled.

"Guess I've got to go to you." He shuffled on his knees to the bed. Then he opened the box, revealing a two-carat princess-cut diamond ring. It must have cost him at least fifteen-thousand dollars. "Jackie, our time together—dating and even before—has been my happiest. I love you... and I can't wait to have kids with you. Even if we have to keep the cat, it won't stop me from asking you this," he pulled her hand away from her mouth, "will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes!" she said without thinking.

He slid the ring onto her shaking finger before kissing her stunned lips. "Mrs. John Hill," he said and wrapped his arms around her waist. She embraced him in return, delighting in the moment. All she'd ever wanted was a family, and now she had one.