Work Text:
A Very Stranger Halloween
Hawkins, Indiana
1984
“Mom! I can’t find my mask!”
Joyce Byers cringed as her youngest son’s voice reverberated down the hall and into the bathroom, where she was hurriedly attempting to get ready for her shift at the grocery store. She loved her sons, and she would not trade them for absolutely anything in the world – they were the honest-to-goodness only fantastic things that had come out of her marriage to Lonnie Byers – but - damn if they didn’t wear on her nerves sometimes with their needs and the timing of said needs.
“Honestly, Will, the Wheelers’ party isn’t until tomorrow night! You’ll find it by then, baby.” Joyce was gargling mouthwash when her son pushed the slightly ajar bathroom door open and popped his head inside, causing her to jump and then choke on the stale-tasting, spearmint liquid. She hurriedly spit the rest out in the sink as she coughed, flinching as Will slapped at her back in a slightly painful, but well-meaning gesture.
“Ugh! Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to scare you – it’s dress up day at school and I need the – are you okay? I need the mask so I can win the costume contest!”
Joyce looked up from the sink at her son and frowned. “You could always go as a maintenance man.” She straightened up, unable to resist smirking at his exasperated eye-roll. Will was going as Michael Myers that year, complete with dark jumpsuit.
“Mo-om!”
Joyce wiped her mouth with a tissue and nodded. “Check the mudroom. You know how that dog likes to take your things and hoard them in there. If it’s not in there, I will help you look for five minutes, but then I have to get you to school and I cannot be late to work today… deal?”
It had been in the mudroom. Will grumbled at the fresh indents in the ivory mask made by Rex’s teeth that could not be fixed, but at least they left the house with time to spare. Jonathan had already left an hour earlier when Steve Harrington had picked him up. Of all the bizarre developments, the other boy had convinced her son to join the Cross Country team with him. Must have been his innate ability to run away from monsters, Joyce had reasoned with a shudder. While Jonathan’s newfound interest in sports and choice of friends confounded Joyce, she could not argue with that fact that it was nice that he was doing more than brooding in his room under a pair of headphones.
As a matter of fact, Jonathan’s newfound social life was making Joyce feel less terrible about having her own. For the past two months, Joyce had been a regular fixture at the Wheeler house when her scheduled allowed. She and Karen Wheeler had rekindled their friendship over drinks and a botched con job, and once it had been established that the two of them would never, ever do anything like that again, they had settled into a no-frills camaraderie. Joyce would sometimes stick around a little longer after dropping off Will, staying for a movie or a long chat. Sometimes, if she was not working a double shift, the two would get lunch or coffee. It was nice.
Karen and Ted were renewing their vows Halloween weekend. Ted had pulled strings in order to get the Hawkins Historical Society to host the event, and it was a costumed affair. Karen had been on Joyce for weeks to pick out a costume that was a bit more risqué, but Joyce had argued that there was no reason for her to embarrass her sons by dressing up provocatively. She had cat ears on a headband, and they had served her well since the first day she took Jonathan trick-or-treating as a child. Karen had rolled her eyes, mumbling something about “junior year” and “Brigitte Bardot” that made Joyce blush. Of course Karen would bring that up, especially when she was suddenly so fixated on the idea of Joyce and Hopper reviving their dead horse of a romantic relationship.
It had been the sixties, and Joyce had been more susceptible to Karen’s suggestions in those days; she had been desperate to be liked in her own quiet way. Karen had dragged her to a barn party the Halloween of junior year. Joyce, wanting to keep an eye on her friend and not wanting to appear less interesting than Karen’s new, older friends, had agreed to go. It was going to be mostly college boys, Karen had informed her. Naturally, she explained, that meant Joyce could not be seen dressed as some boring pumpkin or Raggedy Ann doll -- which confused Joyce because she had never dressed as either of those things for Halloween in her life.
Karen had decided that Joyce ought to try being someone completely different from herself. The miniskirt, tight sweater and blonde wig that Karen helped pick out made it clear that that person was going to be Brigitte Bardot. Karen spent hours teasing and styling the wig, while Joyce spent hours gathering the courage to don the black miniskirt and tall boots; never mind the fact that the sweater was cut so dangerously low and tight that there was no way she could possibly wear a bra underneath it.
You don’t need a bra, anyway. Brigitte probably doesn’t wear them, and she’s got bigger ones than you do. In those days, Joyce sometimes wondered why she stayed such close friends with Karen.
That night, Joyce and Karen had walked into the party, Karen as Ellie May Clampett and Joyce as a person barely able to see through the thick false eyelashes she wore. Karen zeroed in on her college boyfriend immediately. His name had been Gerald Sanders, and they had been going steady since the previous summer break. He was tall, athletic, tan, blonde and accompanied by an older fellow with large glasses and an awkward bearing. They were both dressed as pirates.
This is Ted. He’s a guest lecturer for one of my Economics courses.
Karen had laughed and batted her eyelashes at Ted Wheeler, her future husband. Gerry, you brought your professor to a party? she had asked teasingly, playing with the knotted up lengths of gingham at her slightly bared midriff. Joyce had rolled her eyes at the scene. Ted was a good ten years older than the two of them and had been standing right next to her actual boyfriend to boot.
Guest lecturer, actually. H-he just told you. I’m not a teacher at all, Ted had stuttered, probably confused at the fact that an almost seventeen-year-old girl was blatantly flirting with him. Karen had flirted with everyone in those days. She wouldn’t even see Ted again until she started college a few years later, following Gerald to his campus, only to be immediately dumped after orientation.
Shortly after Karen found Gerald at the party, the two of them retreated outside for a conversation that Joyce did not doubt would occur in the backseat of his station wagon. She was very much alone and desperate to find someone she recognized from school.
She had found her savior in the form of Benny Hammond, who was dressed as an undead fry cook. Probably out of necessity, she reckoned; his dad (also a Benny), kept the teen hard at work at their diner most afternoons and weekends. The slightly greasy smell he emanated as she approached confirmed that he had left for the party straight from his shift. He was sitting on a hay bale beneath a lofted area and nursing a bottle of beer in one of his large, meaty hands.
Well, lookee here! Miss Bardot, all the way from France! he had teased after whistling at her approach. From his initial wide-eyed glance, she knew it had taken him a moment to realize that it was her.
Shut up, Benny.
I’m just teasing, Joyce. Hold up. Hop is here and I bet he’d love to see this. HOP!
Jim Hopper sauntered over from across the room. He had been young, tall and fit, and had dressed as a lumberjack that night, complete with a red beanie cap, red flannel, and a ginger beard that had been drawn on with stage makeup. Their eyes met, and he gave her one of the patented slow, sensual smiles that had been stopping her in her tracks as of late. Lonnie was history, for the time being, and he had just broken up with Chrissy Carpenter. Jim and Joyce had known each other for years, but she was becoming more aware of him– his height, his strong jaw, his heavy brow, his sharp sense of humor. Lonnie had been funny in a different and altogether more unpleasant and degrading sort of way.
It’s Joyce Calloway, Benny explained. Jim’s jaw dropped, and Joyce’s heart sank a bit with the knowledge that he had made eyes at her without really knowing who she was.
Holy shit, really? Damn, Joyce. Here alone?
Karen is around.
Oh. You look great – like a movie star.
I’m Brigitte Bardot.
Huh. Well, you make an interesting blonde.
After remarking on her hair, he leaned forward, eyes scrutinizing her own. Joyce blinked rapidly in self-conscious discomfort.
I don’t know how you can see with those giant fake lashes, though. Your real ones are plenty long as it is.
As innocuous as the remark was, Joyce had been pleased to have some sort of evidence that he noticed her enough to know that she had naturally long lashes. In a move that she would later self-analyze as more grotesque than flirtatious, she pulled one the false lashes off in front of the two young men and threw it to the ground with a shrug and a nervous laugh. The other lash stuck a bit, and she noticed that her fingers were trembling slightly when she moved to shed it.
Here. Jim’s strong, warm hand moved to cup her cheek, lifting her gaze towards his downturned face. The privilege of being close enough to examine his bright, clear blue eyes made her head swim and her pulse race. He took the loose corner of the remaining lash and gently pulled it from her eyelid, flicking it to the ground with a sheepish grin.
It’s a miracle. I can see again! she exclaimed with a giggle that was downright coquettish.
They were discovered an hour and a half later by an apologetic Karen. The other young woman had found the pair on a blanket in a nearby field, both in a state of suspicious undress, with Jim’s painted-on beard a chaotic mess of reddish smudges, as though Joyce had been finger-painting along his jaw and cheeks, and she had streaks of red on her face as well. It took a moment for the three of them to locate Joyce’s panties which had been tossed a good ten yards from where the two had been caught. Her sweater had been twisted and stretched beyond further use, and her wig was just gone.
Joyce blushed and kept her gaze to the ground after she straightened herself up, feeling Karen’s amused gaze as the two of them walked back to Karen’s car. Jim had kissed her quickly and promised he would call her or see her in school on Monday. His face had been sincere when he said it, and his large fingers had brushed along her small ones when they parted, as though savoring her touch all the way to the final point where skin touched skin.
You date Lonnie for nearly a year without letting him so much as touch you under your bra, but I leave you alone with Jim Hopper for less than two hours and you let him slide into home! Joyce Calloway, my, my… Karen had teased as they drove home.
No I did not! … He got close, though, Joyce grinned as she defended her virtue while tugging at the hem of her skirt to conceal the reddish smudges on her thighs.
When he called, it had been a half an hour before Joyce had to walk to school. (The Calloways lived just on the edge of town, in the home that would later become the Byers’ Residence.) He asked her if she wanted a ride to school. he told him that would be just fine, and the rest was history.
History that had not ended happily, Joyce reminded herself as she adjusted her blue vest before punching her time card in the breakroom of the grocery store. She took her place behind her register and waited for customers to trickle in for last minute candy and party supplies, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, which was her way of staying awake through long shifts. She had picked up a double in order to justify having the next evening off for Karen’s vow renewal – a choice of day she found odd, considering Karen and Ted were essentially celebrating on the anniversary of the night an underage Karen had hit on Ted in front of her steady boyfriend. Different strokes, as Joyce always said to herself when things seemed a little bit odd.
As if summoned, Karen Wheeler breezed through the front door of the grocery store, honeyed waves bouncing off of her soft, pink cashmere-covered shoulders. She graced Joyce with a wide grin and an upraised hand with wiggling fingers, Holly clutched at her side. Karen had a black garment bag tossed over one shoulder, and it nearly slid to the ground when she gave Joyce her little wave.
“Whoops!” Karen exclaimed as she approached Joyce at her register. Joyce raised an eyebrow at the lump of vinyl at her friend’s shoulder and had a dreadful feeling that whatever was inside was for her.
“I’m wearing the cat ears,” Joyce announced, after giving Corin Burke his change. Corin frowned, probably because Joyce had not broken eye contact with him before addressing her friend who was standing to her far left. He was 82-years-old, and accustomed to a simple ‘come again soon’ when he finished his transactions. He took his bag containing Wonderbread and raisins and walked past Karen to leave the store, shaking his head in disapproval.
Karen rolled her eyes and continued over to Joyce, stepping behind the register with her. Donald, who was stocking cans nearby, shouted a feeble warning at her and Joyce.
“She’s on break!” Karen hollered back.
“I actually just got here a half hour ago, and you really shouldn’t be behind the register, Karen.”
“Come on, nobody is in your line, and I know you are wearing cat ears, you’ve only told me about a hundred times.” Karen unceremoniously transferred the garment bag from her shoulder to Joyce’s unprepared arms, and it dropped to the floor with a dull ‘thud.’ Joyce sighed and picked it up.
“What is this then? Karen, you know I don’t like having things bought for me.”
Karen shook her head and adjusted Holly, who was sliding a bit down her hip. “I didn’t buy it. It was lying around from two Halloweens ago.”
Joyce started to unzip it, peeking inside to see what appeared to be a suit made out of shining black leather-like material; she poked her hand inside and noted that there was not a lot of give to the fabric. She groaned when she realized what she was looking at.
“Karen…”
“Oh, come on! Who wouldn’t want to feel like Julie Newmar for Halloween?”
“I have two almost-grown boys. I’ll embarrass them wearing this!”
“I have three children, and their opinions don’t really affect me or my choices. I looked foxy in it, and so will you.”
“Karen…”
“It’s my wedding.”
“Vow renewal.”
“Adjust it for inflation, and you’ll have how much I paid for my actual wedding.”
“That’s outrageous. Fine, I’ll wear it, but please leave before Donald has a heart attack.”
Karen agreed and went on her way. Joyce called for Donald to take over for her a moment while she hefted the garment bag into the break room and hung it up on the coat rack near the lockers. Ridiculous, the things she agreed to when Karen was the one making the suggestions –demands, really. She hoped her kids didn’t hate her too much for ringing in Halloween in a skintight cat suit.
The next day, Joyce allowed herself to sleep in until eight AM. She was expected at the Wheeler house at ten to help Karen and Ted transport decorations to the Historical Society to set up for the wedding. It had been a task she had volunteered for, rather than recruited – she hated standing still, even on days off. Better to keep busy than to take the time to think about the direction her life had taken as of late.
Surprisingly, both Jonathan and Will were sitting at the table eating breakfast when she wandered into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. Usually one was sequestered in his bedroom with the music on full blast, while the other was blowing up aliens on his Atari on a Saturday morning.
“Morning, Mom,” Jonathan greeted between bites of toast. Will gave her a close-mouthed smile and a grunt; his mouth was full of cheerios and milk.
“This is very unusual,” Joyce remarked, sitting down and taking a piece of buttered toast from the plate in the middle of the table.
“Big day. We knew you were going to be busy, so we made breakfast,” Will explained, gesturing to the generous buffet of two open cereal boxes and the nearly decimated platter of toast. Jonathan stood up, ruffled Will’s hair and headed for the door.
“Hey! Where are you off to?” Joyce demanded, quizzically.
“Nancy and Steve want to go to this pop-up Halloween store in Bloomington, but Steve’s car is in the shop. Karen said she needed chalices for the dinner, and I wanted to see if all the costumes were picked over.”
“I thought you were going as a homicidal maniac, which is what you’ve gone as every year since you decided you were too old for Halloween.”
Jonathan shrugged and grabbed his denim jacket from the hook near the door. “Maybe I don’t want to wear my street clothes to a wedding,” was his grumbling reply.
Joyce raised her eyebrows at her son’s explanation and leaned to one side, resting her cheek against an upturned palm, elbow resting on the table. “Okay, sweetie, don’t be late. Karen will never forgive me if you don’t bring her maid of honor to the wedding on time.”
Jonathan mumbled something resembling a good-bye before he walked out the door, leaving Joyce with her youngest, who was drinking the rest of the milk from his bowl with a loud slurping sound. She smiled gently at the sight; it was such a childish thing for Will to do, and that reassured her –at least one of her boys wasn’t growing up at an exponential rate. When he finished, he set down the bowl and grinned at her with a faint milk moustache. She laughed, got up from her seat and walked over to give him a tight hug around the shoulders.
“Don’t ever grow up to be a third wheel.”
“I won’t.”
“If you like someone, and they ask you to drive their boyfriend around, say no.”
“Okay.”
She pressed a kiss on the top of his head. “Go get ready. We have to be at the Wheeler’s soon.”
Joyce and Will arrived at the Wheelers’ five minutes early, which Joyce thought was some kind of miracle considering the fact that her and her youngest were firing on the same amount of cylinders in regards to organizational skills –that is to say, trips outside of the house were often delayed by missing keys and backpacks. Jonathan had neatly stacked all of the items Joyce and Will needed to get through the day onto the couch: Will’s costume, the garment bag containing Joyce’s, her purse and keys. Joyce felt both grateful and mildly patronized.
Karen gave Will and Joyce grateful hugs, while Ted waved from his Laz-E-Boy recliner. Will set off for the basement to find Mike, Lucas and Dustin. Will and the two other boys, sans Mike, were tapped to be ushers for the ceremony. For some reason, the concept of three ushers for a vow renewal ceremony struck Joyce as extravagant. She wondered how many friends the Wheelers had in Indiana and how many were expected for the event.
Karen always liked to go big for her parties. While their high school friends had been busy throwing keggers in random fields and in barns, Karen always added a theme – a touch of class. No small feat, considering her window of opportunity was always small and impromptu; her parents liked to announce their mini-vacations with mere days advance notice. Even in her wilder days, Karen had possessed a knack for planning and pristine organization. People would get far too drunk at her parties, as it was with teen affairs in the Midwest, but when they threw up, they threw up fancy crudités and decent champagne.
Joyce helped Karen and Ted load up a U-Haul trailer with boxes upon boxes of wedding party favors and decorations, and they all headed over to the Historical Society. It was an imposing white building located on the scenic and affluent edge of town; Neoclassical on a small town scale, complete with ivy-covered, weather-cracked columns and marble stairs in the front that desperately needed a restoration. Joyce suspected the money they were charging to let the Wheelers rent the entire building would cushion the restoration fund a bit. The building used to belong to one of the town founders, and then it had been a boutique hotel until tourism had dried up, so the upper two floors of the three story building still had bedroom suites that were maintained and sometimes rented out for very special occasions – usually visits from local politicians. The Wheelers had the run of the place for the night, including the bedrooms, which were offered on a first-come-first-serve basis, with the exception of the Presidential Suite, which Karen and Ted had claim to by default. Nancy, Steve and Jonathan were tasked with driving Holly, Mike and his friends home later on in the evening, and Karen had insisted that Joyce pick a room to stay in.
“Perks of being in the wedding party,” Karen explained as the two women worked on their hair and makeup in the gigantic bathroom of Karen and Ted’s suite.
“Nancy didn’t get a room,” Joyce observed as she painstakingly applied black eyeliner, trying her hardest to make the second dramatic wing match the first. Karen glared into the mirror as she teased at her curls and reached for a pink can of hairspray.
“Nancy doesn’t need a room. She needs to go home perfectly sober to keep an eye on Holly and Grandma Edith and make sure that Mike and his friends – your boy included – don’t blow up my house. That Steve Harrington can march his ass straight home too.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning on any funny business either. I may as well just go home.” Joyce applied a coat of scarlet lipstick, pressed her lips together, and then dabbed on a tissue that felt like it was made up of ground goose down and angel kisses, it was so soft. The things the city spent their budget on…
“No one plans for these things, Joyce. There may be a guest at the party that will make you rethink your sleeping arrangements, though.” Joyce had been picking up a round brush during Karen’s retort. It clattered to the marble counter from nerveless fingers when Karen mentioned the mystery guest. It was Joyce’s turn to glare.
“You didn’t invite Hopper.”
Karen nodded with a smirk, brushing a bit of powder from her silk-clad shoulder.
“You aren’t even friends with him!” Joyce whined, slapping her friend on the arm.
“Joyce, we owe him our life. Remember when he drove us home that night?” Karen rubbed her arm with a grimace.
“No. I’ve told you so many times how little I remember of that night. So many times.”
Karen unzipped an ivory garment bag that was hanging from the shower curtain, revealing a wealth of pink tulle peppered with glittering rhinestones. She was going to be Glinda the Good Witch. A fine joke considering how evil she could be, Joyce thought.
“Hop was so sweet with you. Carried you out over the threshold of my house and everything, and I think he would’ve beaten the shit out of that guy at the pool table if you hadn’t clobbered the jerk first.” Karen handed Joyce the gown and shrugged off her silk robe so that she could be assisted into the dress. Joyce gritted her teeth as she fastened the buttons in the back.
Ever since Joyce had found out from Karen that Hopper had driven them home that night, practically babysitting her when she was incapacitated, she had tactically ignored Jim Hopper every chance she got. She was not a big drinker because she did not enjoy the lack of control that came with imbibing, and she definitely hated the fact that she apparently had been so wasted that she could not remember the events of that night – so wasted that Jim Hopper had carried her from his vehicle to Karen’s couch like she was a sleeping child.
She was still glowering when Karen took a step forward and twirled slowly in her gigantic confection of a costume. The pink-gowned woman had the temerity to blush and put on an angelic smile, her dark eyes soft and serene.
“How do I look?” Karen inquired, affecting Billie Burke’s airy diction.
“Like an obnoxious meddler, but the dress suits you,” was Joyce’s sulky retort, as she pushed a pair of black gloves up her arms. Karen was lucky the claws at the fingertips were made of soft foam, or else Joyce very well could have scratched her eyes out.
The catsuit was so form fitting, Joyce had to stop herself from gasping when she caught her reflection in the mirror. She did not look like Joyce Byers, dowdy single mother of two. With her shimmering suit, gold belt, gold medallion necklace, and jaunty cat ears, she looked like… she would not flatter herself to say that she looked exactly like Julie Newmar, but there was an air of seduction about her, a sense of confidence that came in waves, depending on which angle her reflection showed. She smoothed her coiffed hair, longer than it had been in years, and smiled.
The turnout didn’t rival a Westminster wedding by any means, but it wasn’t exactly an intimate affair. Karen had a large family, and some of the guests were Ted’s work colleagues, Karen had explained as she, Joyce, Nancy and Moira (one of Karen’s sorority sisters) waited for the music to cue up. Nancy looked positively adorable as Dorothy, and Moira was beguiling as Emma Peel; she certainly seemed more confident in her skintight catsuit than Joyce felt in her own. Joyce very much wanted the marble mosaic floors to turn into quicksand and swallow her up before the entire audience could see how ridiculous a mother of two looked in a costume that allowed for no secrets.
Joyce stiffened and gasped when she felt a hand at the crook of her elbow. She looked up and saw Ted’s older brother, Frank, smiling down at her. He was the more handsome of the two brothers – taller and more confident, with his straight and sure posture, silvery white hair styled expertly to deceive the eye over the fact that it was thinning a bit, and a hawk-like nose that would have made him appear far-too-serious, if it wasn’t for the impish twinkle in his light eyes. He was well-travelled, well-educated, and had flirted outrageously with Joyce years ago, during Karen’s first wedding to Ted. Joyce had been very young, very pregnant, and very married at the time, but she had been flattered and not a little taken with the cosmopolitan older man from New York.
“Little Joyce, how very nice to see you again,” he greeted with an amiable smirk. Joyce found herself smiling back at him, quite against her will.
“Frank, it’s been years.”
“Closer to twenty than ten, but one could never tell going by how you look. Is it uncomfortable being frozen in amber and brought out for special occasions?”
Joyce rewarded him with a quick, self-deprecating laugh. Blatantly cheesy as the line was, it certainly was nice to be appreciated by someone so debonair. As a young woman, she had likened him to a Disney prince; now he was something like a gently-aged, foreign dignitary –an illusion pronounced by his black suit and cape ala MGM’s Dracula. The pointed canines in his mouth must have cost him a pretty penny, as they did not do much to impede his smooth speech.
“Uncle Frank, stop hitting on Mom’s friend!” Nancy scolded sharply from her mother’s side. Her younger brother, Mike, dressed (almost certainly unwillingly) as Scarecrow stood at her side, ready to escort her down the aisle. Moira was paired with Ted’s childhood friend, Harold, and Karen’s father was pacing the floor behind the group. Michael Bianchi was a tiny nervous man, filled with skittish energy, a trait that had been pronounced with widowhood. He also was, and always had been, a serious, no-nonsense sort. He was wearing traditional formal wear – not a costume.
“Dad, this isn’t the first time around. Please relax,” Karen chided, walking over to him so that she could take his arm. Michael grumbled something that was incomprehensible to Joyce, but had made Karen laugh uproariously. The music started in the great hall – a beautiful classical number by a composer that Joyce could not place. For some reason, Joyce had expected “The Monster Mash,” but she knew that Karen’s father probably would have flat out refused to attend if that was the case.
Joyce felt all 150 pairs of eyes on her as Frank escorted her down the aisle. She tried to keep her own eyes forward towards the designated bridesmaid area, to ignore her peripheral vision altogether. When she did allow her sight to flicker to one side – somewhere in the middle of the aisle – she found herself glancing at Jim Hopper, who was staring intently up at her, his eyes showing a flicker of intensity as they fixed on hers. She noted that he was alone, two wooden folding chairs between him and the next guest. His seat was nearest the aisle; Joyce imagined it was in order to give him the clearest out after the ceremony, so that he could chain smoke outside until they rolled out the alcohol.
She smiled shyly at him, and he lifted one of his large, long-fingered hands up in a covert wave. He was dressed in blue jeans and red plaid – the knit cap on his lap and the prop axe at his side told her that he had not grown in creativity since the first Halloween they had shared together. She wondered if he had grown his beard out a little more for the occasion, as it seemed thicker than usual. Not that she spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about his beard or his face. Or the time he carried her into Karen’s house like she weighed little more than a bundle of twigs. he could not think about that time because she could not remember it, and she definitely did not fill in the blanks and wonder what it would have been like if she had been sober and carried off to his bed, rather than Karen’s couch. Not ever.
Joyce did not realize that she had come to a full pause until she felt Frank’s hand on the small of her back, giving her a gentle push forward. She noticed Jim’s eyes narrow and darken at the familiar gesture, his mouth pressing into a grim line. No time to dwell on what that meant.
Joyce made her way to her place in the front of the room and watched the rest of the procession, taking Baby Holly’s hand as the child toddled over to her in a lion costume, her duties as Flower Girl at an end. Karen took her place near Ted, who was oddly resplendent as The Wizard, with his three piece suit and old fashioned necktie. Joyce thought Karen had taken her disappointment over him refusing to dress as the Tin Man very well.
During the ceremony, Joyce noticed Steve Harrington staring from his seat near the front. He was sitting next to Jonathan, and they were both dressed as pirates. At first, Joyce assumed that the young man’s intense leering was meant for Nancy, who was standing right next to her. Her eyes met Steve’s and she tried to give him a stern look of disapproval; to her horror, he smirked at her and mouthed ‘me-ow.’ Jonathan caught the exchange and punched the other boy in the arm, hard. Steve’s agonized cry of pain stopped the ceremony momentarily, all eyes turning towards him. He grinned uncomfortably at the attention and gave an exaggerated shrug, winking at an irate-looking Nancy.
The ceremony was thankfully short, which Joyce appreciated. Karen’s first wedding had been a full mass, thanks to pressure from her family. Joyce had suggested that Karen just come clean about the fact that she was three months pregnant, which she theorized might get Michael and Tansy off of Karen’s back in regards to throwing it in the Catholic Church. Karen had not appreciated the suggestion, and when baby Nancy was born, she was complimented on looking remarkably healthy for being so premature.
The guests filtered out of the main hall, having a few hours’ wait until dinner and cocktails. Some took the opportunity to wander around the building, and some, like Jim Hopper, popped outside for a smoke. Joyce found him leaning against his jeep in the parking lot. She smiled and walked over to him, pulling a cigarette out of her coat pocket. It was very windy, and despite the miracle of Aquanet, a few flyaway strands flew into Joyce’s face as she approached the tall, taciturn man.
“Is this your costume every year?” Joyce asked, leaning against the passenger side door and flashing him a cheeky grin before attempting to light her cigarette. After several tries, Jim leaned over her to block the wind, which did the trick. Her cheeks grew warm when the scent of his aftershave hit her – pleasant, with sandalwood and leather tones. He was so close that if she leaned forward, just a bit, her nose would come in contact with his chest. It was an intriguing idea, as Joyce realized that it had been so long since she had a flannel hug. Being embraced by a strong, sturdy body clad in soft wool had always been one of Joyce’s happy thoughts. The cold air returned, hitting her like a shot when he leaned back.
“I don’t do Halloween. I haven’t for years,” he finally answered solemnly, with a shrug. If Joyce had to venture a guess, she would say that Jim had not celebrated Halloween since Sarah died. The implication caused a pang of guilt in her gut. Perhaps noting her shamed expression, Jim added, “You look stunning, by the way.” His tone was lighter when he paid her the compliment.
“Liar. It’s nice to see you here, though. Despite how you feel about the holiday.”
“I figure the food would be better than the department party Flo is always trying to drag me to.” Joyce chuckled at the mention of the department secretary. That woman always seemed to be pestering Jim to do one thing or the other, fussing over him like he was her child.
“It’s nice to see you here.” She blushed deeply when she realized that she had just repeated herself, fixing her eyes to the concrete ground in embarrassment.
“It’s nice to be appreciated.”
She felt his hand cup her chin, lifting her gaze up towards him. She felt a tremble course through her body, a low thrum of electricity. Her cigarette fell to the ground. He was smiling down at her for a moment, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement, but the wide-eyed, breathless expression on her face caused his smile to fade and his eyes soften. He looked more intent than displeased, and Joyce felt frozen to the spot, wondering what his next move was going to be. She gasped when his thumb brushed at her lower lip, ever so slightly, and she thought she saw him lean forward…
“There you are!” A voice from behind gave both she and Jim a start, and his hand fell from her face as they both looked to see who the interrupter could be. Frank came bounding up to Hopper’s jeep, cape billowing dramatically behind him. Joyce heard Jim groan in annoyance at her side. Frank placed a hand on Joyce’s upper arm, face beaming good-naturedly. “I’m afraid I have to spirit you away for pictures – Karen is insisting.”
Jim was standing on the other side of Joyce, standing so close that she felt the muscles in his arm tense up when Frank touched her. She quickly glanced down at his hand and saw that it was balled into a tight fist, and when she looked up, she noticed that he was giving Frank a stony glare. She sighed and took Frank’s arm, throwing an apologetic look at Jim.
“See you inside, Hop,” she remarked, as Frank led her back to the Historical Society. She looked back once more, before they walked through the front door, and saw that Jim was smoking a whole new cigarette, his posture a little more closed off than it had been when she first walked outside; his shoulders were hunched, and his eyes stared off to one side as if deep in thought.
“I wonder what his problem was,” Frank mused as they approached Karen, Ted and the rest of the wedding party in the main hall.
“He’s a tough read, I don’t know what to tell you,” Joyce explained, unconvincingly. As the photographer flashed photo after photo, and as Joyce tried her very best to nail a smile into place – one that reached her eyes for once – she found herself contemplating the moment she had shared with Jim. They had been about to… wait. Had they? Jim Hopper really was a tough read; he could have just been in a terrible mood, something she supposed happened a lot when he was forced to go out in public.
And that was another thing; why had he accepted Karen’s invitation in the first place? He was not actually being forced to attend, and he wasn’t even that close to either of the Wheelers. As a matter of fact, Joyce was really his only real friend at the event… were they even friends?
She had not spoken to him in weeks – although, before the whole mess at Tessie’s, they had gone out for coffee and cigarettes a few times, when Joyce had the time. Nothing romantic; just two survivors needing to be close to the only other person who knew what it was like to come back from there. They did not really speak during these trips to Lorraine’s Diner, just sat across the table from one another, matching each other cup for cup, Camel for Camel, with the occasional remarks about the weather, work, or how the boys were doing. In a strange way, it had been nice. It had been dependable, up until Joyce had become too mortified to look him in the eye. If she ever drank again, it would be too soon.
After nearly an hour of walking around all the most photogenic rooms of the Historical Society, the party was able to retreat upstairs to freshen up for the dinner. Joyce had finally decided to stay the night though why, she could not say; perhaps there was an air of promise that had not been there before. Or maybe she just did not want to drive all the way home on a Saturday night and deal with all of the drunk drivers. There were at least two taverns between the town limits and her house, and neither of them hosted the most responsible clientele.
Joyce noticed three black-packaged condoms resting on her nightstand, as she placed her overnight bag onto the king-sized canopy bed in her suite. Her hand went to her mouth to stifle the frustrated groan that came out unbidden.
“Goddamn it, Karen,” Joyce grumbled as she picked up a cream-colored note card embellished in silver fleurs-de-lis and opened it. Sure enough, it contained a message in Karen’s elegant, looping scrawl:
Better safe than sorry. I made sure to get the bigger ones for you, just in case. See you downstairs. Please do not use these on Francis, you have no idea where he’s been.
“And Hop is just a paragon of purity, I’m sure,” Joyce retorted to the notecard as though it was Karen herself. Joyce hastily stashed the condoms into the drawer of the nightstand and walked into the bathroom to fix her hair and freshen up her makeup.
_____________________________
“That angry fellow keeps looking at us,” Frank Wheeler stage whispered to Joyce as they were dining at the head table. Frank’s chair was pulled up close to Joyce’s side, and he was leaning forward so that his lips practically brushed the outer shell of her ear as he whispered. One of his elegant hands was draped on her shoulder, toying idly with the medallion necklace she was wearing.
Joyce scanned the dining room, spotting Jim sitting at a round table with some of Karen’s distant relatives. His shoulders were as hunched and tense as they had been when Frank had escorted her back into the building, and he was sipping what appeared to be a whisky on the rocks, his gaze fixed on an unknown spot off to the side and not on Joyce and Frank.
“Liar.”
“Well he looked away when he noticed you noticing him. Do you have a history with him?”
Joyce shrugged Frank’s hand off of her shoulder, suddenly uncomfortable with his proximity – or uncomfortable with the question – either way, his nearness was becoming stifling, and she had not given him permission to hang off of her. “We dated in high school. He’s a good friend now. I guess you could say we’ve been through a lot together.” She sipped at her champagne, slowly and carefully. No need for a repeat of a few weeks ago.
“Intriguing. I think he’d like to break my nose, and I don’t think it’s over your friendship .”
Joyce shrugged and grabbed a forkful of asparagus. “He likes to punch things. It’s kind of his thing. I don’t think he needs a reason.”
“Do you think he’d snap my neck if I asked you to dance? I’m almost afraid to ask you now.”
Joyce’s eyes flashed with annoyance, and she smirked at the suave older man. “He won’t do a damn thing. You’d better work up the courage because I will be offended if you don’t ask me to dance.” She practically purred out the bit about her being offended, her voice soft and coquettish, and her head tilted charmingly to one side. There was no shame in being something she was not. It was Halloween, and the idea that two men – two very attractive men – found her to be irresistible was a heady feeling. She had so few instances in her life where she felt like she was in control and never in the context of romance. Here was a bit of fun.
Frank gave a short laugh that boomed through the dining hall, drawing the attention of more than a few guests. Joyce blushed fiercely when he took one of her hands, raised it to his lips, and brushed a kiss against her satin gloved knuckles. A thrill ran through her, and she suddenly knew what it was to be Karen in her heyday, breathlessly flirting with just about anyone who crossed her path – attention’s sweet center.
Later, when plates were being cleared, and the champagne was leaving a delicious warmth in Joyce’s veins and making her smile more than she usually did, she noticed Jim standing by the bar. She stood up from her seat and slipped away from the table without giving Frank so much as a by-your-leave. He was busy chatting up Moira, who was more than up to the task of carrying on a conversation with an attractive and well-off man.
Karen had explained to Joyce that Moira was going through a divorce. While Joyce had enjoyed Frank’s attention, she did not begrudge the pert-nosed brunette a little bit of her own fun. Besides, Frank was going to be gone by Monday. There were no stakes in Joyce continuing her intriguing little dance with him, as fun as it might prove to be.
“Sulking is thirsty work, eh?” she teased Jim, as she approached from behind. He gave a start and turned towards her. Joyce gave him a sly grin, and he grunted something that had a faint semblance of a greeting – he did not smile back.
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for an open bar, and smiling gives you wrinkles.” He turned away from her and took his drink from the bartender. She waited for him to turn back to her, but he just took a seat at the bar, apparently done acknowledging her presence. It was infuriating.
“Are – Hop, turn around – are you mad at me?”
He turned the barstool so that he was facing her, still a towering presence, despite the fact that he was sitting down. “Don’t you have a date that needs your attention?”
He was mad at her. His inquiry had a sneering edge to it. Suddenly, the idea of being wanted by two men was not quite as appealing as it had been before. Jim Hopper had always been a petulant baby when the jealousy bug hit him hard.
Joyce scoffed and crossed her arms under her chest. “I didn’t come here with Frank, and I didn’t ask to stand up with him. It’s not my wedding.” She snorted derisively and added: “Thank God.”
“Yes, we’ve all seen the way these sort of things work out for you.”
Joyce felt anger coil tightly in her gut, and then explode into an inferno that left her breathless. She forgot how well he could hurt her – just stagger her with his words. Her eyes narrowed, and she resisted the urge to shove him off of his stool, despite the twitching in her hands. She closed them into fists and tried to calm her racing heart, even as she glared at him.
Jim’s eyes widened when he noticed how furious she looked. His mouth opened, and then closed. He stood up and brought his hands up to place them on her shoulders. Joyce shrugged and reeled back a few steps, holding her hands up in front of her chest in a defensive move. “Joyce, I am so sorry, that was stupid-…”
“How dare you? Like you’re one to judge, Hop? Where the fuck is your wife, since you’re such an authority on happy unions?”
“Stop–”
“–seriously, fuck you. I cannot believe I thought that maybe, just maybe, we were moving beyond what happened in high school, what with us both travelling through literal hell and back – get away from me, don’t you dare try to put your hand over my mouth! – I thought maybe we could stand being in the same room for one night after everything that we’ve been through–”
“–Joyce, you cannot talk about that, someone might–”
“–But you’re still the same petty, jealous, hot-headed, idiotic, mean –”
“–Please. I am so sorry, Joyce. It was a fucked up thing to say.”
“Asshole!” She slapped his hands away when he tried to place them on her shoulders again, stalked away from the bar and walked straight out of the dining hall, towards the grand staircase that would take her back to her room. She cursed her shorter legs when he caught up with her and cut in front of her on the stairs, halting her movement to a standstill.
“Are you seriously going to storm out of your best friend’s wedding?”
“Are you seriously going to stand in my way?”
Jim sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. His voice came out, tired and small:“Please don’t leave the wedding. It’s going to get back to Karen that it’s my fault and then she’ll ream me out.”
Joyce snorted. “You’re afraid of Karen? Please.”
He shook his head. “No, but I would feel really, really bad if you left.”
Joyce shrugged, hands on her hips. “You’re a real fucking asshole, you know that, right? Why did you even come here? And don’t say the food.”
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes and grimacing, as though in serious pain. “Karen had…she talked about us being together that night when I picked you both up from that bar and then kept dropping sly hints every time she’d see me after that. When she invited me, she made it very clear that you’d be here. I wanted to know if maybe there was something to all of that. I came so I could see you.”
Joyce gasped, a sharp retort dying in her throat before seeing the light of day. So, there it was. Too bad she was still very, very angry at him. But there it was. She looked down at the pointed toes of her black boots and sighed, feeling very tired all of a sudden.
“Well, here I am.” She lifted her chin and saw a spark of hope glimmer in his sad, defeated eyes. She made no move to approach him, but rather, she around and head back down the stairs. She heard his heavy tread follow a few steps behind.
“Are you going back to the party?” he inquired.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Do whatever you like. I’m going to go get a drink and then I’m going to dance and forget that I lost my head in front of a live studio audience.”
Joyce was immediately greeted by a furious-looking Jonathan when she made her way back into the dining hall, the boy’s narrowed eyes and grim face fixed on Jim Hopper.
“What the hell, Mom? What did he say to you, and why is he still here?” Jonathan demanded, stepping forward towards the bigger man with his shoulders hunched and his hands balled into fists.
Joyce stepped in front of her son and placed two firm, but calming hands on his chest. “Go enjoy the rest of the wedding. You only have a few hours before Karen is going to send you all home.”
“But, Mom–”
Joyce pushed him away gently and schooled her features into her best ‘mom’ look. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about. Go.” The last bit was hissed between her teeth. Jonathan gave Jim another dark look before turning on his heels and walking back to an orange and black festooned pillar where Nancy and Steve stood, exchanging nervous glances.
“I guess that means you saving me a dance is out of the question,” Jim wise-cracked.
Joyce turned angrily towards him once more. “My kids don’t dictate who I dance with!”
He shot her his most charming half smile, the cocky bastard. “So you will dance with me, then?”
“I’m mad at you; you shithead!”
“So...”
“You guys, what on earth is going on?” Karen’s voice chimed in. The pair turned towards the bride, who was hurrying over to their side. “Are you seriously fighting at my wedding?” She looked furious at both of them. Karen Wheeler did not take kindly to her plans not playing out exactly as she devised. The crimson flush of her face clashed with the soft pinks of her gown, and Joyce almost told her that, but was afraid of getting smacked with her friend’s star-tipped wand.
“Everything is fine, Karen. It was a miscommunication, and now we are all going to play nice,” Joyce explained.
“Yes, Joyce even said she was going to dance with me.” Jim gave Joyce an evil grin in response to her ‘I’m going to murder you’ face. Karen actually giggled, clapping her hands together.
“Wonderful! The first dance is going to start soon, so Joyce will have to dance with Frank, but after that...” She gave an elegant turn, her wide skirt twirling impishly, and she hurried back to tend to her other guests.
The music started, and the rest of the wedding party allowed Ted and Karen to have the entire floor to themselves to dance to “And I Love Her” by The Beatles for a few moments for photography’s sake before they joined them. Joyce had not had an occasion to dance in years, but she did not feel awkward at all, following Frank’s graceful and patient lead. He was back to his charming tricks – flirting with her and holding her a little closer than was proper. Because she was still furious with Jim, she let him do it – casting her eyes to where the other man was sitting every once in a while to catch his glower. She made sure she smiled a little more than she usually did and laughed a little louder. Something in the way Jim stared – that hooded glare, that tense-shouldered, thin-lipped mask of rage – caused a pleasant heat to radiate from Joyce’s scalp down to her toes and back up to rest at the very core of her being. To wit; she was very – extremely – turned on by his jealousy, which was a change from her feelings on the matter just moments before. Or maybe she was just smug about seeing him suffer after what he had said to her earlier. There seemed to be a blurred distinction between the two possibilities.
The first dance ended, and the music picked up. Joyce definitely was not much of a fast dancer, so she retreated to Jim’s table to have a seat. Her chair was so close to his that their knees were almost touching underneath the table.
“So you’re not mad at me?” he asked, pushing a fresh drink in front of her. It was a glass of red wine, which pleased her. She had indulged in drinks so rarely in front of him throughout the years, but she tended towards wine when she had. Karen had once told Joyce that wine did not get a person drunk in an effort to get her to loosen up at one of her high school house parties. After she found out what a blatant lie that was, Joyce allowed herself to admit that wine wasn’t that terrible.
She gingerly picked up the glass and sipped, her lips quirking into a smile that she hoped looked mysterious. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“For someone that you just happened to get assigned to stand up with, that Frank guy is mighty familiar.”
Joyce just rolled her eyes and placed a hand underneath the table. When she located his knee, she squeezed, causing him to jump slightly at her touch. She sat down the glass, and intoned: “You are so cute when you’re jealous.”
They spent the next few moments staring at one another, Joyce not moving her hand, and Jim’s face devoid of its usual dour expression. He placed a hand over the one at his knee and gave it a squeeze, causing Joyce to bite her lower lip nervously, which he noticed immediately – his eyes trained hungrily on the spot where she gnawed. The air was suddenly thick with possibility.
“Your hand is on my knee.”
“Yes.”
“If you aren’t careful, you might give a fella the wrong idea.”
Joyce moved her thumb side to side in an idle, stroking motion. She could feel the heat from his skin radiating through the denim fabric of his jeans, and the slight tremor in the hand that covered hers as he mimicked her motion, caressing the tender flesh between her thumb and forefinger.
“I’m not terribly interested in caution tonight,” was her throaty response. Jim’s hand twitched, and she heard him take a sharp breath.
The next song cued up and it was a slow tune. Joyce moved her hand slowly and deliberately off of his knee – a maneuver that required brushing up against his thigh, her pinky grazing the early evidence of his arousal – and stood up.
“Are you going to cash in on that dance or not?” she inquired, holding out a hand to him.
He took it, and brought himself to his feet, pulling her close to him as he rose to his full height. He looked down at her with a crooked smile and soft eyes. “Sure thing, boss.” His voice was shaky and hoarse.
She led him to the dance floor, her small hand disappearing within the encompassing grasp of his large one.
Oh sweet thing, sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my sweet thing
And I shall drive my chariot
Down your streets and cry
'Hey, it's me, I'm dynamite
And I don't know why'
And you shall take me strongly
In your arms again
And I will not remember
That I even felt the pain.
We shall walk and talk
In gardens all misty and wet with rain
And I will never, never, never
Grow so old again.
Joyce smiled with one cheek pressed against his warm, solid chest as they swayed together on the floor; here was the flannel hug she had longed for. She had to crane her neck to look up at them as they danced close, and she could hear her father’s voice, marveling at the sheer height of Jim Hopper when she let it slip to her parents that the two of them were dating. Lonnie had always been ‘that sharp-faced, short-shit, weasel’ to her father, but Jim was ‘that solar eclipse of a sonuvabitch’ and affectionately, ‘big guy’.
Things like height had never mattered to Joyce, except when she needed something from a very high shelf. Jim had always been good for that. The hardness pressing against her stomach reminded her of the other thing he was good for, and her mind flashed to moments in her younger life that made her cheeks flame with nostalgic pleasure.
“I really shouldn’t be dancing so close to you. Not with my kids here.” She shivered when Jim ran a hand up the side of her neck, stroking the soft tendrils of hair at the base of her skull.
He bent his head low and whispered in a slow and seductive tone: “Will is in the parking lot, lighting off fireworks with the rest of his buddies. I have no idea where Jonathan is, but I reckon it’s somewhere with that Harrington kid and Karen’s daughter. You were the one who wanted to dance so badly – practically panted for it.” Jim hissed in pain when Joyce purposefully trod on his feet, though she schooled her features into a look of innocence as he pulled away from her.
“Sorry,” she apologized sweetly, as he glared.
“No way was that on accident,” he announced, accusingly.
Joyce just shrugged and turned away, ready to walk off the floor as the song began to fade. She did not stop him from grabbing her hand, and she could not control the smirk on her face as she turned back to him. “Yes?” She continued to appear nonplussed as he pulled her close enough to him that her chest was brushing his abdomen. Joyce did not know if he wanted to kiss her or shake her, but the intensity in his vivid blue eyes nearly caused her toes to curl in anticipation.
“What do you want, Joyce?” Jim demanded in low, hushed tones. She noticed that injuring him had not quelled his erection.
She stepped back slightly, but brought a hand up to his chest, stroking it lightly. “Let’s go for a walk. This is a very big building.”
“We could go to your room.”
Joyce shook her head, smile not leaving her mouth. “I’m not quite ready to leave the party just yet, but exploring sounds nice.” There was a tiny purr in her voice on the word ‘exploring’, giving it dual meaning – or, at least, that was what she wanted to convey. His hand tightening around her own told her that the message had been received.
As they walked away from the dance floor, hand-in-hand, Joyce caught Karen’s eye from across the floor. The other woman’s jaw dropped slightly, but then she smirked and shook her head in mock judgement, nudging Ted who was dancing at her side. The man, clearly in his cups, gave both Joyce and Jim an enthusiastic thumbs up. Joyce lifted a finger in front of her lips as though to hush her friend and her friend’s husband. Karen nodded, and Ted waved them away.
Joyce settled on a room several corridors down from the main hall that had been sectioned off with a velvet rope.
“As the chief of police, I cannot condone this sort of behavior,” Jim teased in a serious tone as Joyce unlatched the rope, turned the doorknob, and pushed the door open.
She looked over her shoulder at him and rolled her eyes. “I’m going in. If you have reservations about this, you could always cuff me.”
“The night is young.”
Joyce pushed a brass button on the wall, causing the room to illuminate in a soft glow from a small, crystal chandelier overhead. The room had clearly been an office. The walls were lined with bookshelves – expensive dark Cherrywood packed with leather volumes that gave off a musty, old book smell Joyce had always found pleasant. It made her wish that she read more, a luxury that had been lost when Lonnie had left her. Near the large bay window, directly across from the door, was a large desk made from the same material as the bookshelves with a high-back, leather chair looming impressively behind it. Joyce thought it looked promising, until she noticed the antique chaise lounge on the right side of the room.
Joyce nudged Jim, who was standing at her side, and gestured first towards the chair, and then to the chaise.
“Pick your poison,” she announced, before being gently pushed against the closed door. In a thrice, Jim’s hands were on her buttocks, hoisting her up off the ground, and his mouth was on hers in a desperate, hungry kiss that nearly caused the back of her head to smack against the hardwood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms about his neck, matching his ferocity measure for measure. They continued in this manner for several moments – tongues, teeth and pent up feelings – before he set her down on unsteady legs. They were both panting, trying to catch their breaths after his fit of passion.
Jim brought his hands up to cup Joyce’s face, tilting it upwards to meet his eyes. “Sorry, I just…I think that was a long time coming, and – umm…the desk. Definitely the desk.”
Joyce nodded in breathless agreement, and he bent down to give her one more lingering kiss, nipping at her swollen lower lip, before they made their way to the desk. She squealed in surprise when Jim stepped in front of her, placed his strong hands at her waist and picked her up once more. He set her down on the edge of the desk and then settled back into the chair with a boyish grin on his face.
“Say, this is pretty comfy. I may confiscate it and take it back to the station for my office. The chair Flo ordered feels like I’m sitting on a boulder.” He gave the chair a little spin and chuckled.
Joyce groaned and threw her head back in disgust, rolling her eyes. “Shut up about the stupid chair, and kiss me.”
He needed no further invitation. The chair was forgotten as he stood and stepped towards her. She grabbed at the front of his flannel and pulled him flush against the edge of the desk, wrapping her legs around his waist once more and pulling him down to bring his lips against hers. One hand cupped her cheek, while the other trailed down the side of her neck, past her collarbone, and settled on her breast. She moaned low and sweet as his thumb and forefinger worked to pinch and tease, bringing one nipple to an aching point through the fabric of the costume and her bra.
“This isn’t like that sweater you wore that one Halloween,” Jim complained, as he broke away from her mouth. His eyes frantically searched the front and side of the costume, as his hands stroked at her waist.
“The zipper is in the back, you dummy.”
Jim growled at her, sliding one hand to her back and finally locating a tiny zipper. He pressed kisses against the side of her neck as he pulled the zipper down to her waist; he nipped at the pulse point at her throat before bringing his hands up to the neckline of the costume, pulling the fabric down past her shoulders and pressing kisses along the newly exposed flesh. Joyce hazily recalled that she was wearing gloves, and she hastily pushed them off of her hands, as not to impede the removal of the rest of the costume.
Jim laughed as she waved one hand frantically in order to shuck the final glove off of her hand. “Very smooth, Gypsy Rose Lee,” he mocked.
“Shut up,” Joyce sneered, pushing a sleeve down to free one arm and then the other.
Jim helped her remove her bra and belt, throwing both items to one side of the room. He took a step back to take her in, naked from the waist up, hair mussed up and cat ear headband crooked, nearly hanging to one side of her head. Joyce suddenly felt like she was being scrutinized, judged by someone who had not seen her naked in nearly twenty years. It was a vulnerable feeling, one that made her cross her arms in front of her chest and shiver.
“Don’t do that, Joyce. Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking wonder.” Jim’s voice was low, awestruck, and worshipful. His hands came up and rested on her forearms, gently pushing them down, away from her breasts. Still, she could not stop shivering.
Jim plucked the headband from her head and set it to one side of the desk, and then brought his hands down to her waist to pull her against him once more, his kisses less urgent, and more gentle this time – as though to reassure her that she was safe – his thumbs playing along the length of her cheekbones as he took his leisurely time exploring her mouth. Her hands were at his back, stroking at the broad expanse, his hips rocking gently against hers, causing a gradual, hot friction between her legs.
When the hot and slick electricity radiating between her thighs was beginning to become unbearable, she brought her hands down to the front of his jeans, working to unbuckle his belt. Jim brought his hands to her wrists, stilling her motions with a soft squeeze. “Not yet,” he murmured against her mouth. His lips ghosted over her cheek and to her ear as he roughly whispered, “Lie back.”
Joyce craned her neck to look behind her and sighed at the obstacles in her path: a pencil case, a paper weight, actual papers, and a copy of the bible. She cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow at Jim, who scooted Joyce to one side of the desk so that he could clear a path with one impulsive swipe of his hand. The paperweight – a marble globe – caused a tremendous cracking noise when it bounced off of the hardwood. Joyce immediately started to giggle.
“Someone is going to be so mad on Monday,” she warned, covering her face with both hands.
“Lie. Back.” Jim was not laughing. His blue eyes were dark and narrowed and filled with intense purpose, his voice full of quietly menacing authority. Joyce immediately followed his orders; she was not usually responsive to bossy partners (she more or less liked taking the lead), but something in his guttural command caused a visceral reaction within her, and she knew immediately what it meant.
She had been right. Jim pulled the costume the rest of the way down, along with her panties and boots, leaving them in a pile at the side of the desk. He knelt in front of her and pressed a kiss against her aching center, causing her to sigh in relief and disbelief.
“You don’t have–”
He hushed her and then delved in, lapping up and sucking at the soaked, molten crux of her being. Two strong fingers pushed inside of her, pumping in a slow and steady rhythm as his tongue danced circles and patterns against her swollen clit. She brought her legs to rest over his shoulders and arched her back as she gave way to the flames, one hand gripping at his hair reflexively. God, he had always been fucking fantastic at this – a real goddamn champion. She had forgotten how much he enjoyed doing that to her, bringing her off with his mouth. Her body was electricity, it was a ticking time bomb and when she came it was going to be…
She was singin’
Don't turn around, oh oh
Der Kommissar's in town, oh oh
You're in his eye
And you'll know why
The more you live
The faster you will die
Alles klar, Herr Kommissar?
Joyce froze in alarm as she heard a voice from the hall getting closer. It was youthful, slurring, and singing a song she had maybe heard on the radio once or twice. A gasp caught in her throat as the door pushed open, and Steve Harrington stumbled inside. Joyce nudged the side of Jim’s head with her thigh in an effort to cease the oblivious fluttering of his busy tongue.
Steve had not noticed Joyce when he started to shout: “Hey, Nancy, Jonathan, I think I found a place where we can smo…” Steve’s voice trailed off as he made eye contact with Joyce, who was trying to prop herself up by her elbows in an attempt to present only her back to him, but he still managed to get an eyeful. He nodded at her. “Mrs. Byers.”
“Get out!” Jim shouted, popping up from behind the desk to help pull Joyce into a sitting position. He wrapped his arms around her to preserve her modesty as she buried her head against his chest.
“Oh my god!” Steve exclaimed with an astounded laugh.
“Steve what’s going?” Jonathan’s voice called from down the hallway.
“No,” Joyce whispered.
“Kid, get the fuck out of here,” Jim whispered menacingly.
“Now,” Joyce added.
Steve popped his head through the door and yelled: “Nothing, I thought I saw that ghost my scout leader kept telling me about, but it’s just some dumb suit of armor. I’m gonna keep looking for a room, this one has shitty windows that won’t open.” The boy nodded at Jim and Joyce and respectfully closed the door, but not before mouthing ‘nice’ at Jim, who looked like he wanted to strangle the kid until he turned blue.
When Steve was gone, Joyce pushed Jim out of the way so she could hop off of the desk and start collecting her clothing. Her face and neck were an intense shade of red, and she refused to make eye contact with Jim.
“I am so sorry,” he apologized.
“I just got gawked at by a seventeen-year-old boy who is looking for a room to get my son high, and I can’t go and bust them because then said seventeen-year-old boy will probably tell my son that I was getting pleasured by the Chief of Police in a room that anyone could just wander into.” Joyce covered her face with the costume that was bundled up in her arms and gave a little scream.
“So, I’m probably not invited upstairs.”
Joyce glared at him and began to put her clothes back on. Jim helped her with the zipper and picked up the headband to place back on her head.
“Let’s just go back to the party and pretend nothing happened,” she pleaded. She took stock of the hurt look in his eyes and stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. “Stop that, or you will drive home tonight.”
“So…”
“Yes, you’re staying with me. Jesus Christ, you really are dense.”