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

CHAPTER 9
OVERBROKE

The Monday following her engagement, Jackie floated in a joyous dream. Her co-anchors, Lenny and Tom, congratulated her on-air. Then John rushed onto the set and surprised her with two-dozen roses. Afterward, her happiness spilled into her creativity. She led the day's brainstorming session with Lenny, Tom, and various producers. They liked seven out of the ten ideas she proposed for future segments, and they lamented her eventual migration to Illinois This Morning.

"Congratulations," one of the producers said to her privately. It was Stanley Koppel, the man who'd originally hired her two years ago. The meeting was over, and he walked her to her dressing room. "Johnny finally did it, huh?"

"Yeah." Jackie wiggled her ring finger at him. She loved how the diamond sparkled in the light, but something about Stan's question struck her wrong. "What do you mean by 'finally'? Was he planning to ask me for a while?"

"You could say that." Stan leaned against the doorway of her dressing room. A coffee was in his hand, and he sipped at it with an amused grin. "John was the one who originally saw your reel."

"From the public access show?"

"Uh-huh. He fell in love with you on the spot."

Jackie sat at her vanity. The surface was blanketed by promotional items, like makeup and shampoo from high-end companies. She opened a compact of foundation from the French brand Nous Sommes. The color was too light for her olive skin, but she applied it to her cheeks anyway. Her thoughts were going places she didn't want them to, and a distracted body often created a distracted mind.

"Told me to hire you," Stan continued. "Well, first he made me watch your reel and spat out words like 'beautiful,' 'charismatic,' 'hilarious,' and, 'has it all'. Then he said, 'Do whatever it takes to hire that girl.'"

Jackie's attention drifted from her own face to Stan's. The vanity's mirror was reflecting it at her. He was a handsome man in his own way. His green eyes were bright, and whoever styled his chestnut hair should've won an award. He could've easily been in front of the camera instead of behind it. He certainly enjoyed the sound of his own voice enough.

Then again, interviewers needed to know when to shut up, like Jackie was doing now. He'd tell her everything she was curious about, without her asking one single question.

"After you called me," he said, "I told John you accepted the job—and you know what he did?" He raised a finger, and, at first, she thought he was flipping her off. But it was his ring finger. "He went out and bought that ring."

"He what?" She turned from the vanity and stared at Stan directly.

He began to chuckle. "What can I say, Jacks? When John wants something, he wants it. I scoffed at him, but he wanted you, and he got you..." He chuckled some more. "The man should teach classes on creative visualization. It's amazing."

"Yes..." she said through gritted teeth, "amazing." Then she stood up and swiped Stan's coffee from him.

"Hey!"

"What did I tell you about calling me 'Jacks'?"

He scratched his temple. "Uh..."

"Do I look like a 'Jacks'?" she said.

"No."

"Do I look like someone who'd find being called 'Jacks' even the least bit endearing?"

"No."

"I wasn't raised in a trailer, and my parents aren't first cousins. My name is Jackie, understand?"

"I do now," he said. "Can I have my coffee back?"

She shoved the paper cup back into his hand and charged out of her dressing room. Stan could be terribly dense, but her fury belonged elsewhere. The true culprit was on set, busy working with the lighting director for tomorrow's shoot.

"You manipulated me," she said behind John's head. Without missing a beat, he grasped her wrist and pulled her away from the set. "My career, John," she said as he led her backstage. "You masterminded every step so you could marry me?"

"No." He brought her to a dark, lonely corner of the studio. "When I love, I love. I wanted to give you everything you wanted. If you fell in love with me in the process, that was a bonus."

She tapped the diamond of her ring. "Then why'd ya buy this before we even met?"

"Know the philosophy of 'dress for your dream job'? Well, it's the same thing here. I bought a ring for my dream woman. I figured it couldn't hurt to be prepared."

"But how did you know it was me? Without even knowing me?"

"I knew I wanted to get married. I was—am—very much ready," he said. "I just hadn't found the right woman. On your reel, witnessing your sense of humor and confidence... your beauty," he stroked her cheek, and she didn't recoil, "I knew you were the right woman."

His touch, what it inspired, confused her. She desperately ached to be touched this way, so why did the contact foster more longing than it satisfied?

"Any woman could have fit that slot," she said but pressed her cheek into his palm. "I'm just a piece of modular furniture to you, like your ugly sectional. Yeah, I said it: your taste in furniture sucks!"

John didn't frown or withdraw his hand; he laughed. "So we'll go shopping together and redecorate. Unlike the couch, I'd take issue with exchanging you. You have to know that, Jackie."

He moved closer and eased her into his arms. Even with her three-inch heels, her head reached only his chest. The man was too tall for her, just like Michael had been.

"I'm a romantic, okay?" he said. "And so are you. You dreamed of perfect love, and we have it. Our kids'll probably think their daddy is an idealistic nut, but I want them to fight for what they want. Just like I fought—like I'm fighting now—to have you."

"You don't have to fight anymore," she said quietly. "You have me."

She laid her head against him, and as he rubbed her back, that inexplicable disgust of hers returned.

Hyde entered Jackie's house for his bi-monthly visit to Shade, and several sights jarred him at once. First was the cast-and-sling combo over Jackie's left arm. She'd broken it—or someone had broken it for her. Second was diamond ring on her left ring finger. Looked like John Boy had proposed, and she'd accepted. Third was Shade. The cat didn't trot up to Hyde in the foyer. Shade remained in the living room instead, sitting atop the leather sectional sofa.

Hyde approached Shade slowly, but Shade seemed to recognize him. The cat stood and stretched his back. Then his tail straightened up, and he walked to Hyde on the sofa. Hyde petted his cream-colored fur, and a scratchy purr kicked up in Shade's throat.

"What's wrong with him?" Hyde said to Jackie. It was the first thing he'd said since arriving. His other two concerns were waiting in line.

"He has a hairball," she said. "I'm giving him stuff for it."

"Cat doesn't get those. You sure that's what it is?"

"He's been coughing, too, like he's trying to throw up. I don't think he knows how." She stroked Shade behind the ears. "But the raspiness sounds better than it did last weekend... Well, I think it does. Anyway, if he's still coughing by next Tuesday, I'll bring him to the vet."

"If you don't, I will."

She glowered. "Of course I will. I won't let anything happen to him."

"Then why's he so cagey?"

"Maybe he's tired."

"Bull," Hyde said. "You and John been fighting around him? Shoutin'?"

"John doesn't shout." Jackie withdrew from sofa. She grasped her cast with her right hand, and her thumb rubbed the plaster. The behavior was a tell. Whenever her fingers moved obsessively over something—like a hangnail or peeling wallpaper—it meant she was hiding something.

"What happened, Jackie?"

"Okay, look..." she inhaled deeply, "he promised it would never happen again—"

"What did he do?"

"Shade broke John's Emmy Award, and John hit Shade with the afghan over there." She jutted her chin at a blanket draped over the sofa. "He's learning how to be an animal person. It's just been a very slow process."

Hyde became very still, and his voice grew quiet, but inside him the earth was quaking. "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"He break your arm, too?"

Jackie's mouth fell open, and she shook her head, as if she hadn't quite heard him. "Where the hell did you come up with that?" she said after a moment. "God, did you smoke a bowl before you came over here?"

"I never smoke when I—" He pinched the bridge of his nose; he had to stay focused, man. The tectonic plates of emotional control had ruptured, and the resulting energy was passing into his body. "Here's where I came up with it: the back-of- neck-squeezes, how he physically drags you around. I know the signs of suppressed rage, doll. I'm the same damn way—"

"No, you're not." She avoided his eyes and looked toward Shade. "You're nothing like that."

"Yeah, I am, only I'd get myself killed in a bar fight instead of taking it out on a chick. Your boyfriend—hell, I guess he's your fiancé now—all he needs is one trigger to set him off." Hyde gestured to her cast. "Looks like it already happened."

Her gaze returned to him, as hard and impenetrable as the diamond of her ring. "John had nothing to do with that. I was learning how to swing on the 'flying trapeze' for a segment on the show, and I became the 'Incredible Crashing Jackie'. I slammed into the safety net and fractured my ulna."

"You got a tape of that?"

"Drive me to the studio, and you can see it for yourself."

He nodded. "Where're your keys?"

She laughed. "You're serious? My God... of course you are."

She walked past him, bumping his shoulder in the process. She was heading for the foyer, and he followed. Her jacket dangled from the coat rack. She dug her right hand into the pocket and plucked out her keys. He tried to grab them, but she whipped them away.

"No, Steven. You seeing the tape shouldn't be necessary. You should just trust that I'm telling you the truth... Oh, but trusting me has never been your strong suit, has it?"

"You don't get to play that card, man." He strode back to the living room, before she could entertain thoughts of kicking him out. Shade was where they left him on the sofa, and Hyde picked him up. "You okay, Cat?"

Shade's purr was still scratchy, and his breathing seemed forced. Hyde knew little about hairballs except for the little Jackie and Donna had told him over the years. The symptoms seemed spot-on, but Hyde had a bad feeling about it.

"What are you talking about?" Jackie said behind him. "I was nothing but trusting of you."

He let out a single laugh and sat on the hardwood floor with Shade in his lap. "You being here is real proof of that."

"Where? In this house? In the living room? You're making no sense."

In Illinois, he wanted to say. In this life. But he kept his eyes on Shade's pouchy, kittenish face and said, "You sure called me up right away after John Boy beat up our cat."

"He didn't beat him—"

"Jackie, you always freakin' told me to tell you if somethin' was wrong, if Shade had a busted claw or what his weight was after his exams. You waited a damn week to tell me about this." He pointed at Shade's stomach; it rose abruptly with the cat's breath and fell just as abruptly.

"It's just a hairball, Steven."

"How long you been engaged for?"

"Excuse me?"

He looked up at her but continued to pet Shade. "Woulda been nice to know before I walked in here that you were getting hitched. Didn't trust me with that either, huh?"

"You're being ridiculous!" She knelt down and rubbed one of Shade's front paws. "Why do you even care?"

"Stupid question. Got another?"

"John proposed last weekend, okay?"

"After his Shade-beating or before?"

Jackie's mouth clamped shut, and she frowned.

"Was it the first time?" he said, and her breath grew as labored as Shade's. "What else did the butthole do?"

"Don't call him that."

"What else did he do?"

"Nothing..." she said.

He didn't believe her, and he lowered his forehead over Shade's face. The cat seemed lethargic on top of everything else, but he stretched out a paw and batted Hyde's curls. Hyde had let his hair grow out again, the way he liked it. His shorter haircuts had been for Jackie.

"Remember what I told you about Edna?" he said. "How not getting hit by her was a special occasion? Patterns of behavior, man. Everyone's got 'em, including your fiancé.You don't wanna see it, that's your problem. But letting Shade get hurt 'cause you're bein' willingly blind— "

"I've had enough." She stood up, a little wobbly thanks to the cast on her arm. "Get out."

"Tell me where your cat carrier is, and I will."

"You're not taking Shade with you."

Hyde got to his feet with a purring Shade draped over his shoulder. "Like hell I'm not."

"I'll call the police."

"Call 'em." He opened the living room closet, a huge thing that took up a third of one wall. The carrier had to be somewhere among all the clothes, but as docile as Shade was, Hyde could probably bring him to the Camino without it.

He aimed to do just that. He left the closet and went with Shade to the front door. Jackie, though, rushed in front of them. "You'd go to jail for him?" she said.

"To keep him safe, yeah," he said, and his mind raced through his options. He'd have to abandon the Camino and rent a car under an assumed name, but giving Shade to anyone he and Jackie both knew wouldn't work. She'd figure it out, get him back, and let John have at him.

She reached toward Hyde now and grasped his hand. Her eyes had grown wet, but she wasn't crying. "I'll keep him safe, Steven. I promise."

"Don't care if he's with me," his squeezed her palm softly, "but he deserves better than this."

She laced her fingers between his, a surprising but not unwelcome gesture. Had she understood his true meaning? That he was referring not only to the cat but to herself?

"If—if John can't handle living with him," she said, "Shade's yours." She brought herself closer, and a duo of tears glided down her cheeks. "Please, don't take Shade from me. I need him..." she pressed her forehead into Hyde's arm, like she used to, "and I need you to trust me."

She could've been manipulating him. Their relationship had started off that way, with crocodile tears so he'd take her to his damn prom. But doubts of her sincerity evaporated when she unlocked one of her inner doors. She told him everything John had done to Shade—from ignoring his distress to tossing him off the couch. She was trusting Hyde with these things, taking a gamble that he'd react rationally.

He answered by transferring Shade from his shoulder to hers.

After Steven left, Jackie cuddled Shade to her chest. "He trusts me," she whispered into his fur. Steven had let her keep Shade, and she'd be worthy of that trust. If John hurt one more hair on Shade's body...

"Don't care if he's with me, but he deserves better than this."

She put Shade down on the floor, and he chased after a dust bunny in the foyer. She was glad to see him active. He'd been less playful lately, but maybe he was finally growing up.

"Patterns of behavior, man. Everyone's got 'em, including your fiancé."

John had never raised a hand to her. If he had, their relationship would've been long over. But when John came home that evening from a day of golf, she confronted him immediately: "Do you punish me through the cat?"

John's brow furrowed, and he didn't break his stride toward the kitchen. She followed him, and he took a can of Heineken from the fridge. "Come again?" he said, but only after his first swallow of beer.

"Steven moves to Glenview, and you're sweet about it to me—but Shade gets treated like dirt for the next few days. Then I tell you I'm considering a move to Illinois This Morning. You accept it—but out of nowhere, you decide to rearrange the bookshelf in the living room."

She inhaled a shaky breath; these were things she'd thought about but never dared say. She knew too well how false accusations decimated relationships. But her doubts had grown fat on what she'd witnessed, and their girth exceeded the confines of her mind and body.

"You put your Emmy Award on the bureau," she continued, "which you know Shade jumps on, then turn your back on it." She grasped the kitchen counter for support. "You set him up, didn't you? You wanted him to break it."

"Why would I—no." He slammed his Heineken down on the counter, and beer splashed onto her fingers. "Your ex plant this garbage in your head?"

"Patterns, John. You have a pattern of behavior." She dried her hand on a dishcloth. "Maybe you're not aware of what you're doing, but if I make you angry, just talk to me about it. Better for us to shout at each other for a few minutes than for you to—"

"You want me to shout, Jackie? I can shout. Your ex isn't allowed in my damn house anymore! How's that?" He snatched his beer from the counter and marched from the kitchen.

She pursued him into the living room. "Your house? This is my house, too. I am your fiancée."

"You didn't pay for it."

"I'm paying for it now. That's my check covering half the mortgage each month."

He walked around the leather sectional, and she followed. He sat down with his beer, but she remained standing. "You've got patterns, too, you know," he said. "You're always questioning me after Hyde comes over."

"No, I don't."

"You do." His voice rose to a mocking pitch. "'Why do you hug me so tightly?' 'Why won't you shave your beard?' 'Can't you be more playful?' Jesus."

"I..." she sat down next to him, "I do that?"

"Yeah."

Her hand slid over his knee, but he didn't react except to sip at his beer. "I'm sorry," she said. "I had no idea... but I'm aware of it now, and I won't do it anymore, okay?"

John snaked his arm around her shoulders and carefully drew her into an embrace. He finally seemed heedful of her cast—after four days of reminding.

"I'm sorry, too," he said, "and maybe you're right. Maybe I've been passive-aggressive toward the cat. I'll do my best in the future to put my anger where it belongs."

"Fighting is better than imploding," she said and snuggled into his chest.

His apology and admission made her feel more secure, and they spent the next day at Marquette Park. They walked through the rose garden together and had a picnic by the lagoon. That evening, John cooked one of her favorite meals, chicken cutlets brasciole with lemon-pepper capellini. He was treating her like royalty, as he often did after they had a major disagreement. Another pattern of behavior.

Dinner led to a romantic movie on the sofa, which eventually led to the bedroom. Her blouse was unbuttoned, and John was dropping scratchy kisses onto her bare shoulder, but Shade's meows cut through the door. He sounded as if he were in pain or afraid.

"John, hold on—" She tapped John's back, but he took it as invitation to suck on her neck. "Stop—Shade... don't you hear him?"

"He's probably just hungry," he said into her lips, "or jealous that you're not spending time with him." He tried to push a kiss deep into her mouth, but she pulled away. "Come on, Jackie..."

She ignored him and ran out into the hall. Shade was sitting on the floor. His stomach contracted sharply then expanded, contracted then expanded, and his nose was purple.

"Oh, my God. He can't breathe..." She buttoned her blouse with frantic fingers. "John, get out here! Shade can't breathe!"

John's footsteps pounded behind her. "He's probably just trying to puke up a hairball."

"No, look at his nose. He's in trouble. Get the cat carrier. Now.""You're making too big a deal of—"

"John, get the damn carrier!"

"Fine," he said. "Where is it?"

She told him, and he began a too-slow walk toward the stairs. "Hurry up!" she shouted. "Hurry!" But she didn't know if he had or not. Her full focus was on Shade. He meowed again, as if he were terrified; then his body collapsed onto her hand. "Shade?"

He'd lost consciousness. His eyes were closed, but they opened a few moments later, and hers filled with tears.

"What's happening to you?" she said and petted him. He began to purr—a very raspy purr. "Shh... don't," but he kept on purring.

His affection toward her in this moment anguished her more than his collapse. How could he still be so loving when his life was in danger? When he was so afraid? She wanted to cry, to breakdown in a heap of sobbing. But Shade needed her to be clear-headed, so she controlled herself until John arrived with the carrier.

Shade was standing now, and his nose seemed less purple, but Jackie's panic was growing. Tears were pooling in her eyes, but she refused to cry. "John, get him inside—I can't. The cast..."

"I don't know how," John said.

"Just grab him—"

But action on their parts wasn't necessary. John had put the carrier on the floor by Shade. The gate was open, and Shade walked inside willingly. That worried Jackie even more.

She stood with the carrier in her right hand. "You have to drive me to the animal hospital."

John grimaced. "You give that cat more attention than me. Every little weird sound it makes, you fuss over. Can't it wait until morning?"

"I don't have time for this." She hurried toward one of the guest rooms.

"You said we should fight when I'm pissed. And I'm pissed now, so I'm fight—"

She made it to the guest room and kicked the door closed. She put Shade's carrier down then locked the door for safety. John banged on it, but she dashed to the phone and dialed Steven's number. The phone rang once... twice...

"'lo?"

Steven had picked up, and the sound of his voice brought forth her sobs. She could no longer hold them back. "Oh, God—" she managed to say. "Oh, God—"

"Jackie? What's goin' on?"

"It's Shade! He can't breathe. I don't know why. It's not hairballs, it's not hairballs! I have to get him to the animal hospital, and I can't drive because my arm is broken, and John's being an ass and won't drive me."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

Jackie hung up the phone and wiped her eyes, and John entered the room. He must have gotten the key and unlocked the door.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, all right?" he said and picked up Shade's carrier. "Let's go to the animal hospital."

She left a grateful kiss on his lips, "I have to write a note!" and sped from the room.

"A what?"

"A note, a note!"

She raced to their bedroom and scribbled Steven a quick note. It said that John had agreed to drive and where the animal hospital was. She taped the note to the front door of the house. Steven's name was written in large, darkened letters on the paper. Then she joined John and Shade in John's car, a Chevy Camaro.

Shade's nose was purple again, and as John started up the engine, Jackie said, "Break the speed limit."