Cravings

128

Starsky and Hutch are separated while Hutch deals with the after effects of the episode, The Fix.

 

Originally published in the SHareCon 2016 zine.

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Book Of Stamps

A terrifying thing a book of stamps,
Messengers of a slice of life recorded
Letters written under reading lamps
Sentences arranged, well ordered.

A formidable thing to place on a letter
A stamp, an address, properly formed
Check the seal, make edges wetter
Return to sender if sender is known.

A hopeful thing, words speak the heart
Deciphers what is beat out in code
While ever faithful friends are apart
A fearful heart grows more bold.

A forbidden thing, never to see day
A letter, stamped with brazen truth
Tell of tidings sweet, that say,
Trees of love have taken root.

A tortuous thing, love not returned
No ink bled words on paper sheets
Can end the pain that forever burns
Or still the heart that forever weeps.

~Mvernet and spencer5460~

 

Day 1– October 18, 1975

Note left in Hutch’s suitcase

Hey, Hutch,

I haven’t even dropped you off at that rehabitate U place yet, but I miss you already. Makes me realize how much room there is in the front seat of the Torino, if you know what I mean. I got to tell you, I did not like the idea of that joint. I know you wanted a discrete place to go put your head back together, but that has got to be the worst area in the city, babe.

You know how I feel about taking you there? Like I’m bringing my favorite mutt to the pound. Now, I am not calling you a dog. But my gut’s all twisty like. You know, if you were a dog and the dog catcher’s van picked you up, I’d come get you. Pay the fine and buy you a license, babe.

I got to tell you, I still think we could have handled it together. It is not your fault what Forrest did. It is not your fault you got the cravings. You have nothing to feel guilty about. We all have cravings for one thing or another. Me, I get cravings, too, only mine are for bean burritos and chili dogs. You know you’re always saying those are going to kill me some day. Ha ha.

Babe, I know you are real down right now and you got to be real worried. But seriously, you don’t belong in a place like that full of street punks, bums and junkies. I want you to know I think you are the bravest man I know. And the best. They better learn that in that place or I will come and learn them a thing or two.

You watch your back. Anything happens you do not like, you call me. I don’t care what the rules are. You use that book of stamps and stationary I gave you. If I don’t hear from you, I am going to raid the place code three.

Sweet dreams.

LoVe,

Starsk

 

Note written on Snoopy stationery

Starsk,

I appreciate the stationery and stamps, buddy, but really, was Snoopy the best you could find? (Or is this another jibe at “bringing your favorite mutt to the pound?”) Besides, you know I won’t be allowed any communication – incoming or outgoing – for at least a week. I don’t like it any better than you, but those are the rules. I just thought I’d fire off a little note or two and maybe the staff here will set them aside for you, when they think I’m ready for some contact with the outside world. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone here checks my mail, though, to make sure I’m not trying to arrange a score or something.

I have to believe this is all for the best. I know how much you went through to help me get that junk out of my system, and I appreciate it. I really do! How you covered for me – put your badge at risk and all. I may not have understood that when I was screaming at you and throwing things around like a child. But I understand it now.

I have to make sure I won’t go back to it. For both our sakes. I believe you trust me, but I need to trust myself. You know? Just make sure Dobey doesn’t find out about this. He was good enough to let me use my vacation time all at once. I just don’t want him to know what I’m using it for. Remember, if anyone asks, I’m visiting with my sister’s new baby. And if my parents should call… never mind. It’s not like they ever do.

Part of this whole business is to give me time to reflect. Well, I don’t need much of that to realize I’m a lucky man to have the kind of friends I have. Not only you, but Dobey and Huggy, too. The kind of partner I have… Sorry, I know how you hate soapy scenes. Soapy letters aren’t much better. Besides, it all looks a little silly written on a piece of paper with a picture of Snoopy dancing in the corner.

I have a roommate. His name is Sal. I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to him much yet. I hope he doesn’t snore as much as you! He’s in the common room right now. That’s where they keep magazines, board games and a TV to kill time when we’re not in therapy sessions or doing chores. Sounds great, right? I guess I’ll have plenty of time to brush up on Chess and Monopoly, not that I need any practice to beat your sorry ass. Maybe I’ll even catch some of those dumb monster movies you’re always yammering about.

The neighborhood may be a little rough around here, but this place isn’t so bad. Not really. Anyway, it has to be better than what we face every day on the streets. And as for the other patients here, well, ‘there but for the grace of God… and you. But now you’ll be out there alone for a while. Don’t think that doesn’t eat at me. So don’t take any unnecessary chances. No private parties, as Dobey likes to say.

Lights out in five. I’ll talk to you soon. The time will fly by. You’ll see.

Hutch

 

Day 3– October 20, 1975

Written on a napkin, then thrown away.

Dear Hutch,

I know you are not going to get this right away and I know you will not be able to write to me right away, but I’m going nuts.

There are some things I’ve been wanting to tell you. Things I should have said before you went to Hope House. But you were in no shape to hear them. And maybe I just didn’t know how to say it right. But I guess now is as good a time as any. Especially after I’ve had a couple a beers.

When you were missing I just about went insane with worry. Ask Huggy. I’m at Huggy’s right now in our booth. I’ll drink an extra beer to your health, babe. It was not just the fear you might be dead. We got to face that fear every day, although we usually face it together. It was how I felt with you gone. Like I couldn’t breathe. Like half my lungs were missing. Even more, like half my heart and soul were gone.

Well, even though I know where you are at now, I got that same feeling. I just got you back, babe. I still think we could have worked on putting you back together, together. Why did you think we could not? Them counsellors don’t know you like I do, babe.

Huggy told me a few stories about Hope House. Stuff that people on the outside don’t always hear. I didn’t tell him that’s where you are, but you know Huggy. There ain’t much that gets past that nose for news. Once I started asking what the word on the street is about that place—and then you not being here—well, he put two and two together. Sorry, but I had to talk to someone. I was going crazy, like I said. So don’t be mad.

Huggy thinks they are only interested in the subsidies they get from the government for running an inner city rehab. Hug says guys go there to clean up and get some good food, but they feed the guys donated stuff and don’t give a shit about treating them like men. They make you read the Bible and go to church while they line their pockets with charity donations. And he says that work therapy bullshit is just free labor. Dirty work they can’t pay people to do.

They got a rep for tossing people out on the street for breaking stupid rules. Right into the hands of the pushers that hang out all practically on their doorstep. The street people call it “Dope House.”

You probably you don’t want to hear this either, but that Jeannie was no good for you. She reminds me of Vanessa in a way. She is used to the good life. Big houses with pools, fancy cars. That’s not our kind of life. You know and I know it. You didn’t give her up to Forrest. She would have gone back to him eventually anyway, if you ask me. You might not, but I’m telling you. And it has nothing to do with you. It is just the kind of person she is. You may want to punch me for saying that, so maybe it is a good thing I am here and you are there.

No. That is not true. Hutch, that is no place for you. I want you to come home. I don’t care if you do punch me. I’ll take time off and we’ll go somewhere naturey with lots of trees just the way you like it. Maybe that Pine Lake place Dobey is always talking about. None of what happened to you is your fault and you got nothing that’s got to be worked out, except what your body is telling you. And we can handle that, right?

Don’t worry about me being a lone wolf. Dobey has me working on a case with Babcock and Simmons. It’s that one with the Senator’s son who drove into the bay with his lady friend. You know the one. He wanted you and me on it before you went away. Dobey says he wants me to try to think like you and add some class to the investigation!

See? That’s you, babe. Smarts and class. I couldn’t be as cool as you if my life depended on it. That’s why I need you back. We belong together. I feel lopsided without you.

Love ya,

Starsk

 

Written in a Hope House journal

I feel a little silly writing my feelings down in a notebook. It’s not like a piece of paper can hear me or answer back. I mean, when I want to share my feelings, I talk with Starsky. Sometimes that’s all there is to do when we’re stuck on some lousy stakeout for hours on end. I guess one advantage a notebook has over Starsky, though, is that it won’t have any goofy comebacks. But then, a piece of paper doesn’t care how I feel. At least Starsky always cares—even when he’s pressing my buttons. No, make that especially when he’s pressing my buttons.

Anyway, the counselor here wants me to keep a journal, so I’ll try it. It’s part of my therapy. To help me figure out what’s going on in my head. Well, I can tell anybody that right now. I want to make the world a better place for the people who have it rough. Who haven’t had all the advantages I’ve had—a good upbringing, my health. A decent brain. Back in Duluth my youth pastor used to say, people who’ve been given the most should give back the most. I may not have believed a lot of things they talked about at church, but that kind of stuck with me. It made a lot of sense.

I think that’s why I’ve been put here. Not in Hope House, but in Bay City. To help people who can’t help themselves. People weaker than me. I feel responsible for them. And Starsky—I’m responsible for him, too. Not that he’s weaker than me. In some ways he’s so much stronger. But because he’s my partner. And my friend. No, that’s not quite right. He’s more than my friend. He’s just… more. I’ll leave it at that.

Anyway, that makes me responsible for him, too. It’s part of my job to watch his back when we’re on the streets. To be honest (since that’s what I’m supposed to be here), it’s the most important part. If anything were ever to happen to him—like what happened to Jeannie—and it was my fault… I don’t think I could live with that. So, since I got myself in a fix—let myself get strung out—isn’t the responsible thing to make sure it never happens again? Or to find out if there’s some flaw in me that made me mess up in the first place? So I decided to come here.

Kenneth Hutchinson

 

Day 6– October 23, 1975

Incident Report # 1075349

Thursday Day Shift 15:00 hours

Officer: Det. Sgt. David Starsky

Temporarily assigned to case # 409782, along with Detective Simmons. We were in my vehicle, license plate #537ONN, Ford Gran Torino, red with white stripes, when said vehicle rear ended a Bay City Potato Chips Truck at a stop sign at the corner of Harper and Lee. There were no injuries and no damage to either vehicle at the scene. Insurance cards were exchanged. After a brief discussion between the drivers, it was determined that no claims needed to be made. No tickets were issued.

A second unit was called to pick up Detective Simmons who remained at the scene.

 

Note paper clipped to report

Captain Dobey,

Please, you got to get me away from Simmons. I can’t take him in my car no more and I won’t ride in his death trap of a Pinto. You know those things blow up if you are rear ended? We was going to interview the dead girl’s brother in a real posh neighborhood. So Simmons is going on and on about how he hates rich socialite types. And he’s got this habit of taking the lid off his hot coffee so it sloshes around cause he talks with his hands all the time and he’s such a motor mouth. So I’m telling him Hutch usually takes on the socialites—and little kids and lonely prostitutes and—cause Hutch is, well, you know how Hutch is with those concerned looks and big eyes. Anyway, Cap, Simmons gestures and dumps his hot coffee with no lid on my lap where no man should ever have hot coffee spilled and I rear ended a Bay City Potato Chip truck. And yeah, well, I kind of left the scene without Simmons ‘cuz I was so steamed and now he won’t talk to me at all. Which is would be okay with me except I have to work with the moron. Cap., I can’t wait for Hutch to get back. Can I submit a form that says that Simmons is a MORON officially?

Det. Sgt. Starsky

 

Letter written on Snoopy stationery

Dear Starsky,

I guess I passed some kind of good behavior test because I’m allowed to send and receive mail now.

How is life on the outside? How are Huggy and Captain Dobey? Are you staying out of trouble? On second thought, I’m sure you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be the hare-brained partner that I know and love. I know without me you couldn’t even find your car, let alone solve a crime, Gordo. Just try to keep the practical jokes and tall tales to a minimum. I wouldn’t want Babcock and Simmons stringing you up before I got a chance to help them.

I’m doing okay here, I guess. Between group therapy, one-on-one counseling, and work assignments, they keep us pretty busy. There’s even prayer meetings and Bible study. I wasn’t really expecting that, but I guess it’s helpful to some people. It’s just that I had enough of the “vengeful God” stuff back in Duluth. I’m pretty sure I know what I’ve done wrong. I just want to make it right.

I’ve gotten to know my roommate, Sal, a little more, and some people in my group therapy. Some of the guys I really feel sorry for. They picked up their habits hanging out with the wrong people or trying to escape the pain of a crummy home life and really want to change. But other guys here couldn’t care less. They just want to enjoy some hot meals and clean sheets for a while. Maybe get their parole officers off their backs or avoid jail time.

Sal got caught lifting money for drugs from the cash drawer of the car wash where he works. His boss said he wouldn’t press charges if Sal cleaned up his act. Pretty decent of him, if you ask me. Anyway, I think Sal wants to change but I don’t know if he’ll be strong enough to stay away from the junk once he gets out. His family threw him out a few months ago. The staff here stresses the need to build a good support system. Well, that’s one thing I don’t have to worry about. I already got that.

I’m working at the community farm for my work assignment. I actually like that, but somehow I don’t think the fresh vegetables ever make it to our table. The chow here stinks. Even by your standards. What I wouldn’t give for a healthy breakfast shake right about now. Even if your ass was taking up space on my countertop while I make it. Even if you’re taking swigs straight from my milk bottle and dribbling down your chin. Yeah, that sounds just about perfect.

Take care,

Hutch

 

Letter crossed in the mail

Dear Hutch,

I hope you are doing fine. I am doing fine. I’m still working the case of the dead girl and the Senator’s son with Simmons and Babcock. Everything is going smoothly. Nice guy, that Simmons. Always willing to share his coffee with me. Talkative, too. Keeps me alert when I’m driving. Things are just fine on the case.

Huggy says to say hello. Simmons says to say hurry back. Babcock says to tell you he’s watching my butt. Dobey thinks you are with family, so he thinks I’m nuts for writing. But he did want me to let you know that he wishes you were on this case with us.

Don’t worry about anything. I’m handling everything on this end. You just do your thing. Do what you think is best for you. I support you all the way.

Write when you can. Don’t worry about anything.

I am fine.

Sincerely,

Starsky

 

Day 8– October 25, 1975

Written on blue stationery with silver trim—a Hanukkah gift from Ma Starsky.

Hutch,

I got your letter today. And that note you wrote me the first day you were in that joint. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to hear from you. Huggy let me in on some not so great things he’s heard about that Dope House you are in. I see you’ve been finding out a little of that for yourself. I’ve been going just bonkers thinking about you getting into trouble and me not knowing.

Since you said you need to be honest and do all that soul-searching stuff, I have to come clean with you, too. That last letter I wrote was a bunch of malarky. I just didn’t want you to worry. But things are not just fine. I’m going crazy with that moron Simmons. He made me scratch my car. My car, Hutch! He spilled hot coffee on little Davey and made me rear end a Bay City Potato Chip van! The man is a menace. He won’t shut up! He just ain’t you.

I miss how you get quiet sometimes and the breeze from the passenger side window hits your hair. I just look over and it is nice, you know. Or when you talk, it’s about interesting stuff, like what you read in National Geographic. I never said this before, but I even like it when you start quoting that Shakespeare stuff. I may not understand that gobbledygook, but when you say it, it sure sounds nice. Or you go all Sherlock Holmes on me and I can tell by the way you bite your thumbnail and start pointing your finger that you are going to have a brain wave and solve some mystery that’s been bothering us.

Babe, now that you can write me I want you to let me know if anything or anybody gets to bothering you. You might think that place is what you need to get your head straight, but sometimes we can’t see the forest for the trees. That’s what my Aunt Ruby used to say. That may sound a bit confusing, but I figured you’d understand, being from the land of a thousand trees and all. Or maybe that’s a thousand lakes. Whatever.

Anyway, you might think going to a place like Dope House is good for you, but maybe—just maybe—I know better. I know it’s weird, but sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself. Just like you always think you know me so good. Like you can read my mind or something. So, I don’t care what you think is good for you. You give me the word and I’ll be waiting outside to pick you up and take you anywhere you want to go.

You remember, babe. You are not a lowlife on the streets. You got me and you got a home with me no matter what happens to you. Forrest and what he did to you can’t change that. You will never be on those streets with no one caring. Because I care. I care so much it hurts. Kind of like the way a bullet burns when it tears into you. I miss you so much.

Hutch—you are a good person. The best. Don’t be looking at others and comparing what happened to you to them. You are not at fault at all. You remember that.

Who is this Sal guy, by the way? He got a last name? Is he related to the Salvatore family out of San Fran? Get me his last name and I’ll run a check on him for you.

I like thinking of you on a farm. Working in the sun always makes my blondie even blondier. They give you a hat to wear? They giving you sunscreen? If you come home with a bad burn somebody’s going to get burned by me. I hate not having your back, even if only to put sunscreen on it.

You are too skinny not to eat. Say the word and a Huggy special will appear magically in your garden at lunch break. Where exactly is this garden and what time do you go there? Huggy says you can smuggle anything in there. That is probably not a good thing, huh?

Hutch, you got to know I’m here for you. Try not to overthink things, babe.

Write soon.

Love,

Starsk

 

Day 10– October 27, 1975

Written on Snoopy stationery

Dear Starsky,

I appreciate your concern, buddy. I really do. Who knew you could be such a mother hen? Ma Starsky would be proud. You can be the most annoying, exasperating, irritating, goofy, loyal, supportive… Well, anyway, Hope House may not be the greatest place but I’m here now. For twenty more days at least.

You may not think I belong in here because I’m not like the other “lowlifes” as you say, but that’s nothing new for me. I’m used to feeling like I don’t fit in. Looking at everything from the outside in. It’s good for me to be looking from the inside out, for once. To see what it’s like on the other side.

I thought I had had enough of the “vengeful God” stuff when I was growing up. But maybe I was wrong about that. Maybe I do need to be reminded about how far I’ve fallen short. “As a dog returns to its vomit, so fools repeat their folly.” That’s Proverbs 11:17. It was our Bible verse to memorize today.

You say you care about me and that you miss me. If I went back to using horse, I’d be just like that dog returning to my vomit. Didn’t you have to clean me up enough the first time around? Would you still want to stick around for round two?

As for Jeannie, well, seeing me all beat up and strung out like that is what scared her off. I can see that now. She was expecting a white knight to come rescue her. Not someone that needed to be rescued himself. Certainly not the pathetic man she saw tied up in Monk’s bedroom. Don’t judge her too harshly, buddy.

Don’t worry about coming by to drop off anything special for me. I’m not anyone special here. Besides, I’ve heard they’ve had problems with dealers hanging around outside and passing drugs off to the patients on the inside. I wouldn’t want Huggy’s collard greens to be mistaken for weed.

Sal’s last name is Galucci. Don’t worry. No connection with the San Fran Salvatore family. He’s a nobody. Just like the rest of us.

That’s all I have time for, for now. I’m running late for prayer meeting.

Hutch

 

Day 12- October 29, 1975

Written on Memorial Hospital stationery.

Hutch, my blond brother,

In case you don’t recognize my superb penmanship, this is The Bear writing to you. Yeah, I know where you are, but your secret is safe with me. Although I did have to do some fine and fancy tap dancing to keep every sucker in and out of a BC finest uniform (including Dobey) from calling your “sister” in Duluth to talk to you. Do you even have a sister in Duluth? Does she look like you?

Okay, now my hot-headed friend. Do not blow your cool, but I thought you’d want to know. Starsky’s in Memorial. He’s okay, Hutch. Really. Just can’t do much writing when he’s sleeping the sleep of the lucky-to-not-be-dead.

This is how it all went down. The story I got from Detective Simmons was that he and your better half had gone to talk to some politico’s son whose girlfriend wound up dead after a midnight ride on the beach in his Porsche—made a right into the bay. Turns out the girl took a few pills too many and the junior Senator was too drunk to notice at the time. Magically, however, he was able to save his own ass before his fancy wheels sunk into the muck.

Well, Mr. Political Wannabe (not being much of a diplomat, if you ask me) let something stupid slip about the girl being a no-good junkie whore. According to Simmons, that’s when Starsky (never known for subtlety himself) went straight for the dude’s jugular. Yeah, Simmons said our boy was in a real foul mood like he’d never seen before.

So while Simmons is between Starsky and the Senator Junior were trying to calm Starsky down, the brother of the dead girl charges in with a gun and a real bad attitude. Starsky pushes Simmons into Junior, gets them both out of harm’s way, then jumps the bad guy. (It’s a wonder he could keep them straight, if you ask me.) The bad news is Starsky’s hand happened to get in between the gun and a bullet. The good news is it was his right hand. He still managed to take the gunman down with his left.

That Simmons is okay. Not that I want to cozy up to any more boys in blue. I got my hands full with you and Starsky. But he told me the whole story while we were waiting for Starsky to get out of surgery. Then he blabbed all over the department with that big mouth of his how Starsky is a hero and saved their lives, leaving out the part about how Starsky nearly lost his cool. He’s putting him up for a commendation.

He was so worried he’d lose his hand or something. We all were. Simmons even hugged me when I told him Starsky was going to be fine. It was pretty intense for a while.

The doctor says the bullet broke a bone in his hand, but that Starsky wouldn’t be disabled or anything. He’s going to have a lot of pain for a while and he has to watch for infections.

If I know you, you’ll be tearing out your pretty blond locks when you hear this. But don’t worry. I got this covered. Simmons, Babcock and me will keep an eye on Hot Stuff for you. He’ll be on medical leave for about ten days.

Babcock wants Starsky to stay with him. He’s got a big family. A Granny at home who would love to take care of a one-handed, wounded cop. And you know how Starsky can charm the old ladies.

Simmons offered to take a week off and stay with Starsky at his own place. (I think now that Simmons is divorced he’s a little lonely. Otherwise, why would he be crazy enough to volunteer to stay with Starsky? Our curly-headed compadre has been acting a little dodgy lately, if you ask me.)

And of course he can stay with me. After all, I’m used to his little quirks—if you know what I mean. I don’t know what he will choose. But don’t worry. You do your belly button contemplating and let The Bear mind The Terrible Tornado.

I got to go now. Curly’s waking up. Would you believe the head nurse didn’t buy that I was Starsky’s brother by another mother? She let me stay anyway, couldn’t resist The Bear’s charms.

You’re always on his mind, Hutch. He’s been calling for you since it happened. He’s calling for you now. I think he misses you.

You take care.

Peace & Love

Huggy Bear

PS I found this note folded up in his pocket. I could see your name is scribbled on it, so I’m including it in the envelope. I didn’t read it. Reading someone else’s mail is against the law, ain’t it? And you know me, I always walk the straight and narrow.

PPS Sorry about the blood stains on it. He’s going to be fine, don’t worry.

 

Written on the back of a blank incident report. Never meant to be mailed.

Hutch,

You really know what buttons to push, you know that? You think you can push me away with all that self-indulgent bullshit you throw around? You think I’m some kind of dumb fool who don’t see where you are coming from?

Jesus, Hutch! You think I would care how many times you fall or how far? You think I would turn my back on the best thing that ever happened to me? I got a news flash for you, I ain’t your mother, hen or otherwise. You are more than just my fucking partner. You are my brother. More than Nicky ever was. You are my fucking best friend. Hell, there ain’t even a word for what we are, for Christ’s sake.

You think you got one chance with me? Or even two? Try all the chances in the whole wide world. In sickness and health, baby, till death. I might not have ever said the words but I took that vow the same as I took the Policeman’s Oath.

How dare you think I would not fight for you. Fight with you if those drugs ever come calling again? You think that between the two of us, smack would even have a chance? That together, we’re not stronger than that shit is?

You might think I’m a goofy, dimwitted fool who don’t know nothing about what you are going through. Well think again, buddy boy. Use all those smarts you got and really think about me. If you want honesty, I’ll give you more honesty than you can handle.

You think I spent my days in Nam drinking lemonade and playing Parcheesi? How do you think I survived what Nam did to my soul? I did lots a things in-country to survive. You think I never took the opportunity to alter my mood every now and then? Arrange for a trip of my own—as far away as I could get without going AWOL from that hell hole? You think I don’t know the feeling of having all the blood and horrors of the day drift away in a blissful cloud of sparkling dust only to wake up to reality?

It’s an old tune, baby. You ain’t the first to sing it. I know once you get a taste of that bliss you want to visit it again when things get rough. And on the streets things always end up getting rough. But we both know there are no free rides on clouds. We are all human. Ain’t got wings. Sometimes we crash through those clouds and hit the ground hard. But you haven’t hit rock bottom yet. And I’m not about to let you. Not while I’m still here to catch you.

You said Jeannie wanted you to be her white knight. Well, I’m sorry that it didn’t work out the way she wanted. But that doesn’t mean you ain’t a white knight. I still see you that way. Noble and brave and heroic like in the bedtime stories ma used to read me. A white knight who fights with me for a world where might is used for right.

I hate what Forrest did to you. You may have fallen off that white charger they put you on, Hutch. But that’s a good thing. It was the wrong kind of horse.

As for Jeannie, how you can fucking have sympathy for that whore is beyond me. All she would have had to do is call me or even get a word to Huggy that you were missing. She managed to call you right under Forrest’s nose. Managed to screw you too, I bet. That seems to be her specialty. Screwing people over.

I am so pissed off right now I feel like I’m going to explode! It’s like the whole world is conspiring to push me over the edge. Jeannie, Forrest, Simmons, politicians’ punk sons, hot-headed brothers—but most of all you. It makes me crazy that you don’t know there ain’t nothing you could do to make me stop loving you. That’s right, buddy boy. No matter what happens to your big dumb blond ass.

Jesus, Hutch. Come on.

Before I met you I never knew what unconditional love was—except maybe what I got from my ma. But then she sent me away. She may have had her reasons, but it hurt so much it nearly killed me. That’s why I could never do that to you. I wouldn’t walk away when things get rough.

What you and I got is different. Yeah, smart ass Mr. College. You taught me what real love is and that’s what I have to give back to you. So I guess when you get out of that joint you can brag that you taught me something. And not how to play chess neither. You taught me the most important thing. And I won’t even argue with you.

Fucking Simmons is calling me.

You may be a fucking asshole, sometimes Hutch. But you are my fucking asshole.

Fuck You,

Starsky

PS I ain’t never going to send this to you. I’m just a chicken shit for not telling you how I really feel. Fuck you and fuck Simmons and this fucking job.

 

Day 14- October 31

Written in a Hope House journal

I got a letter today. Two letters actually. One from my friend Huggy Bear telling me that Starsky had been shot and was in the hospital. My hands are still shaking at the thought of it. I’m calmer now, but my first impulse was to break out of here and get to Memorial. I’m sure he’ll be alright, I’m sure Captain Dobey is right there taking care of everything.

The other letter was from Starsky, which I’m pretty sure I was never meant to see. It was even more rambling than usual but I got the point. He’s pretty angry with me for not thinking we could handle my problem together, instead of me coming here. Not only that, it sounds like he’s taking his anger out on his temporary partner, a potato chip truck, the case he’s working—hell, practically the whole world.

What’s worse though is that he’s hurt and I’m not there. In a way I think maybe he got hurt because of me. If he wasn’t so angry with me, he wouldn’t have flown off the handle at with the Senator’s son. Now he’s in the hospital alone. When he woke up from surgery I wasn’t there. I won’t be there to drive him home and keep him company. Dish out his pizza or help him with crossword puzzles. Huggy or Babcock’s granny or even Simmons will be doing all that for him. But my gut tells me he needs me and my heart is beating so fast I can hardly breathe.

Maybe if I would have trusted him more—trusted us more—he wouldn’t be in hospital with a bullet hole in his hand and I wouldn’t be in this lousy place talking to the walls. I should have trusted him more when it came to Jeannie, too. But maybe all this therapy and self-reflection hasn’t been for nothing. I have learned one thing. It’s not him that I don’t trust—it’s me.

I guess it’s appropriate that I’m writing this on Halloween because I sure feel like a ghost right now. If I could dissolve into thin air, I would.

When I was a little kid I wanted to be a ghost for Halloween. Mom wouldn’t let me cut holes in a sheet. She said Hutchinsons only had the best and she wouldn’t have her son traipsing down the streets in an old rag. She bought me one of those costumes in a box. The kind with a plastic ghost mask. I still remember how it smelled like the factory smokestacks along Lake Superior. It had a sad face. Not scary. Sad. With a tear.

When I put on that mask I felt I was invisible. No one could see the real me. It seems like I wore that mask until I met Starsky. He saw right through it. And that crooked smile changed my endless Halloween night to a Christmas morning.

If anything could bring my ghost self back to life, it would be the love I have for that blue-eyed bundle of sunshine. Listen to myself. I’ll be singing love songs next. I wish I was with him right now. I hope he’s alright. Jesus! What the hell am I doing here? Hutchinson you really are a ghost—haunting a life that’s supposed to be fully lived.

Starsky wrote that I taught him the meaning of love. Not the kind that Jeannie promised. That’s all physical and transitory. He said I taught him about unconditional love—the kind that knows no boundaries. Told me I could brag about it once I got out. But he’s got it all wrong. He’s the one who taught me. I just hope I haven’t learned too late.

Kenneth Hutchinson

 

Day 15- November 1, 1975

Written on a stained paper plate during a 12 steps meeting.

Steps

One day, one step at a time
Never out of rhythm and rhyme
Firmly in step with each other’s feet
Walking together with a steady beat
Fleet footed and sure, we could feel
Our feet standing solid on our ideals.

One day, one false step to the left
All hope was gone, all was bereft
I faltered while the sidewalk broke
Ideals and solid footing, a joke
Leaning sideways you carried me
With heavy steps you met my need.

One day, with unsteady steps contrite
I’ll seek your footfalls in the night
Walk the streets under brilliant stars
Knowing exactly where you are
I will come and cleanse your feet
Wash off the grime of the city streets
Then pull you up and with a glance
Step to the tune of a lover’s dance.

~Kenneth Hutchinson~

 

Written on Hope House stationery

Dear Mr. Starsky,

Since we have reached the halfway point of Mr. Hutchinson’s treatment, I thought I would give you a progress report, as Mr. Hutchinson’s stated next of kin.

Mr. Hutchinson has been a very polite and cooperative patient. He takes his therapy sessions and Bible studies seriously and is a hard worker in our community farm. He also gets along with other patients, although he tends to be rather quiet and holds himself apart. There have been complaints about him being too aloof. It is our opinion that he should try harder to make friends here. We have stressed to him that a support system is very important in his long-term recovery.

When it comes to his progress, however, I must admit I have deep concerns. He is not participating as much as he first did in the group sessions. And his assigned counselor believes he is holding a great deal back in his private sessions as well. We feel he has actually taken some steps backwards and that something is troubling him tremendously.

He mentioned that there is someone he deeply cares for, perhaps even loves, but he feels terribly guilty about events that have affected the relationship. Any more than that he won’t say. It is my opinion that this deep-seated guilt is keeping him from full recovery.

If improvements aren’t seen in his attitude, I am going to suggest that he continue his treatment with us beyond the initial 30 day period.

James Pierce

Director, Hope House

 

Written on a generic get-well card from the Hope House supply.

Dear Starsky,

I heard you got yourself into a little bit of trouble. Wound up in the hospital. Huggy wrote me all about it. See what happens when I’m not around to watch out for you?

Huggy sent me another letter, too. A letter that maybe you didn’t want me to see. Seems like you are pretty upset with me for coming here. So upset that I can see how you let yourself get hot with Senator Johnson’s son. Maybe if you would have been thinking straight—and not angry with me—you wouldn’t have gotten your hand messed up.

I guess I let you down again. Seems like that’s all I do these days. Let people down. My parents, Vanessa, Jeannie. But most of all, you. I hope you can forgive me.

Starsky, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. I just don’t know how to say it or how you’re gonna take it. In your letter you talked about different kinds of love. You even said you loved me. But then you called me a fucking asshole. So now I don’t know if you’ll want to hear what I have to say. I have some strong feelings, too. And being away from the world for a while is helping me to clarify them.

On second thought, never mind. Just concentrate on getting your hand healed up.

Hutch

 

Day 18- November 4, 1975

Written on blue stationery with silver trim

Dear Hutch,

This is going to be a real long letter, buddy. I got a lot to tell you.

So I guess Huggy told you about how I hurt my paw. Pretty stupid, huh? But I’ve cooled off now. Do not worry about me. I’ll have my old swing back before you are out of that place. I’m taking pain pills and antibiotics. They make me a little loopy and I can’t drive yet. I got a doctor’s appointment on the sixth. If all goes well I’ll be on deck by the seventh.

Thanks for the get-well card, Blintz. It really made me smile. Except the part where you said you let me down. There is nothing to forgive, Hutch. You have been the best friend and best partner I could ever wish for. You didn’t let me down. I let you down. I couldn’t just keep myself out of trouble and not worry you for thirty days.

I don’t know why you got all that guilt rattling around in that blond head of yours, but you got nothing to be guilty for. Yeah, Forrest messed with your mind and your body. After all, you are only a big, blond human being. But you’re the best in all the world, for my money.

This time apart has made me think about some things, too. You can talk to me about anything Hutch. Remember that. You are never alone, buddy. Never, no matter what shit goes down. I will always be your friend.

Jeannie came by last night looking for you. I just said you needed some time away to get your head together. So she wrote out a letter for me to give you. I stuck it in here.

She told me how sorry she was. That she made a big mistake when she left you. I may not agree with a lot of things she did, but I had to agree with her there. She told me you two loved each other and were planning on getting hitched. Were practically engaged. Why didn’t you tell me, buddy? Hell, I didn’t know things were that serious. But then again, I guess you kept a lot of things from me when it came to you and Jeannie.

She said you two were planning to go away together. That you were leaving the force, taking your trust fund and heading for Rio de Janeiro. She said you were tired of being a lousy street cop and hanging around scum. (Was she talking about me?) She’s got it all planned. Just needed you to forgive her temporary lapse in judgment and you could go get married in Rio.

You got to know that I would do anything to keep you by my side, but I would also let you go if that is what you need. I want you to be happy. I guess I’m holding you back. Maybe I’m causing you to take steps backwards cause I’m too dense to keep up with you.

I want the best in all the world for you, Hutch, and maybe that ain’t some dumb street cop in blue Adidas. I’d stay with you forever, partner. Just us two against the world. But if that’s not what you want, I want to put your needs ahead of mine the way you’ve always done for me. All I ask is that you don’t shut me out of your life. I’ve got to know if you are okay, if you are happy. I want to see that light up Bay City smile on your face and that sky blue twinkle back in your eyes.

By the time you get home, I should be recertified to get my gun back. There was some IA mumbo jumbo about me not being able to safely handle a gun. Dobey told them I was left-handed and ambidextrous with a gun anyway, but with no one watching my back while I was in the hospital, the red tape got piled so high it choked my nuts. I smell a Senator trying to get back at me for hassling his son, but I ain’t going to make any waves this time. I got other things on my mind.

Man, Hutch I miss carrying my piece, almost as much as I miss my partner.

I want you to know, though, that Simmons has been taking real good care of me. He got this idea in his head that I saved his life and he owes me or something crazy like that. He won’t leave me alone. He practically moved in. He cooks for me and it tastes like garbage. Not like the yummy meals you make for me when I’m sick. He drinks like a fish and smokes like a chimney. The poor plants you gave me are choking. When he’s not yakking away, he hums. Not all heavenly like your singing. More like a rusty chainsaw that don’t know when to won’t quit. He wanted to help me take a shower the first day I came home from the hospital. I considered taking his gun and shooting him with my left hand, just to make a point to IA.

Babcock took him to his house for dinner tonight. His wife sent me a tuna casserole and chocolate chip cookies. I told Babs I didn’t know how he put up with him. He said Simmons could be annoying, but that guy would die for him or take care of his wife and kids like his own if Babs died. He said can put up with a lot of shit because that is a precious thing.

I had to agree with him there, right partner?

Huggy told me he gave you that other letter. Geez, I’m sorry about that. I never meant for you to see that stuff I wrote. I was just spouting off. Just take out the anger and read between the lines. You ain’t no fucking asshole. You are my dumb blondie. My big blintz. My best friend and my partner in my heart and on the job. I want you to be happy. Do what you got to do, babe. Only keep being my friend, please. I’m going to stand by you no matter what you do.

I’m going to go take those pain pills now. It’s a little early but I’m hurting and I’m beat. I’m going to skip the tuna casserole, but those chocolate chip cookies are calling my name. Maybe I’ll get some sleep with it being so damn quiet around here. Write back soon.

I love ya,

Starsk

 

Written on embossed Chanel No. 5 scented stationery.

Dearest Kenneth,

Your partner told me you were visiting your sister. I didn’t believe him. I suppose that’s his way of getting back at you for not letting him know about me. I told him you’d be upset if he didn’t tell me the truth about where you really were, but he wouldn’t budge. Really, Dave Starsky can be such an uncouth clod. I know you can’t pick your partners on the force, but whatever made you stick with him? You two aren’t even in the same league.

Ken, lover, I am so sorry I left. I made a terrible mistake. Won’t you forgive me? After what happened with Forrest, aren’t you ready to give up being a cop and join me in the life we were meant to have? Besides, if it wasn’t for that partner of yours covering up the whole incident, you might not even be a cop anymore. But at least he helped get Forrest locked up so we can be together.

If you can overlook my past, I can overlook yours. Who knows? If we would have met earlier you might even have been Mayor of Bay City by now.

I’ve kept some money from my time with Forrest hidden away while I was waiting to make my break. I have all the jewels he gave me, too. I I’d be willing to pawn some if you dip into that inheritance you told me about. With that we should be fine. We’ll fly to Rio and play with the jet-set until all this business with Forrest is just a bad memory. Wouldn’t that be fun? Then you can find a position worthy of you. You’d be surprised the kind of influential people I could introduce you to.

I want us to get married right away. We were meant to be together, you know that. We look so good together. You in an Armani tux and me in a Givenchy gown going to a fundraiser for some high profile charity. That would make you happy, wouldn’t it? Everyone’s eyes would be on the handsomest couple there.

I love you, darling Kenneth. Write to me the address of that place your partner has hidden you and I will send a car for you. I can’t wait till our honeymoon, lover.

Kisses,

Jeannie

 

Day 20- November 6, 1975

Written on Snoopy stationery

Dear Starsky,

I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better. Sounds like you have plenty of people taking care of you. You’re doing just fine without me now that you’ve cooled down. Try not to be too much of a pest. Simmons and Babcock (Babs is it now?) are a couple of good eggs. And, of course, Huggy is the best.

Don’t let Jeannie get to you. I know you two got off to a bad start. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept so many things about her secret from you. Now that I can see how things went down with a little perspective, I can see that she’s not the person I thought she was. I guess women and me aren’t the best mix. They always end up leading me around like I’ve got a ring through my nose. Maybe I should stay away from women indefinitely.

They want me to be more sociable around here. They think I need a better support system. I’m trying, but sometimes I think the only person I need to make me whole is you.

You know I’ll always be your pal. You don’t have to worry about that. Did I ever tell you how sappy you sound when you’re on meds?

Hutch

 

Written in a Hope House journal

Starsky sent me a letter he got from Jeannie. After all that’s happened, she wants us to get back together. I guess she didn’t take me seriously when I said we needed to make a clean break. I can see now how she just used me to get away from Forrest. How she got in between Starsky and me.

She says she loves me but I’m not so sure she really knows what love is. She wants to run away to Rio and get married. Make a fresh start. She said that we were meant for better things. She reminded me of how we look so good together. And yeah, those long legs and silky blonde hair may be a school boy’s dream, but lately my dreams have changed. I’m haunted by thick dark curls and sturdy arms rather than slender. Strong, rough hands rather than delicate. When I close my eyes it’s Starsky’s face I see rather than Jeannie’s. Does that make me crazy?

Sal broke down in group therapy the other day. Admitted he had fallen in love with another man and used drugs to escape the pain. Everyone scooted their chairs back a few inches when he said that, like he had some kind of disease. A few even starting throwing Bible verses at him. They think it’s sick for one man to want to devote himself to another, body and soul. But isn’t love love?

How can what I feel for Starsky be so wrong? He says he loves me too. Usually when he’s all jazzed up on adrenaline or meds. But still….

He tells me I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Would that change if I were to show him what I felt? What would it be like to be intimate with another man? Not just any man—but Starsky. The thought excites me rather than repels. He says he would do anything I need to keep us together. Would Starsky accept my touch as a lover rather than a friend?

 

Day 22- November 8, 1975

Written at 9:05 p.m. on tie-dyed stationery borrowed from Huggy.

Huggy Bear Brown
Entrepreneur Extraordinaire
HUG-9000

Dear Hutch,

I had a doctor’s appointment on the sixth and got a few more days of medical leave because my stupid hand got infected. I ain’t supposed to drive yet, but I was going crazy in my apartment all alone so I just drove down to Huggy’s for a burger and brew. Don’t worry. Huggy already read me the riot act and is going to drive me home. Or I might just crash here. Huggy’s a real pal.

This letter writing is a pain in the ass, you know? I don’t ever know if you are okay or if you understand what I am trying to say. I can’t see your face to read your expression or interpret the sounds of the Hutch grunts. I had a strange feeling tonight that you needed me. Like something was wrong. I guess that why I had to drive. I just had to go somewhere. I miss you terrible, babe. That ain’t just the beer talking.

I just wanted to let you know, I’ve been doing some thinking. (What else have I got to do lying around at home with this bum paw and you holed up in Dope House?) Jeannie isn’t all that bad. I was just upset with her after what Forrest and his thugs put you through. I guess I was blaming her, too. But it really wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t the one that was sticking the needle in your arm.

I guess I was feeling a little jealous that you didn’t let me in on what was going on between you two. But just because we’re partners doesn’t mean I own you, right? I’m just so used to having you around it’s like you’ve become a part of me. Practically from the day we met it’s been you and me against the world. I didn’t want to see that world change. But change is inevitable. (How’s that for being deep?)

If you want to marry Jeannie and go to Rio, I don’t want to be what’s stopping you. I’ll get another partner. Don’t worry about that. Simmons can be a pain, but he’s starting to grow on me. I trust Simmons. I kind of like him, too. There is something about him being around that makes me feel safe and secure, even when he’s annoying the crap out of me. Who knows? If I can even get used to his lousy cooking and that awful humming, maybe I can get used to a new partner. There ain’t no one could ever take your place, babe. But I’ll get by, I guess.

Anyway, I wanted to let you know I got no hard feelings if you decide go away with Jeannie. But I can’t promise I won’t miss you. Even more than I miss you now. So damn much.

I got a reminder postcard from Hope House that Visitor’s Day is on the eleventh. I’ll be there with bells on. I can’t wait to see that big smile of yours again. We’ll talk about your plans then. I got to see you face to face if we are going to end this partnership. A small part of us will always be me and thee, so we deserve that.

Starsk

P.S. I think if you are going to leave me behind, I might sell the Torino and move back to New York. Maybe work for New York’s Finest like my pop. Someday, maybe you and the Misses can visit the Big Apple and me.

 

Written at 9:05 p.m. on Snoopy stationery

Dear Starsk,

Sal is dead. He OD’d on some bad stuff he got off a pusher practically right outside the back door. I know he took it because he was so desperate for relief. The guy was just starting to open up. He told me how he was gay but his family and friends couldn’t accept that. Everyone he cared about turned their backs on him. He said even he couldn’t stand to see his own reflection in the mirror.

He told me he’d turned to drugs to escape the pain. He said he’d stopped caring what he was taking or what it was doing to him. He turned blue and stopped breathing right during Bible study. I tried to resuscitate him while the paramedics were being called but his heart wouldn’t wait. It just gave up. He was holding my hand when he died. Looked right up in my eyes as he gasped his final breath. Mine was the last face he saw.

Then the strangest thing crossed my mind. I thought about what one thing I’d want to see if I was going to die. I think it might be your eyes.

I guess the answer isn’t to run away. Even in here, Sal wasn’t safe from the outside world. Maybe it’s better that we look ourselves in the mirror and face ourselves—flaws and all.

Everything is crazy here because of what happened with Sal. We’re basically in lock down, with the staff searching our rooms for drugs. They haven’t even let us have mail today.

Visitors Day is next week. Are you coming? I miss that goofy grin. I miss… everything about you.

Hutch

 

Day 25- November 11, 1975—Visitors Day

Written in a Hope House Journal

It’s funny how when you see someone everyday—when they’re as much a part of your life as your favorite jeans—you can forget what they look like. What they feel like, what they smell like. Until you lose them somehow. Then when they’re back you just want to memorize them all over again. Run your hands over them. Breathe them in.

When Starsky walked through the door of Hope House this afternoon it was like the sun bursting through the clouds after a storm. I felt a warmth flow straight through to my soul. I hadn’t even realized how cold I’d been.

I couldn’t wrap my arms around him fast enough, hold him close enough. I wanted to absorb him into my skin. He felt so steady and solid. That same solid strength I’d felt when I tumbled off the wall in the alley and into his arms. He’d held me up then when the world was spinning around me. He didn’t shrink back or let go.

When I realized his return embrace was only one-handed I took his bandaged hand and inspected it as gently as I could. A frisson of remorse shot through me at this physical evidence of his momentary lapse in control. His injury could have been so much worse. Even fatal. I shook my head. “Can’t leave you alone for a second,” I told him, hoping he’d understand my double meaning.

Starsky lowered his eyes in what I read as uncharacteristic shyness and embarrassment.

There’s only so much one can say with words. Some things need to be told in a different language. Starsky and I are both very physical people. Touching each other had always come so naturally to us. Now, suddenly, it was all starting to make sense. Why not only Jeannie, but other women too, had been just a passing fancy. I felt an uncontrollable need to let him know all the things I’d wanted to say from the very beginning.

When I lead him down the hall to show him my room, my heart was in my throat. Starsky told me before not to overthink things. So this time I wasn’t going to let my brain stop me. Sal’s side was still vacant. The stripped down bed was a bleak reminder of a life half-lived. I closed the door behind us.

“Not exactly the Ritz,” Starsky quipped. I had expected no less. But time was short and I didn’t want to waste a second. I pushed him against the door and leaned into him, bracing my hands on either side of his head, almost the way I had at Huggy’s that night. But my threat this time was different.

I looked into his expressive eyes like I had a thousand times before. There was no fear, only puzzlement and a flash of something else—hope? My body reacted to that glimpse of feelings he’d kept hidden like a spark to a powder keg.

“You want to know how I feel about Jeannie?” He froze and stared at me. It was as if I could feel his heart beating through his chest. I wondered if he could feel mine. He was waiting for me to say that I loved her, that we were going away together. But instead I leaned in and put my lips on his. For a second I thought he might dissolve like cotton candy against my tongue. I felt the sharp intake of his breath even as I captured his mouth more firmly.

I couldn’t let myself think of what I was doing with my partner, my male partner. For once I just let my senses rule my brain. I breathed in his masculine mix of fresh Barbasol, hot engine oil, well-worn leather and denim. I tasted his essence—salty and savory with a hint of honey. I touched him with a freedom I never thought possible. My hands flowed over his body. My fingers caught on his curls and pulled. He made a muffled sound against my tongue and that small vibration sent a shockwave through me, interfering with my ability to breathe. I reached down and grabbed that enticing ass of his that no longer had a right to exist without me squeezing it.

Then suddenly he was pushing back. For a minute I thought he was pushing me away until we fell back onto the thin mattress of the institutional twin bed. Our arms and legs mingled and l I felt the solid wall of his chest heavy against mine, trapping me against him. Then his lips were on my hair, my eyelids, my cheekbones. It felt like heaven. The way he smelled, the lushness of his curls on my skin, the firm moistness of his lips.

I grew hard as a rock. I’d come here to escape an addition only to find I was addicted to something far stronger than any drug. Something I never wanted to be free of.

“Now tell me you want a new partner,” I demanded of him when I could catch my breath. The realization that he had grown hard against me left me teetering on the edge. I couldn’t help but tighten my hold. I shook him gently. “Tell me you’ll go back to New York.”

Starsky answered with a velvety soft touch to the straining fabric of my jeans. He squeezed gently and I felt myself tremble. Then Starsky moved that magic hand to my face and caressed my cheek.

“I wrote you how I feel, babe. You’re all I want.” He lifted his head to look down at me. “But I want what’s right for you.” Passion barely contained shimmered in the pools of his eyes. How had I missed it before?

He rolled off me then and onto his back, giving me a chance to cool off. Instead I used the opportunity to switch our positions. I wasn’t going to change my mind, not when I was so close to everything I’d always longed for. “I just showed you what I want.” I ground into him and felt his erection jump.

“Jesus, Hutch,” he panted beneath me. “Your timing stinks.” Relief rushed through me at the thought that he wasn’t trying to deny me. He was just as driven as I was, only questioning the time and place.

He was right. I hadn’t thought beyond pressing him up against the door. I hadn’t anticipated what was going to happen. My body and instincts had simply taken over. The door wasn’t even locked. I took a deep breath and moved off of him. He sat up and put his head in his hands.

I laid a hand on his knee, craving even that small connection. Starsky sighed and placed his good hand on mine. We sat for a moment with our fingers interlaced. “I don’t regret it,” I told him. I hoped he’d understand I referring to my actions and not just my timing. Now I have a whole five days to wait before I can touch him again. But will it be as friends or lovers?

Kenneth Hutchinson

 

Day 26- November 12, 1975

Written inside a Snoopy “Thinking of You” greeting card

Hey! Hutch!

Guess I got time to shoot off one more card to you before I spring you from Dope House. We got a lot to talk about when I pick you up. I have to admit, you sure took me by surprise. But I want you to know, it was the best kind of surprise. Like a hundred Hanukkahs and Christmases all rolled into one.

I know what you are thinking, my dumb blondie. I can smell the wood burning all the way over here. But I don’t want you going back to feeling guilty about things the way you always do.

STOP THINKING!

Let me do the thinking for both of us for a change. I want to think about how it felt when you pushed me up against that door. I want to think about how your lips felt. How confident and full of yourself you were. Like you weren’t going to take no for an answer. Holy crap, Hutch. Where’d you learn to kiss like that? God, babe! You taste so good, like sucking on sunshine. Hot liquid gold.

You got me so turned on, babe, I had to take hold of little Davey and shake some sense into him as soon as I got home if you know what I mean.

I thought my heart was going to explode when you told me you didn’t want Jeannie, that you wanted little old me.

And I want you. Oh! Boy! Do I want you. I have a confession to make. There were a few other things I did in ‘Nam besides drugs. Shit that guys just don’t talk about once they come back home. I’ve been with other men before. Afterwards, I chalked it up to the stress of war. Jungle fever, even. I never thought I could want a man the way I want you. But not just any man. It’s you that I want. Do you even know how beautiful you are? My Hutch. My partner. The other half of my soul. Yeah, that’s what you are.

Remember those clouds I wrote you about, only I never meant for you to read? Remember how I said we humans didn’t have wings? Well, I ain’t got wings, babe, but I am flying so high I am dancing above the clouds.

I ain’t never felt like this. Never felt this good. This is so right, babe. So very right. Me and thee is Us—together. I don’t ever want to give that up.

You make me feel like I’m Superman and you are a big, blond chunk of kryptonite. You make me feel like The Hulk and you are, well, whatever makes him turn back into Bruce Banner. You’re my weakness. You always have been.

We need to decide how far we want to take this thing. This is going to be my decision, too. I know this ain’t the smartest move we have ever made. You and me as partners in every sense of the word ain’t going to be easy. We might lose our jobs and lose the love and support of some family members, friends and co-workers. But I really don’t care how we handle us, as long as there is an us… and I get to handle you.

Damn, Hutch. I feel terrific. This isn’t the meds talking. This is all me.

I just got to wait till that Pierce guy gives you the okay and I’ll be there. He already talked to me about how I’ll need to keep an eye on you for a while yet. Smart man, that Pierce! But I don’t need an excuse to want you with me twenty-four seven, blondie.

First thing I’m going to do when I see you again is get me another one of them earthshaking hugs. Plant my lips straight on yours. It’s going to be my turn to have you up against a door. One that locks. We’ll work up an appetite. Then I’m going to take you out to eat where ever you want to go. I’ll even take you to one of those happy carrot healthy crap places for some rabbit food. But I’ll save dessert for later. At my place.

If that ain’t love I don’t know what is, babe.

All yours,

Starsk

 

Day 30- November 16, 1975

Written in a Hope House file

Discharge Report

Patient: Kenneth Hutchinson

Mr. Hutchinson is a 30-year-old male who initially presented with generalized depression and addiction disorder. He self-admitted for treatment. He is a police detective by profession who had recently experienced a brief period of heroin addiction and subsequent withdrawal symptoms, with non-medical intervention. He has been struggling with overwhelming feelings of guilt, confusion, and fear of regressing into addictive behaviors.

Mr. Hutchinson is a bright, energetic, and physically appealing young man. At first he seemed to take our therapies here at Hope House seriously. He especially enjoyed his work on the farm. But after a few weeks, his participation in the program lost traction. In particular, he fell behind in Bible studies and became increasingly withdrawn in group therapy. We started to become concerned that he would fall back into his addictions, which would reflect badly on our program.

Tragically, and through no fault of Hope House, Mr. Hutchinson’s roommate, Sal Galucci, passed away suddenly. Mr. Galucci had been a deeply troubled man who had recently admitted to disturbing homosexual tendencies. Mr. Hutchinson had been present at the time of Mr. Galucci’s passing. This seemed to be a watershed event in Mr. Hutchinson’s treatment, along with our Visitor Day activities, after which Mr. Hutchinson’s mood seemed to brighten considerably.

He admitted to his therapist that he was facing up to his feelings of guilt and no longer experienced cravings for illicit drugs, but that his desires were more positive in nature. We credit this turnaround entirely to Hope House’s successful and enriching programs.

Mr. Hutchinson was released today and, as part of our emphasis on establishing outside support systems, it was recommended that his police partner, David Starsky, monitor his activities closely for the next several months.

James Pierce, Director

Hope House

 

Day 3- November 19

Written on a postcard from Rio de Janeiro

Hi Huggy,

Just a little note to let you know Hutch and I are doing just fine. Better than fine. I have to admit, Jeannie sure has taste. This romantic hideaway she had booked for her and Hutch’s honeymoon is terrific. Too bad she couldn’t be the one to enjoy it. I’ll have to tell Dobey again how much Hutch and I appreciate him letting me have a few more days off to get my hand back in shape.

By the way, Hutch said my hand is just about perfect now.

Damn, it’s hot here!

Starsk