Mutual Ground

Starsky pays Vanessa a visit, and they have a chat about Hutch.

This story was co-written with my sister, Denise, while on vacation at a lake. Consequently, a majority of it was scrawled in a wet notebook while drinking Bloody Marys on a paddleboat. 🙂

I am the best friend in the whole world, thought Starsky as he raised his hand to the doorbell. He hesitated, his finger hovering. I’m a terrific partner, he coached himself, and a really, really brave guy. He took a deep breath, then pressed the button.

A tuneful chime, a few footsteps… Starsky put a polite smile on his face in case he was examined through the peephole. The door swung open, and there was Vanessa. “David,” she said coolly. “I was just thinking about you. And look. Here you are.”

Part of Starsky’s mind was analyzing her tone for today’s degree of unpleasantness – this had become an automatic exercise for him – but a more sluggish part of his mind was analyzing her plunging neckline. He gave himself a mental kick, his eyes darting to her face and staying there. “Hey, hi, Vanessa. You look nice.” He gestured vaguely. “Nice dress.”

She smirked at him. She was always smirking at him. “Thanks,” she said. Her eyes traveled over him, and he felt her assessing his crummy sneakers, the shabby jeans, too-tight black T-shirt and worn leather jacket. “And don’t you look great. I’m not used to seeing you so… out of uniform. You do put the ‘plain’ in plain-clothes.”

Starsky grinned at that, even though he knew it was a slam. Not letting Vanessa get to him was a new hobby, and he wanted to be good at it. “Thanks, Van!” he said, and it felt good when she rolled her eyes.

Pulling the door wide, Vanessa swept her beautiful bare arm in exaggerated welcome. “Please, come in. I imagine Ken sent you? Apologies and excuses? A deputation to the abandoned wife? Let me pour you a glass of wine, and you can tell me your story.”

“Um, I don’t think— “

She grabbed his leather sleeve, pushed the door shut, and tugged him to a small candlelit table. “Sit down,” she said, giving him a little shove into the chair. “No, really, sit. Someone should enjoy this with me. It’s an excellent vintage. Allow me to take your coat.” She slipped her hands under the collar of his jacket, slid it off of him with ease, and tossed it aside. He felt disarmed, though she’d never touched his shoulder-harness and gun. “This,” she said as she sat, “is Bordeaux, from a chateau so old and exclusive you have to deal directly with an importer to get it.” She poured half-glasses for both of them, which emptied the bottle. “It’s luscious. Bold and complex, yet smooth. And very, very expensive.” She lifted her crystal wineglass and touched it to his. “L’chaim,” she said, and winked.

The faint chime of their glasses roused him. He’d been distracted by her necklace – a long glittering chain with a filigree pendant that sparkled in the candlelight, resting in her smooth, perfect cleavage. Starsky cleared his throat, his eyes now fixed on his wine.

“Well?” Vanessa had taken a sip and was waiting for his response, her eyebrows raised.

Starsky took his glass and drank. “Yum,” he said. “It’s really… it’s good.” He took another sip, glad he didn’t have to fake liking it.

She nodded solemnly. “Yes. Well put. It is ‘good.’ Somehow I just knew, David, that you had a refined palate.”

Starsky swallowed, and set down his glass while counting to ten. “Yeah. Okay. Well, look, here’s the thing, Vanessa. Hutch is tied up at Metro, and he won’t be home for a couple hours. He wanted me to come tell you that. He’s real sorry. There, that’s the deal, and I oughta take off, so….” He pushed back his chair and rose, but the sheen of sudden tears in her eyes stopped him. “Hey. Hey, lookit, he wanted to get home, really. He hates being late, but everything came to a head tonight, and this is our first big bust as detectives. Hutch was the man inside and he’s gotta do this interrogation, and there are reports, and statements, and…he asked me to….” Starsky ground to an awkward halt.

Vanessa observed his discomfort for a few seconds, her dark eyes shining but her tears unshed, then gave an elegant shrug with her pretty shoulders. “Crab puff?” She lifted a china plate.

Starsky sighed. “Sure.” He sat back down and unhappily ate a puff. His eyebrows rose. “Wow. Wow, this is delicious. We didn’t eat all day.” He tossed another in his mouth. “Man, these are really good. Poor Hutch, he must be starving. I know I am.” He ate a third and washed it down with a little wine.

“Yes, poor ‘Hutch’,” Vanessa echoed, toying with a crab puff. She dropped it on her plate, then finished her glass of Bordeaux.

Starsky didn’t like her tone. “Hey, he’d’a been here if he could. Give him a break, okay? You think it’s a barrel of laughs, hidin’ in a warehouse all day, nothin’ to eat or drink, bein’ bored as hell right up until you get shot at, and then knowin’ you’re gonna miss out on—,” he gestured, “—this, whatever this is? What are you celebrating, anyway? Anniversary or something?”

Vanessa was staring at him. “Shot at?”

“Well, yeah, shot at. The bad guys had guns, they usually do.” He cocked his head at her. “Hutch didn’t get hit or anything. Think I’d be sittin’ here eatin’ crab puffs if he did? Jeez.”

Vanessa blew out a breath, then grabbed a corkscrew and started angrily opening the second bottle. “I hate this stupid job. What kind of life is this? Never home, never safe… He could have been anything, you know? Anything!” The cork popped, and she filled her glass brimful, then splashed some wine into Starsky’s. “He started out in pre-med, for God’s sake.”

“Yeah… but a doctor’s hours aren’t any better than a cop’s— ”

“The pay’s a lot better,” she snapped, and she downed half her glass without spilling.

Starsky shrugged, acknowledging her point, and ate another puff.

“You know what he should have done,” said Vanessa. She leaned close confidingly, and Starsky had to make himself look away again. Sometimes he really hated how beautiful she was. “He should have accepted my father’s offer of a position in the company. Ken aced all his business classes, he would have been great! He could have been a V.P. by now, on his way to our first million, instead of—” She broke off, shaking her head.

“For real?” Starsky asked with interest. “He coulda done that? Wow, that’s somethin’. The only millionaires I’ve ever known have been criminals.”

She laughed and lifted her glass. “Why am I not surprised.”

Starsky smiled ruefully and drank some of his own wine. “Where I grew up, the only people with that kind of dough were in the mob.”

“Mmm, how exciting.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “It’s bad news.” He became absorbed in a crab puff, tearing it in two before eating.

Vanessa watched him in silence, then said, “Wait here. I have a completely overdone chateaubriand with your name on it.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

“Hey. Hey, wait. Vanessa?” Starsky called after her. “Don’t— I really can’t— aw, man, look at all this. You don’t hafta…”

“Shut up. I have fifty dollars worth of ruined food here, and if Ken won’t show up to eat it, then you’re going to. I’m told you’ll eat anything.”

“You’re told that, huh?”

“Yes. Ken says you’re like a circus freak.”

“Huh. Ken’s a jerk sometimes.”

“He most certainly is.” Vanessa set down the laden platter, clinked her glass to Starsky’s and drank. Starsky pointedly set his glass aside.

“Ah,” said Vanessa shrewdly, picking up the serving spoon. “It’s like that, is it? You can criticize him, but no one else can. A little possessive, don’t you think?” She began to put food on his plate, but Starsky stopped her.

“Don’t do that. I’m not staying.”

Vanessa looked down at his hand, dark around her pale wrist, and she smiled. “Yes, you are.” She gently tugged out of his grasp and continued filling his plate. “You’re not leaving, and I’ll tell you why. First, you’re very loyal to your partner, and he asked you to smooth things over, didn’t he? So you’ll keep smoothing. Second – even though you don’t like me, you feel bad that I’m alone, and you do have a gallant streak, don’t you, David. And third? You’re famished.” She poured a stream of rich sauce around his beef and vegetables.

Starsky looked at the food on his plate. It smelled great. He thought about what she said, about loyalty, gallantry, and hunger, and it was all true. What the hell. He lifted his glass to her this time, conceding, and began to carve into his overdone fillet.

“So what’s the story here, Vanessa? This an anniversary dinner I’m eating?”

“This is my birthday dinner.”

“It’s your birthday? Well, happy birthday!” Starsky tried one of his better smiles on her, hoping it might lighten her mood.

Vanessa was looking at the candle flame through her wine. “My birthday was two weeks ago,” she said, then drank deeply. “Ken got held up at work. Left me sitting in a restaurant alone for an hour before calling.”

“Oh.” Starsky swallowed with a little difficulty. “Yeah. That was your birthday? I think I remember that night.”

“Do you?” she asked, though she didn’t seem interested.

“Yeah, Hutch felt really terrible about that. We got stuck on this stupid stake-out and our relief was late, and–”

“I’ve already heard this tragic excuse. You can save your breath.”

“Hey.” Starsky tried to catch her eye. “It happens to be the truth.”

Vanessa shrugged. “So, the dinner you are eating is attempt number two at my birthday celebration. Do you like it?”

Starsky chewed guiltily and nodded.

“I suppose Ken told you all about our argument that night. Did he tell you how unreasonable I was being? Did he tell you how incapable I am of accepting an honest apology? How cold I am when I don’t get my way?” This time Vanessa sought his eye, and he could see that she wanted an answer.

“No. Hutch never says bad things about you, Vanessa.”

“Ha. You’re lying.”

“Hey!” Starsky frowned at her, pointing his fork. “I am not lying. He doesn’t say bad stuff at all, except to beat himself up when your plans get shot to hell, like tonight.”

Vanessa had that shrewd look again. “Tell me. Does he says nice things about me?”

Starsky paused, then started chasing a carrot around his plate. “I think… Hutch tries to keep home and work separate.”

Vanessa laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that made Starsky keep his head down. “No, Ken does not keep home and work separate. Obviously I don’t rate much discussion, but he talks about you – constantly.”

Starsky still hadn’t managed to stab his carrot. “Yeah?”

“Oh yes. He says you’re loyal, and intelligent, and a good companion on patrol. He says you’re funny, and playful. Tenacious, protective, dependable, quick….”

“Aw.” Starsky tried to hide his pleased grin by drinking some wine.

“It is sweet, isn’t it? He always makes you sound like such a faithful pet.”

Starsky put down his glass.

“It sounds to me like he’s trained you well,” Vanessa continued. “You come when you’re called. You obviously obey his commands,” gesturing to Starsky’s presence at her table. “You attack, protect, guard, and even fetch. I wonder if you beg.”

Starsky sat back further in his seat, but he was still too near. Vanessa was able to reach over and stroke his cheek. “But what breed are you?” she mused. “Mmm, right now you look dark and fierce, like a Doberman. Though I always assumed you were a mutt. Just a shaggy, over-excited, overgrown pup. Barely house-trained, but so eager to please him. Maybe you should be the one bringing him his slippers at night.” She toyed with a curl near his ear.

Starsky stayed very still. “Are you done?” he asked quietly.

Vanessa smiled, slid her hand down his jaw, then cupped his chin. “So fun to play with,” she sighed.

He tugged his face away from her lingering hand. “If we’re usin’ doggy metaphors, I can call you a bitch without feelin’ too bad.”

She laughed with delight and patted his head. “Eat up, ‘Starsk,’ that’s a good boy.”

Starsky watched her finish her wine and pour another glass. “Haven’t you had enough to drink?” he asked.

Vanessa sighed, and shrugged, and sipped. “I have no place to be.”

She sounded almost defeated, and for nearly two seconds Starsky felt sorry for her. He started sawing at his beef again. “Well, if you’re gonna get loaded, at least eat something.” He shoved a chunk of meat in his mouth. “So what kind of breed are you?” he asked as he chewed. “Some sorta French poodle? Groomed and gorgeous, but yappy as hell? Kinda mean, with those teeth like little needles?”

She laughed again, not her usual deep laugh but more of a giggle. “I hate those things.” She studied him for a moment. “Maybe I’m a Doberman, like you.”

“I’ll buy that.” They clinked glasses again, almost companionably. Starsky ate another tough but tasty piece of meat and watched her tear up another crab puff. He drank some wine, savoring it, then said, “The thing is, Vanessa? We’re not much alike.”

She nodded, and twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Aside from a killer instinct? You’re right. Not alike at all.” She shook her head. “I don’t even like you that much. I can barely stand you, really.”

“See, I don’t like you either. You’re manipulative, and I think you’re bad for him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a cocky, uncouth prick, and I think you’re bad for him.”

“So… I guess we’ve got some mutual ground.” He raised his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Starsky sighed and pushed his plate away. “Puts Hutch in a hell of a position.”

Vanessa was finishing this glass, too. “Kenneth Hutchinson,” she said, enunciating carefully, “has always been in a hell of a position. He was born there, he was raised there, and he was in position when I met him. Positioned for greatness – which he’s determined not to grasp. Positioned for success – which he refuses to take—”

“Jesus, listen to you,” Starsky interrupted. “Do you know him at all? Do you even love him? You wanna talk about positions, I was pretty damn glad to have him in position today. He was in a pretty goddamn heroic position, which is why I’m sittin’ here talkin’ to you instead of layin’ on a slab. Do you even understand how good he is at what he does, or how good he is, in here?” He pressed a fist to his chest. “Hutch is the best person I ever met, and you, you can’t even see who he is! All you can see is—”

Vanessa was in tears. She had covered her face with her hands and turned away, bent low as though in pain.

“Jeez. Ah, don’t do that. Oh, man. You okay?” Starsky got up and knelt beside her chair. “Cut it out, willya? What’re you cryin’ for?” He touched her hair tentatively and patted her shoulder. “Man, Hutch is gonna kill me. Don’t cry, okay? Just… stop cryin’.”

Starsky was shocked when Vanessa wrapped an arm around him and pressed her face to his neck. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, what’re you doin’, huh?”

“He was so beautiful!” she whispered urgently. Starsky felt her lips moving against his skin, and he braced himself. One of Vanessa’s hands was clutching the back of his T-shirt and the other was warm on the muscle of his arm. “He was everything, everything… God, so tall and gorgeous… so smart and strong and sexy… and he loved me so much….” Vanessa’s mouth traveled heatedly as she spoke, moving from Starsky’s neck to his ear, along his jaw, to his lips. “He loved me, he loved me, and he was so beautiful….”

Starsky tried to pull back, but her hands were fisted in his hair now. “Vanessa,” he said, and it was all the opening she needed. The kiss stunned him at first, and it deepened alarmingly before he dragged his mouth away and lifted her into his arms.

“God, he was everything, he could be anything….” He could feel her tears and her words against his throat, the rake of her nails as her fingers tightened with frustration at the back of his head. “I had him first, why isn’t he mine…”

Starsky carried her to the bedroom, faltering for a moment when he saw the turned-down bed, the lit candles, the champagne on ice. “Aw, man, Hutch,” he sighed, laying Vanessa on the bed, feeling her hands slide down his arms as he drew away.

Vanessa’s dark eyes glittered at him for a moment before closing. “I’m tired,” she murmured.

“I know.” Starsky bent and removed her high-heeled shoes. “You just sleep a little now, okay? Ken’ll be home soon.”

“Okay.” She nestled into her pillow, smiling. “Isn’t it nice in here?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty.”

“Ken looks so good in candlelight….”

“Yeah, okay.” Starsky looked around, feeling miserable. “Maybe I should blow some of these out, though, huh? Just ‘til Hutch gets home?” He blew them out, one by one, and stood there for a moment. “He’s really very sorry,” Starsky said into the darkness. He listened to her quiet, even breathing, then turned to go.

“I know he is,” Vanessa replied softly.

Starsky had thought she was sleeping.

The End