About Last Night

What really happened just before that strange scene in “Captain Dobey, You’re Dead!”

To make this work, I had to switch around the order of “CDYD” and “Lady Blue,” I hope this doesn’t bother anyone too much.

We were hanging out at my place that night-there was a movie on TV that I really wanted to watch. Hutch had picked up a pizza and some beers on the way over-we were sitting in the living room, eating pizza, downing beers, and watching Bridge on the River Kwai. A war movie-almost as good as a cop movie. We’d seen this one before.

“You ever wonder what it would be like to be in the army?” I asked suddenly. My mind was not entirely on the movie. Maybe I’d had too many beers.

Hutch looked at me strangely. “That’s funny-I thought you were in the army. Why would you have to wonder?”

“Nah,” I shrugged. “I was only in for six months before I got discharged. I never saw any action. It’s not the same thing. Basic training is tough, but it’s not like being in a war.”

“You sorry you never saw action?” Hutch asked. His voice had gotten quiet. I stared at my beer bottle. “Nah. But I did feel guilty about it for awhile. All these guys getting shipped off to ‘Nam and shipped home in body bags, and me discharged because of a lousy virus.”

“It could have gotten worse.”

“I know.” I stared at the bottle some more, and started picking at the edges of the label with my fingers. “Combat, though. That’s another story. Living in the trenches, watching men die, some of them your friends, maybe even your best friend.” I looked over at Hutch. “I guess you might even die to save your best friend, if you could. That tight.”

“That tight,” Hutch repeated, and squeezed my arm.

“I guess we’ve been in combat situations.”

“I guess we have.”

“Not like a war, though.”

“No.”

We stared silently at the TV for a bit. Alec Guinness was bossing William Holden around.

“I’ve heard that men in a war sometimes get so close that they-I mean, there are no girls around, and they’re living in tight quarters-you know what I mean? They might do things they wouldn’t do in ordinary life.” I looked at Hutch to see if he understood.

“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes still on the TV.

“We don’t have an ordinary life,” I went on, hesitantly. I waited to see if he would catch my meaning. He was watching the TV.

I touched his hand, lightly. We touched each other all the time, me and Hutch, but I wanted this to be different. I used my fingertips to stroke the back of his hand, which was resting on the couch.

I’d had these feelings before, usually late at night, usually when I was a little drunk. I was a little drunk now, otherwise I’d never be able to do what I did next.

I reached across with my left hand and put it around Hutch’s neck, touching his jaw with my thumb. I pulled his head down a bit and reached up with my own until our mouths touched. I did it so fast I don’t think he even knew what was happening.

Hutch’s hands lay awkwardly on the couch as I kissed him. My mouth on his mouth, my lips on his lips. They were so soft and tender, I was surprised. I don’t know what I expected. I felt something stir deep inside me.

For a second, just a split second, I felt Hutch’s hand brush my arm, and I felt his mouth respond to mine. I know I felt it, but it only lasted a moment. Then he was pulling away from me, pushing me off him, rising suddenly from the couch and glaring down at me.

“What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?” He was looking at me with shock, still trying to register what had just happened.

“I’m-nothing, never mind. It was just-a feeling.”

“This isn’t the army, Starsky. This isn’t a war. There are girls around.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, Jesus, what the fuck are you thinking? Jesus,” Hutch said again.

“I’m sorry. I was just…curious. I wanted to see what it would be like. I won’t do it again.”

“You’re damn right you won’t do it again. You know, maybe we are spending too much time together, in close quarters,” he said. Then he picked up his holster and jacket and left.

I sat on the couch for a few more minutes, watching the end of the movie and finishing another beer. Alec Guinness was wrestling in the dirt with Geoffrey Horne. Looked like something me and Hutch would do.

Hutch was mad, but I knew he would forgive me. We always had dumb fights like that. Besides, I could remind him that I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing. My inhibitions were loosened, as he would say. It was no big deal.

And yet, I couldn’t help what I’d felt, I couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened on that couch that night was somehow more important than I realized.

*************

The next day at work, things got off to a weird start. On the drive in, we’d happened upon a car accident, and stopped to take down names and information for a report. Hutch was doing the typing and I was helping him remember stuff. I guess we hadn’t remembered all the categories on the form, because there was some stuff we hadn’t written down.

“What was the color of that car, the second car in that smash-up, was it red or orange?”

“Neither. It was flamingo.”

“Flamingo?” Hutch looked strange, almost angry, like I shouldn’t be using words like “flamingo” to describe cars. Like I said, it was a weird morning.

“Uh huh. My mother had a ’47 Studebaker was the same color.”

“No kidding.”

“No. Why don’t you just admit it. You’re ticked off ’cause of what happened last night.”

“No I’m not.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Look, I’m not angry. It has nothing to do with last night.” But I could tell he was lying.

Next thing I knew, Hutch was throwing a book at me, something he’d apparently been keeping in his desk drawer for just such an occasion.

“I’ve been meaning to give that to you for some time now.”

I looked at the cover. “Madame Olga’s Self-Help Program to Become Right-Handed?” I turned the title into a question, and looked up at Hutch in confusion.

“Starsky, if your best friend can’t tell you, who can?” He pulled the sheet of paper out of the typewriter and took it into Captain Dobey’s office. Then he came back.

“Sooner or later you’ve gotta realize that this whole world was designed for right-handed people. You’re just out of step.”

“I do all right,” I said defensively.

“Aren’t you a little tired of doing just all right?”

I stared at the book. Usually I don’t mind reading about weird things like horoscopes and voodoo. But this was different-this was me. I never minded being left-handed, even if it was a little inconvenient. It made me different, it made me special. I liked wearing rings on my left hand and a watch on my left wrist-they showed it off. It was like I was dressing up my left hand to show how special it was.

Hutch never minded, either. Before, anyway. Why was he making such a big deal about it now? I knew it had to do with last night. I just couldn’t quite figure out the connection.

The whole time we were looking for Leo Moon, this was bugging me. I forced it to the back of my mind-hunting for this maniac before he could hurt Dobey or his family was more important than a silly fight between Hutch and me.

But after it was all over, and Moon and C.J. Woodfield were both taken care of, the niggling thoughts came back. One morning, Hutch brought it up again in the squad room.

“You read that book I gave you, Starsk?”

“No. And I’m not gonna, either.”

Hutch looked up. “Why not?”

“Because. I don’t mind being left-handed, and I don’t care what you or anybody else thinks. Besides, I don’t think you can change who you are.”

“Of course you can. Wouldn’t you rather have an easier time in the world? It would be so much easier to be right-handed. I really think you should give it a try.”

“Why is this bothering you so much now? You never minded before.”

“Well, I never really noticed before. It never affected me before.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense. How is it affecting you?” I still felt like I was missing something.

Hutch didn’t answer. I was getting pissed.

“Listen, I was born left-handed, left-handed is part of who I am. I can’t change it, and I wouldn’t if I could. I like it. I like being left-handed.” So there, I thought. That should shut him up.

But instead, Hutch leaned in close to me, so no one else could hear. “Listen, dummy, this isn’t about your stupid hand. Figure it out.” Then he got up and walked out the squad room door.

It wasn’t about my hand? I knew it! It was about that night at my place. But I still didn’t get the connection.

On my way down to the parking garage I did some thinking. What was lefthandedness like, that Hutch wanted me to change?

Somewhere between P1 and P2, I figured it out.

At the car, Hutch was waiting in the passenger seat, reading the newspaper and chewing gum. I opened the driver’s side door and got in.

As I put the key in the ignition, I said, “I am not a fairy.” Then I started the engine. The car roared to life. For emphasis, I backed out of the parking spot at 45 mph, tires screeching. I slammed on the brakes, put the car into drive, and stepped hard on the gas. Hutch nearly choked on his gum.

“Then how do you explain what happened?” he asked, after he stopped coughing.

“It was an experiment. Obviously, it failed. I said I was sorry.”

“Well, don’t let it happen again.”

“Awright. I said I wouldn’t! What do you want from me? I don’t need your fucking book, telling me how to behave.” I was quiet for a moment, as we cruised the familiar streets and alleyways of our beat.

“I’m not a fairy, Hutch,” I repeated. “But if I was, I wouldn’t change it. I’m not gonna change who I am, not for you, not for anybody.”

“Stop saying that word. I never said you were a fairy.”

“No, but that’s what you meant.”

“I would never use that word.”

“What word, then? Faggot? Feygele? That’s what my mother called them. Queer? Gay? Homo?”

“Whatever.” Hutch seemed annoyed.

“You know, a lot of people probably think we’re a couple of homos anyway, the way we’re always touching and hugging each other.” I glanced over, to see if I’d pushed too far. Hutch was staring straight ahead at the traffic. “The way we spend all our free time together? Probably makes them wonder.”

“Aw, who cares? Who cares what other people think?”

“Not me. I don’t care one bit.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

And that was the end of that. For awhile, at least.

*************

We didn’t get drunk together again for awhile. I guess we were being careful.

The next time was a few months later. I was feeling low, because an ex-girlfriend of mine had been killed, and we’d just caught the guy who did it, some poor slob wacko who’d fallen through the cracks of the system. The whole thing had been depressing, so I was happy when Hutch invited me over for dinner.

Just before the oven timer rang, Hutch moved a couple of candles over to the table, and lit them. He’d already opened a bottle of wine.

“Who’re the candles for, are you expecting someone?”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re eating early.”

“Oh. What time am I leaving?” I pretended to be annoyed, and looked at my watch. But I knew he didn’t need to light candles two hours before his date arrived.

Hutch didn’t pay attention. “Look at this,” he said, taking the lid off a casserole he’d just removed from the oven. It was pot roast with vegetables.

“Hey! Hey, that’s my favorite. How’d you know?”

“I called your mother up.”

“You called my mother?”

“Yeah, she calls it the Paul Muni special.”

“You called my mother?” I repeated. “What are we, on our honeymoon?”

“Oh no, that ended long ago. I thought it would cheer you up, that’s all.” Hutch served the meat and vegetables while I poured some more wine. The pot roast was delicious-I was always screwing up recipes I got from my mother, but Hutch was a good cook. We were having a good time, eating and talking, and laughing, and we made it through two bottles of wine.

I noticed it was getting dark outside, and there was still no sign of Hutch’s date. But I didn’t say anything.

I waited for the right moment, and then I reached across the table and put my hand on Hutch’s. “Thanks, buddy. This means a lot to me.” Hutch smiled and put his other hand on top of mine. “You’re welcome. Everyone needs a good pot roast now and then.” His eyes sparkled when he smiled, and the candlelight made his blonde hair shimmer…

I pulled my hand out from between his, and looked away. Aw, shit. I was having those feelings again. I had drunk too much wine.

“Let me clear the table for you,” I said, getting up and grabbing my plate and silverware.

“Starsky, what’s the matter? What’s your hurry? I’m still working on my wine.”

“I don’t wanna be in your way when what’shername gets here.”

“Ah. That was just an excuse. I don’t have a date. I just wanted to light the candles.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I like candles.” I was standing there, holding my plate, and he was smiling up at me in that unguarded way he has.

“Oh. Ok,” I said, and walked into the kitchen, dumping my plate and silver into the sink.

“You can’t go, anyway. We drank too much. Stay and watch the ballgame with me.”

It was April. “Lakers or Dodgers?” I asked.

“Whatever you like.”

“What’s going on, Hutch?” I had the feeling something was up.

“Nothing,” he said, and gave me one of his innocent looks. But I had the feeling something was.

*************

The game was in the eighth inning. We were sitting on the couch, watching. Well, I was watching. Hutch was reading a book. Hutch could probably read through a hurricane.

“Hutch,” I said. No answer.

“Hutch!” I said a little louder. Still nothing.

“Hutch!” This time I kicked his leg as I said it.

“Hmmmm? Did you say something?”

“Yeah, dummy, I said your name three times before you heard me.”

“You know how I get when I’m reading.”

“Yeah, I know. Listen, I’m gonna get going.”

“Oh really? Is the game over?”

“No, but it’s the eighth and the Dodgers are down twelve-nothing. I think it’s a done deal.”

“Oh.”

“There anything you wanted to tell me?”

“No.”

“Nothing you wanted to talk about?”

“Not really. Why?”

“No reason. I just got the feeling there was…something.” I put my hands on the couch beside me, to push myself up. But Hutch put his hand over mine before I could get up.

“Starsk.”

“What?”

Hutch looked at me for a moment. He’d put the book down. “Remember that night, a few months ago, when…” His voice trailed off.

“Oh no, not that again. Hutch, I apologized a hundred times already!”

“No-I mean, I know. I’m bringing it up again because I want to explain. I feel badly about what happened. I overreacted.”

This was interesting. I sat there, waiting.

Hutch looked at me. He rubbed his face. He was trying to figure out how to say something.

“Uh-I overreacted because-you scared me.”

“I scared you?”

“Yes. You scared me. You did something I’d thought about doing many times. Thought about but never did. You just did it. Just like that. It felt-it felt like you’d read my mind.”

This was getting more interesting by the second. “Go on,” I said.

“Well, that’s it, really. It scared me, and I didn’t know how to respond. I behaved badly, and I’m sorry.” Hutch looked at me with those clear blue eyes.

“Apology accepted.”

“What you did took guts.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I was pretty drunk. I don’t know if I woulda been so gutsy if I was sober.”

“Whatever. I think you had guts. You don’t care what people think of you. Not even what I think of you.”

“Oh, I care what you think of me, Blondie. I’m no saint.” We sat for a moment in silence. Finally, I had to ask. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

“Do?” he asked.

“Do,” I said. And this time it was Hutch who reached up and pulled my face close to his. I could smell the wine on his breath, and then he kissed me, and I could taste it.

We kissed for a long, long moment. Our mouths opened and we tasted the warmth of each other. I felt his hand in my hair; I touched his Adam’s apple. I felt that same strange stirring as last time, in what I can only call my soul because I have no other name for it.

Then it was over. We pulled away from each other. I felt drunk again, though I had finished my last glass of wine an hour ago.

“I wanted to know what it would feel like. I’ve wanted to have that moment back for a long time,” Hutch said.

“It felt good,” I said. I could feel the color rise in my face. Maybe it was the wine.

“Yeah, it did.”

“So now what?”

“Now?” Hutch seemed puzzled.

“Yeah, now. What do we do now?”

“We do nothing, Starsky. What can we do?” He seemed to be asking my permission for something.

“I dunno.”

“You want two-point-two children and a white picket fence. You want something normal. So do I. We can’t do anything. I just wanted to see-see what it would be like.”

“Now you know.”

“Now I know.”

“Well,” I said, getting up at last and reaching for my jacket, which I’d thrown across a chair. “Whatever you like. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” I wanted him to understand. I wanted him to know that I was not against letting something happen just because I hadn’t planned on it, just because it hadn’t been part of my vision of the perfect life. What was perfect, anyway?

Hutch sat on the couch, looking up at me. He looked like he didn’t know what to say. I figured I’d let him think about it for awhile.

“See ya tomorrow, bright and early,” I said, and closed the door behind me. I tried to walk normally down to the car, in case he was watching through the window. But inside, I felt that stirring again. It felt like a bird, a tiny bird beating its wings against the membrane around my heart.

the end

The sequel to this story is Starsky and Hutch Take a Vacation.