Merely Players

But the place she was in right now was oddly right; he was asking her out of a sense of commiseration, not obligation, as if they were equals. If he knew they really were, would she have his respect so easily? Or was he only treating her as such because she’d surprised him back there in that corn field with her competence, because he had set the bar low, thinking she was a rich man’s daughter and not a cop?

It’s a man’s world, which explained virtually everything, Linda decided. It explained her mother’s bewilderment when Linda had scoffed at her words, several years ago: “But you’re so pretty. Pretty enough for film, even.” At the time, Linda hadn’t understood why her mother would suggest acting, of all things, as an alternative to a career as a police officer. Now, she thought she might owe her mother an apology. Everything about her job involved posing, after all. Female detectives get to pose as hookers; women in a man’s job pretending to be doing a woman’s job.

Joanne Mello was the role now, and a distinctly feminine role it was. A true Daddy’s girl, unsullied by the realities of what had paid for the designer luggage.

“You handled yourself pretty well. Most people would have been hysterical.” It was a frank compliment, unencumbered by incredulity. Linda wished she could raise an eyebrow and say “I’m a cop; I know how to handle myself.” They were competent, the two of them, real. Bona fide, serve and protect types. She wished she could let them in. “Thanks,” she replied instead.

Maybe letting them in, however marginally, wasn’t such a bad idea. The most effective lies were closest to the truth. These two were not ones to be fooled by a sloppy lie. “Look, I’m sorry what I said about the police and my father.” There. The contriteness hooked him, distracted him from the fact that she’d kept her cool running from gunfire through a cornfield. Nudge him back into the lie; that she was really a frightened, naïve young woman.

“Hot?” Hutch had an easy smile, his arms resting on his knees, his entire frame inviting, accepting. It was hot, sitting on the floor of the rickety van, and loud, and they were not entirely out of danger, wouldn’t be until they reached Bay City, and even then it was precarious at best. But the place she was in right now was oddly right; he was asking her out of a sense of commiseration, not obligation, as if they were equals. If he knew they really were, would she have his respect so easily? Or was he only treating her as such because she’d surprised him back there in that corn field with her competence, because he had set the bar low, thinking she was a rich man’s daughter and not a cop? It made it easy to reply with a “sure am,” and make small talk. Crazy, that she was alone with two handsome men and she could never have mustered a more satisfying fantasy than the one that she was trying to sell to them right now, that she was tough as nails but not a threat at all, not an equal, not really. It was the perfect fantasy, for men living in a man’s world.

It’s a man’s world, she thought as she sat quietly, the men arguing around her. She’d lost her place on team Starsky and Hutch the moment she’d flashed her badge at them. Then again, she’d had enough time to observe them to figure out that it was probably Starsky and Hutch versus the world most of the time.

“So with the help of Helen Hayes here, the two of you turn us into a couple of clay pigeons.” Starsky’s anger was justified, Linda figured. His assessment of her as being a puppet master’s assistant though-that she resented. She supposed that she could take his choice of comparison to one of film’s greatest leading ladies as a compliment.

She wouldn’t. She was a cop. One who’d put her neck on the line alongside them. She tilted her head back, keeping her posture casual, but giving him a withering look.

“You’ve earned it.” Dobey was right. She was just doing her job, just like any male officer, but if she wasn’t going to receive the same level of respect, well, she’d take the perks where she could get them. She deserved something for having to exist as a woman in a man’s world.

Later, she’ll have a scar to show for it. “Of course it hurts, you Dummy.” But she was glad for his stupid question and everything that he wasn’t saying, because there was that frank respect again, that feeling that she was one of them. Scandalous; in a man’s world, a woman’s scars are supposed to be on the inside, even if they’re layered one on top of the other.