What Was Just a World is a Star

Starsky takes Hutch to see West Side Story. Is this a date or just an education in the great American art form?

Starsky banged through Hutch’s front door as he always did, with exuberance. Never failed to garner an emotional response from Hutch. Sometimes joy, sometimes confusion, occasionally annoyance. But Ken Hutchinson had come to learn that Starsky was someone he needed in his life, always. He was a power for good.

“Hutch! Look!”

Starsky plunked down at the table, scattering the forms and court documents Hutch had to read and sign to finish his divorce proceedings. It was worse, in his considered opinion, than having wisdom teeth pulled. He’d suffered through the latter in 1965.

“Starsky, I’m in the midst…” Hutch protested, knowing full well he’d be swept up in whirlwind Dave, and rather relieved to abandon the depressing paperwork.

“You’ll love this,” Starsky declared, pausing to snag a few of the pretzels Hutch had been snacking on. “The Roxy is celebrating iconic American musicals this month, and since we’re off today, and Maggie n’ Cathy are working a flight to Fiji, I thought we could go stag.”

“Musicals,” Hutch asked dubiously.

“West Side Story.” Starsky enunciated each word with significant pauses between as if that gave the title more significance. “The classic.”

“Never seen it.” Hutch stood abruptly to get something for his dry throat. How did Starsky have this effect on him so often? There was a flutter in his stomach, really in his chest. He felt lightheaded and powerless which made him cranky.

“You’ve never seen West Side Story?” Starsky asked in amazement.

“No.” Hutch poured a glass of water from the tap and downed it quickly.

“You’ve never seen West Side Story?” Starsky repeated, coming to his feet as if he couldn’t grasp the concept. “Never seen…West Side Story…”

“No, and saying it over and over doesn’t change the fact.”

“It’s only one of the best musicals ever made.” Starsky looked Hutch up and down suspiciously. “You’re a singer. You must know Tonight or Maria, something like that.”

“My parents…” Hutch coughed to clear his throat. “Mainly my mother, didn’t like music. She was raised in an extremely strict church where singing,–uh, drinking, dancing, all of that, was forbidden. As an adult, she listened to classical music but I don’t think she liked popular stuff.”

Starsky crossed his arms, leaning on the kitchen counter. “And your dad?”

Hutch shrugged, his heart speeding up, unable to look away from Starsky’s casual insouciance. Those narrow, smooth hips in skin tight jeans. “Not his scene, from what I can tell. He was all board meetings and corporate taxes.”

“So how’d you end up singing like a bird?” Starsky leaned forward, into Hutch’s personal space.

“I…wanted to impress a friend.” Hutch gazed across the room at the guitar on his piano bench. Didn’t have to mention that friend was a guy named Jack Mitchell. “He liked folk songs–Harry Belafonte and the Weavers. Suddenly, I was attracting girls, and my grandfather gave me a guitar for Christmas. Music and singing came easily to me.” His cheeks went hot with embarrassment.

“And here I thought somebody with a voice like yours musta studied music for years,” Starsky said, his eyes soft and full of light.

Hutch wanted to bottle that complement and save it for a rainy day. “Thanks. It’s…my own place, where I can breathe.”

Starsky grabbed his arm, propelling him toward the front door. “Then you definitely need an education, my friend. West Side Story for lesson one.”

“Starsk,” Hutch complained, taking one last look at the divorce decree and fleeing. “Aren’t musicals hokey and unrealistic, dancing in the streets and singing in harmony with complete strangers?”

“That’s the magic of ‘em, Hutch.” Starsky waved him into his bright red Mustang. “We get enough realism cruising the streets in our black and white, rousting whippos and shoplifters.”

“With the occasional murder thrown in,” Hutch added, putting on sunglasses against the mid afternoon sunlight. Was this really a good idea? Even if he put off scribbling his John Hancock on the signature line of the divorce papers, he should be studying. “What about the detective sergeant’s exam next month? We should be cramming.”

“You were one of them in high school, huh?” Starsky said with a sigh, turning right into the parking lot near the Roxy. “Stay cool, daddy-o, you can live it up and die in bed.”

“Poetry, Starsky?” Possibly Kerouac or Ginsberg? Wouldn’t be the first time Starsky had quoted something obscure.

“Song lyrics,” Starsky corrected, humming with occasional air punches, all while driving. “Real cool.”

Although the Art Deco theatre was only blocks away from his studio apartment, Hutch had never actually gone to a movie there. He looked dubiously at a large one sheet in the street side display cabinet. The poster was all red, with West Side Story written in black, and two white silhouettes dancing on a fire escape.

“That would be dangerous,” Hutch pointed out to cover his sudden apprehension. “Dancing on a fire escape.” Why should he be nervous about going to see a musical? Or was it more that this seemed completely different and special. Kind of like a date, alone with Starsky?

Only, of course, it was not. They’d been partners ever since they both left their rookie stage, riding in a police car for hours every day. He’d been alone with Starsky for most of the past year, when he was a married man.

And now he wasn’t any longer–well, wouldn’t be when he signed the damn papers. Which he would do, tonight, when he got home. Damn Nancy Vanessa Rutherford.

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s hand, dragging him to the cashier booth. “Pay the man, I’ll spring for the popcorn.”

Dazedly, Hutch forked over the three dollars and twenty cents for two tickets and caught up with Starsky at the snack counter.

“You like Jujubes or Milk Duds?” Starsky asked over his shoulder.

“Who likes Jujubes?” Hutch grimaced.

“Knew you had good taste.” Starsky grinned at him, grabbing a huge bucket of popcorn, leaving the box of candy and two sodas for Hutch to manage.

“Starsky, how can you eat this much at two o’clock in the afternoon?” Hutch wondered out loud as they entered the darkened cinema. “Didn’t you eat lunch?” In fact, he himself had not, because he’d been wading through the damned legalese of the court documents and silently damning his soon to be ex-wife.

“Ate a late breakfast,” Starsky said, pointing out two seats in the direct center of the place. “So this is lunch.” He settled into a seat with obvious pleasure. “You just wait, Hutch, this’ll win you over. Make you a believer.” He opened the Milk Duds, tossing the entire contents into the vat of popcorn.

“Starsky!” Hutch said. He’d always alternated his bites; a handful of popcorn, followed by a sip of Coke and lastly a single piece of candy. Made the snack last longer.

“Ssh.” Starsky put a finger to his lips when the lights dimmed. “It’s starting.” He stuffed a handful of popcorn and candy into his mouth.

“Not many people here on a Tuesday afternoon,” Hutch observed to stop himself from watching Starsky eat. From watching Starsky, period. This was a movie, for gosh sakes, not a make-out date like the time he took Mary Jane Penski to see Breakfast at Tiffany’s in 1961.

Suddenly a violin note swelled, held longer than expected, followed by fingers snapping in in rhythm. Boys sauntered across a school yard to music that was both lush and nervy, jangly with lots of sharp, harsh chords. The boys broke into synchronized movements, balletic and tough, incongruously aerobatic street fighters.

Hutch was utterly hooked. He forgot about the popcorn, and any thought that real gang members, kids he and Starsky dealt with on a daily basis, would not strut to staccato orchestration on the streets.

West Side Story’s retelling of a boy from one world and a girl from the other falling in love caught Hutch in its grip and wouldn’t let him go.

Starsky nudged him with his elbow when Tony climbed up to Maria’s balcony. “Like Romeo and Juliet, huh?” he whispered.

Hutch inhaled sharply as the music started for Tonight. He’d lied. He’d heard the song before but it had never made such an impression. He listened, rapt.

“Only you, you’re the only thing I’ll see, forever…I saw you, and the world went away. Today the world was just an address, a place for me to live in…”

He was ensnared by the love story, tears brimming in his eyes at the sight of Maria gathering the dying Tony in her arms.

“There’s a place for us. Somewhere a place for us…”

“Blondie,” Starsky said into his ear. “Movie’s over.”

“You don’t–” Hutch gestured at the screen. “Watch the credits?”

“You want to?” Starsky grinned indulgently with a lift of his shoulders. “Go ‘head.”

Hutch didn’t want to stare at the rolling list of movie technicians. He wanted to gaze at Starsky, to let the world to go away and find a place for them…

“No.” He got up fast, almost tripping over the empty popcorn container Starsky had stashed on the floor sometime during the film. “Let’s go.” Hopefully, this mood brought on by the gorgeous, romantic music would abate in the car and he could– “What?”

“What?” Starsky echoed, stepping out into the daylight.

Hutch blinked. The late afternoon seemed to glow with promise. “The world is full of light,” he recited from Tonight.

“With suns and moons all over the place,” Starsky sang, his voice deep and inviting.

Hutch looked straight at him, drawn in and wanting more.

Starsky’s fingers closed around his wrist, towing him towards the car. There were no other vehicles in the dirt lot. They were alone, together.

With abrupt desire, Hutch put his hand onto Starsky’s hip, sliding a finger through his belt loop.

“Starsk,” he said, facing him.

“Yeah.” Starsky gulped air as if suddenly nervous.

“That song–”

“Tonight?” Starsky read his mind.

“Could be about us?” Hutch couldn’t help his voice rising in a question, despite his certainly that they belonged together. That there would be a place for them. Somewhere.

“Yeah.” Starsky’s voice squeaked.

Hutch leaned close, pressing a brief kiss on Starsky’s full lips.

“Yeah,” Starsky said in a raspy baritone. He surged into Hutch for half a moment. “We gotta go home. Not here.”

“Agreed,” Hutch wanted to break out in a jubilant dance number, all kicks and leaps like the Jets and Sharks. With his clumsy footwork, he’d more likely trip over his own sneakers. “Continue this at my place?”

“Sounds like a plan!” Starsky took a step and hopped, performing a balletic jette Hutch would never have believed Starsky was capable of.

“You can dance!” He clapped, impressed.

Starsky bowed with snarky verve. “Lots you don’t know about me,” he said, winking and beckoning Hutch to the Mustang. “C’mon, let’s get to know each other better.”

“Yeah.” Hutch smiled, feeling foolish but free. Not a married man any longer. There was so much to look forward to. “And hey, what movie is lesson two in this celebration of iconic American musicals?”

“Oh, man!” Starsky jumped into the car, jamming the key in the ignition. “Guys and Dolls, and then Music Man. Hutch, it’s gonna be terrific.”

Hutch couldn’t agree more.

FIN