When Starsky Met Hutch

181

The ultimate not-friends-to-friends-to-lovers story.

A reimagining of the movie “When Harry Met Sally” in the S&H universe. Written for the S&H movie challenge.

Author’s Notes: This story takes place in a version of the 1980s where same-sex couples are fully accepted and same-sex marriage is legal in society. While the general plot of this story follows the movie, most of the dialogue and many of the scenes have been changed to better reflect the characters of S&H, except for a few famous lines from the movie, for which I cannot take credit.

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CHAPTER ONE

An elderly couple sat side by side on a loveseat, facing the camera, their hands clasped lovingly together. The man wore a pin-striped jacket and a red tie. The woman was dressed in a red skirt and a beige silk blouse with a gold pin at the collar, her face framed by white curls that were loosely pinned back.

“Do we talk now?” the man asked, shielding his eyes from the light.

“Not until I call ‘Action,’” said the director, who was known as Mr. R.

Mr. R. was a balding man with a round belly and kind eyes. He was a veteran documentary movie maker and well-respected in the industry. He scratched his head and inched forward in his seat to speak to the couple. “Didn’t my assistant explain this to you?”

“I did,” said Molly Ramos, stepping forward. “I explained very nicely to Mr. and Mrs. Herbowitz that when you, Mr. R., call ‘Action,’ that’s their cue to tell the story of how they met and fell in love. Just like you asked.”

“Right. Good, Molly,” Mr. R. said, his calm voice reflecting his patience. “But if you’re going to make it in the documentary-making business, you need to make sure the interviewees are well prepared ahead of time. Don’t worry, you’re fresh out of college. You’ll catch on.”

“Thanks, sir,“ Molly said. “I know I’m learning, but I think we’ve found an interesting couple here. They’ve been married for fifty years.”

“All right,” Mr. R. replied with a look of doubt. He lifted his hand. “Quiet on set. Action!”

Mr. Herbowitz blinked. “I talk now?”

Mrs. Herbowitz looked at her husband. “Of course, dummy.”

“Who are you calling dummy, birdbrain!”

“Birdbrain? Well, I never…”

“Never stop interrupting me, you mean…”

“If I never interrupted, I wouldn’t have talked for fifty years…”

“Cut!” Mr. R. shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Molly, do you have a minute?”

Molly hurried over to the director’s chair. “Yes, Mr. R?”

“Would you please bring in the next couple?” he said with a tight smile. “Hopefully, they’ll be a bit less… interesting.”

“On it,” Molly said, springing to her feet. “I’ve got a few more lined up…”

Mr. R. grabbed a roll of antacids from his pocket and shook it with a grimace. “I sure hope so, Molly. This documentary is supposed to be about love, not an episode of All My Children!”

******

Ten Years Ago

1978

Hutch pulled up to the curb in front of the dormitory. Students milled about, some packing their cars as they prepared to head home for the summer, others hurrying along the campus road, arms stacked with books as they geared up for summer courses.

He shook his head, feeling a flicker of sympathy for the overachieving students. It felt good to have graduated, top of his class in law school. Now, he was leaving the University of Chicago and heading to a new life in New York City.

He put his head out the window, scanning the area. Hutch had promised his friend, Terry Roberts, that he’d drive her boyfriend to New York. She told him he had just graduated with a master’s degree and, like Hutch, was headed East.

Hutch spotted a couple locked in an overly passionate embrace at the bottom of the dorm steps. He recognized Terry.

“I love you,” she said to the man kissing her.

“I love you, too,” said the man who Hutch assumed was his soon-to-be passenger.

Hutch waited patiently, glancing around to avoid eye contact with the kissing couple. Then he cleared his throat. The kissing didn’t stop. He honked the horn, accidentally on purpose.

“Oh, hi, Ken!” Terry exclaimed, snapping out of it. “Ken, this is David Starsky.”

So, this was Terry’s latest boyfriend. She had described him as a curly-haired, blue-eyed, rebel-rousing James Dean type.

Hutch looked him over.

“Three out of four ain’t bad,” he thought.

“Nice to meet you, David,” Hutch said, extending his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Ken,” Starsky said, shaking it. “Call me Starsky. Only Terry and my mother call me David.”

“And you can call me Hutch. Everyone does, except my mother, too,” he glanced at Terry, “and Terry.”

“Hey, we have something in common already,” Starsky said, chuckling as he stepped into Hutch’s full view.

He was wearing a red shirt, a leather jacket, and the tightest pair of faded jeans Hutch had ever seen.

Hutch peered at Starsky’s feet.

“A real James Dean, with blue Adidas sneakers and all. That’s a first,” Hutch muttered to himself.

“Pardon?” Starsky asked, leaning against the car as Terry hugged him from behind. “Didn’t catch that.”

“I said, nice sneakers,” Hutch replied with a measured grin. “You want to drive first?”

“Nah, you go ahead,” Starsky said. “I’ll take the second shift. I’m still a little wiped from last night.” He gave Terry a smoldering look, then tossed his bags into the trunk, circling to the passenger side. Terry trailed behind. They kissed again.

“Don’t forget to call me,” Terry said.

“I’ll call you every day,” Starsky promised, kissing her again.

“You better. I’ll be waiting up, getting fat on midnight snacks if you don’t.”

“You could never look bad to me.”

“Ollie and I will miss you every second.”

“Kiss Ollie goodbye for me.”

Hutch rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then let out a long, loud sigh, followed by a pointed “Ahem.”

Still no reaction.

Hutch honked the horn again.

This time louder, and definitely on purpose.

CHAPTER TWO

The highway stretched out ahead, and Starsky noticed the traffic was beginning to pick up with the morning rush hour. He tried to relax, but Hutch’s chatter kept him from closing his eyes.

“The way I figure it, we’ve got about an eighteen-hour drive to New York,” Hutch said. “Faster if we don’t take many breaks. We can split the driving, three-hour shifts, unless you want to go longer.” He pointed to the glove compartment. “There’s a map in there. I’ve marked a few rest stops and mapped out two routes in case we hit traffic or road closures.”

Starsky sighed, fearing a very long trip. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. As he unwrapped it, the pungent scent of onions filled the car.

“What’s that?” Hutch asked, nose wrinkling slightly.

“A beef burrito,” Starsky said with a shrug. “With onions. Want a bite?”

Hutch eyed him steadily, his gaze sharp and appraising. “No, I already ate, thanks. Just be careful.”

Starsky licked a finger, shooting him a teasing look. His finger stayed in his mouth as he grinned. “Careful of what? Messing up this beautiful piece of precision engineering?”

“What’s wrong with my car?” Hutch shot back, a little defensive. “I just had it tuned up and replaced all four tires. This car is very reliable.”

“Nothing wrong with it if you like brown,” Starsky said, taking a hearty bite of his burrito.

Hutch shot him a pointed look. “You’re a real charmer.”

“So I’m told,” Starsky said between bites. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself. All I know so far is you like brown and don’t like beef burritos. What’s your life story?”

“Starting with the easy stuff, huh?” Hutch straightened up in his seat, glancing over at him.

“Well, we do have eighteen hours to kill,” Starsky replied. “Or, if you prefer, I think I have a deck of cards in my bag. I know a few great card tricks.”

Hutch raised a hand. “Alright, alright. The story of my life.”

Starsky settled back, taking another bite of his burrito and waiting. “Shoot.”

“I grew up in Minnesota, but came to Chicago for college,” Hutch began. “I just graduated from law school, but I want to do something that matters. So I’m heading to New York to work for Legal Aid, helping people who can’t afford expensive lawyers.”

“That’s noble,” Starsky said, genuinely impressed. “Aren’t most lawyers just after the big bucks?”

“Maybe, but that’s not me,” Hutch remarked.

Starsky paused, chewing thoughtfully. “Suppose you spend your whole life helping people, but at the end of it, you’ve got nothing to show for it. No house, no savings, nothing. Would you still be happy?”

“If I made a difference?” Hutch said, his voice firm. “Yes. And if I had people I loved around me? Definitely. Terry told me you’re a bit broody. She said you like to play the ‘what if’ game.”

“That’s what drew her to me,” Starsky said dryly.

“Your not-so-sunny side?” Hutch asked, smirking.

“That and a few other things,” Starsky affirmed, wiggling his eyebrows. He crumpled the empty paper from his burrito and stuffed it in his bag, glancing over at Hutch. “What? You don’t have a broody side? Never pondered the big questions of life? I bet you walk around all day with that blond hair, singing about springtime. Is that it?”

“You know,” Hutch sneered, “I bet when you were a kid, you used to go to the library and tear out the last page of the mystery novel.”

“Not me, I never went to the library as a kid,” Starsky smiled mischievously. “However, I have been known to read the last page of a book before I start it. That way, if I get hit by a deranged taxi driver before I finish, at least I’ll know how it ends.”

Hutch cast him a long sideways look, like he was unsure whether to laugh or be concerned for his safety. “Terry also mentioned you have a very active imagination.”

“Just one more thing she likes about me,” Starsky said with a know-it-all grin.

“Are you sure you’re not imagining that?” Hutch shot back.

“Very funny,” Starsky retorted, unamused. “Let’s change the subject. Aren’t you wondering why I’m going to New York?”

“No. Terry told me you have a job there. What will you be doing?”

“I’m a journalist, some writing, but focusing on photojournalism,” Starsky said, sounding a little more serious. “I’ll be working at the New York Times, doing on-location shoots, stuff like that.”

“Impressive,” Hutch said. “That doesn’t sound like a broody job at all.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you had to photograph all the dead swans on the Hudson River,” Starsky said, his tone deadpan.

Hutch did a double-take. “There are dead swans on the Hudson?”

“No,” Starsky replied, grinning mischievously. “But what if there were?”

CHAPTER THREE

For the next couple of hours, Starsky and Hutch swapped stories from their childhoods.

Hutch learned that Starsky had grown up in New York, and that his mother and younger brother Nick still lived there. In turn, Hutch talked about his family and growing up in Duluth. He was in the middle of recounting a funny story about how he and his friend Jack Mitchell were once dubbed “the prince and the pauper” when he glanced over and realized Starsky had drifted off to sleep.

One of Starsky’s legs was bent underneath him, the other sprawled in front of him. He was crammed against the window, his leather jacket being used as a blanket, covering his face up to his eyes.

Hutch couldn’t help glancing over at Starsky, watching him sleep.

“At least he’s quiet,” Hutch said, chuckling to himself. “And he’s not stinking up my car with onions anymore.”

After a while, Hutch pulled into the parking lot of a fifties-style diner. He nudged Starsky’s arm to wake him up.

“Hey, I’m getting tired. Let’s grab a bite. You can take over driving after we eat,” he said, hopping out of the car.

Starsky stretched lazily as he got out of the car. “Sure, but so that you know, I take no responsibility for any sudden noises or pieces of metal that might fall off this… fine piece of machinery.”

“Naturally,” Hutch said.

He tossed the keys to Starsky, walking ahead of him toward the restaurant.

*******

Starsky blinked a few times, still shaking away the remnants of his nap. He wasn’t hating the trip as much as he first thought he would. Hutch had a few good stories to share, not to mention that velvety soft voice that had drawn him into a peaceful slumber.  He wasn’t bad to look at, either.

He leaned back comfortably in his seat, draping an arm around the back of the booth.

“So,” Starsky said. “Do you have a special someone back in Chicago? Or someone waiting for you in New York?”

“No. I’m divorced.”

“Divorced?” Starsky asked, not expecting that answer. “You’re pretty young to be divorced. Terry said you’re my age, aren’t you? Twenty-four?”

“Yes, we got married young, when we started college.”

“So, what happened?”

Hutch looked hesitant to answer, like it was still a fresh and painful memory.  He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Well,” Hutch said, his voice cracking. “Vanessa and I were happy in the beginning. After all, I was an up-and-coming lawyer. She had all kinds of plans to move to New York with me. She thought I’d be working for a big firm, making a ton of money, but when I told her I was going to work for Legal Aid, she said…”

“What?” Starsky leaned in, his casual curiosity shifting toward sympathy.“What did she say?”

Hutch cleared his throat, seeming to rein in any remaining emotion. “She said being married to a bleeding-hearted liberal lawyer held no future for her.”

“That’s rough,” Starsky said, and genuinely meant it. “Was the sex good, at least?”

“Excuse me?” Hutch’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t see how my sex life with my wife is any of your business.”

“So, no.”

“Now wait a minute,” Hutch said, pointing a finger at him. “I didn’t say that. If you must know, the sex was terrific. The best I’ve ever had.”

Starsky narrowed his eyes and gave Hutch a once-over. “Just how much sex have you had?”

“What?” Hutch hissed. “What kind of person asks that kind of question to someone they barely know?”

“Coffee, please,” Starsky said casually to the waitress who had magically appeared. “And I’ll have the special,” he added, closing his menu.

The waitress turned to Hutch. “And for you?”

“I’ll have a tuna burger with mushrooms and blue cheese dressing. Dressing on the side, but only if the blue cheese is real. And only add the mushrooms if they’re fresh. Not canned. If they’re canned, then nothing.”

“Not even the tuna?” the waitress asked, pen poised.

“No, just the tuna. But no mushrooms. And no bun. Oh, and a glass of milk.”

Starsky stared at Hutch, speechless.

“What?” Hutch asked.

“Nothing,” Starsky said, shaking his head. “So tell me more about this ex-wife of yours who gave you the best sex of your life.”

“I’m not about to kiss and tell. That’s not who I am. But if you want to share the greatest-sex-of-your-life story, don’t let me stop you.”

Starsky couldn’t tell if Hutch just wanted to change the subject or truly wanted to know.

“What if I told you it was with a guy?” Starsky said.

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Why? You got something against men having sex with other men?”

“Of course not,” Hutch said defensively.

“Have you ever had sex with a man?” Starsky asked.

“I kissed a guy once. It made me realize I don’t happen to swing that way. But that doesn’t mean I have anything against it. It’s just that, judging by the way you had your hands all over Terry, I figured you were only into women.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, Hutch. I like men and women. I won’t lie. I find you very attractive. Beautiful, even.”

The waitress returned with their food.

Hutch was blushing.

“Thank you,” Hutch said.

Starsky wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or the waitress.

“Terry never told me you were so attractive,” Starsky said.

“Maybe she didn’t think I was.”

“It’s not a matter of opinion. You are very attractive, it’s an observable fact.”

“Starsky, Terry is my friend,” Hutch said, staring at his food.

“So?”

“So, you’re dating her.” Hutch’s eyes shot up.

“I repeat, so?”

“So, you’re hitting on me.”

“No, I’m not. Can’t a guy tell another guy he’s attractive without it meaning he’s hitting on him?”

“Not in any world I’ve ever been in,” Hutch responded, avoiding Starsky’s eyes.

Starsky tried to catch his gaze, then gave up.  He turned his focus back to his meal, and they finished eating in silence.

CHAPTER FOUR

Hutch exited the diner, walking a few paces ahead of Starsky.  He started to calculate how many more hours he had ahead of him with this guy asking questions about his sex life.

It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable talking about sex, but for some reason, talking about it with Starsky made him feel like he was treading in dangerous territory.

“Probably because I’m tired,” Hutch said to himself. He hoped he could catch a nap as Starsky took over the driving for a while.

“So, let me get this straight. In the world that Hutch lives in,” Starsky said, getting into the car, “it’s just man after man hitting on you, huh?”

Hutch rubbed his eyes wearily. “Starsky, would you please stop?”

When he didn’t get an immediate response, Hutch figured that was the end of it. That was wishful thinking.

“Okay, so what if I was hitting on you? There, I admitted it,” Starsky said with a hint of exasperation.

Hutch was momentarily at a loss for words.

“I just heard you tell my very good friend Terry that you loved her,” Hutch stammered. “Now you’re admitting you’re hitting on me?”

“I do love Terry,” Starsky insisted. “It’s just, I don’t think we’re soulmates or anything.”

“Soulmates?” Hutch repeated. “For some reason, I didn’t think you were the kind of guy who believed in soulmates. Are you?”

“Nah,” Starsky answered. “It’s a bit of a stretch to believe there is only one person in the whole wide world meant for you, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” Hutch said, almost reluctantly.  “Four billion people in the world.  What are the chances of finding the one person that the universe has in store for you? It’s pretty farfetched.” Hutch looked at Starsky, adding, “But I think soulmates could mean something else.”

Starsky cocked his head to the side. “Like what?”

Hutch shrugged. “Not some one in a million match made by the universe, but someone who shows up for you, again and again. Someone who chooses you, even when it’d be easier not to.”

“So, not fate, just persistence?” Starsky asked softly.

“And love,” Hutch said, nodding. “You’ve gotta have that.”

After a stretch of silence, Hutch looked over at Starsky, who seemed lost in thought.

“Can I ask you something?” Hutch asked.

“Shoot,” Starsky said.

“Who’s Ollie? Terry never mentioned him to me. Why did you ask her to kiss him goodbye for you?”

“Ollie?” Starsky burst out laughing. “That’s the stuffed bear she keeps on her bed.”

”Oh,” Hutch said. “I thought maybe it was some guy you both knew.”

“No, nothing like that. To be honest, Ollie weirded me out a little. It felt like it was always watching us.” He looked over at Hutch. “Sweet, sweet Terry. She never had anything in her fridge except a daily quart of milk. Clearly explains what you two have in common.”

“What’s wrong with milk? My grandfather had cows on his farm, and taught me how to milk them.”

“Of course, that fits,” Starsky said with a smirk. “No wonder you grew so…wonderfully tall.”

Hutch looked out the window so Starsky couldn’t see his cheeks flush. The flirting was starting to get to him.

“Starsky, let’s just be friends. Okay?”

Starsky let out an audible sigh.

“Hutch, don’t you realize? We can never be friends.”

Hutch’s heart sank unexpectedly. He had no clue why that hit him so hard.

“Of course we can,” Hutch responded. “Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. Believe me, I do like your blue…” He caught himself before saying eyes. “Sneakers.”

“No, Hutch. I already told you. I find you attractive. So you see, it’s already too late to be friends. If there’s physical attraction, people can’t just be friends. Not a man and a woman, not a woman and a woman, and definitely not a man and a man. Especially not that. Men are animals. The sex always gets in the way.”

“That’s not true! I have plenty of attractive friends, men and women, and there’s no sex involved.”

“Just because you’re not having sex with them doesn’t mean they don’t want to. Believe me, with someone who looks like you, they all want to. Particularly men who are inclined that way.” Starsky looked over at him. “You’re a man. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Hang on a minute.” Hutch’s finger came out again. “I’ll have you know I’m a little more evolved than that. I’m friends with Terry, aren’t I? She’s attractive. I’m not having sex with her.”

“No, but she told me she wanted to, back when she first met you.”

“What? I didn’t know that. Of course, I was married at the time…”

“Like I was saying… and now, since you’ve told me you’re not into men, I suppose you don’t have that same problem when you meet an attractive guy. Take me, for instance. Do you find me attractive?”

“I can see why women would think so.”

“I do believe I caught you looking at more than just my sneakers when we first met. But hey, since you’re not into men…”

“I told you, I just don’t swing that way.”

“But I do. I swing both ways. It’s the eighties, long gone are the days of being ashamed of that.”

“I don’t think anybody should be ashamed,” Hutch said. “I’m just explaining how I feel.”

“Fair enough, but there’s still a problem. You see, now the sex thing is out there. The friendship? Doomed from the start.”

“She was right,” Hutch said. “You are a brooder.”

“Who was right?” Starsky asked, perplexed.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember her name already.”

“Say again?” Starsky asked, as though he was barely following.

“Never mind,” Hutch said. “Can we change the subject, please?”

“Sure,” Starsky answered, sounding a bit too enthusiastic. “So, tell me, if you’re not a fan of burritos, what do you like to eat, besides the odd combination of tuna burgers and milk?”

Hutch groaned, but decided to let it go.

Anything was better than talking about his sex life with this insufferable man.

******

After a few more driving changes and several hours later, Hutch was back at the wheel, and Starsky was taking another nap.

They would be in New York soon. Hutch’s eyes fell on the sleeping lump next to him, curly hair peeking out behind the jacket that had been pulled up over his face.

Once they stopped talking about sex all the time, Hutch thought the trip went a lot better. Hutch thought Starsky was hiding a very intelligent and warm person beneath his bravado. Too bad they couldn’t be friends.

As dawn began to break, Hutch wiped his weary eyes and navigated his way through downtown New York.  He pulled up in front of Washington Square and nudged Starsky awake.

“We’re here,” Hutch said.

Starsky lazily sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Wow, that was fast.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Sure, considering the last three-hour shift was more like five hours for me while you got your beauty sleep.”

Starsky looked over. “Lucky for you, you don’t need any beauty sleep, Hutch.”

Starsky jumped out of the car and retrieved his things from the trunk. He walked over to the window.

“It was nice knowing you,” Starsky said. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Have a nice life, Starsky,” Hutch said.

He pulled away, glancing in the rearview mirror just in time to see Starsky looking back at him.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Ok, Mr. R.,” Molly said enthusiastically. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Lightman. They’re from New Jersey.”

“Wonderful,” said Mr. R. “Hello to the Lightmans. Are you ready to share the story of how you met?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Lightman, pushing her glasses to her nose.

“What she said,” Mr. Lightman piped in with a wave at his wife.

“Great.  Here we go. Action!”

“I met Mr. Lightman waiting for a bus. It was forty years ago, and a Saturday.”

“It was Friday,” said Mr. Lightman.

“No, it was Saturday,” Mrs. Lightmann insisted.  “I distinctly remember because I was going to visit my cousin Hannah in Hoboken. And there was Gerald, sitting on the bench at the bus stop.  I thought he was very handsome.”

“It was Friday,” Mr. Lightman insisted. “I know because I had band practice. I played the trumpet back then.”

“He did,” she said with a sigh. “I made him quit. It was too loud.”

“It was music, Barbara.”

“It was loud, Gerald.”

“You should know about being loud. After forty years, you’d think she’d learn to whisper once in a while.”

“After forty years, you’d think he’d learn the difference between Friday and Saturday.”

“Cut!” yelled Mr. R. “Molly, a moment?”

“Yes, sir?” Molly asked reluctantly.

“The point of this documentary is to showcase couples who have an enduring love story to share with the rest of the world. Would you say the Lightmans are sharing an enduring love story right now?”

Molly squinted at the couple.

“Not exactly,” Molly said, “But they’ve probably been arguing for forty years and haven’t killed each other yet. So, that counts as something, right?”

Mr. R. nodded slowly. “True, but let’s aim a little higher, shall we? Find me a couple who’s more hip to the present day. Do you think you can do that?

“Got it!” Molly said confidently. “You want a couple who better represents the 80s.”

“Yes,” said Mr. R. with a sigh. “But with a little less Phil Donahue.”

*******

Five Years Later 

1983

Starsky hurried through the crowded airport. He wasn’t sure whether he hated JFK airport specifically or if he just hated airports in general. They were crowded, noisy, and unpredictable. You never knew who you’d end up sitting next to on a flight. Most of the time, it was either an elderly passenger eager to talk your ear off about their grandchildren, or a stiff businessman in a suit who didn’t want to talk at all.

The truth was, Starsky didn’t mind chatting with the elderly. He always got a kick out of their wartime stories. He even volunteered once in a while at an elderly care facility, dropping by to play cards or Monopoly with the residents.

But now and then, if he were lucky, he’d be seated next to someone attractive. Like that tall, blond drink of water last month. A guy with biceps bigger than bowling balls. Starsky chuckled to himself, wondering if anything else about him was bigger than bowling balls.

He picked up his pace toward the gate, walking past a couple locked in a tight embrace, kissing like they’d never see each other again. Something about them made him pause. He turned back and walked toward them, studying their faces. One face in particular looked familiar.

“Abby!” Starsky said. “I thought that was you. How are you?”

He extended his hand.

He remembered Abigail Crabtree well. She was blond, stunning, and always sipping on a protein shake. “Are you still managing the elderly care facility on West 23rd?

“David, hello,” Abby said, shaking his hand. “Yes, I’m still there. I haven’t seen you for a while. Maggie McMillan has been asking about you.”

“I’ve been travelling a lot lately, but I’ll be back at the centre as soon as I can. I’m heading to D.C. for a photo shoot.”

There was an awkward pause before Abby chimed in.

“David, this is Ken Hutchinson. Hutch, this is David Starsky. David volunteers sometimes at the elderly care facility where I work.”

“Hi,” Hutch said, nodding.

Starsky nodded in return, hardly making eye contact. “Well, I’ve got to get to my gate. Nice to see you, Abby. Take care.”

Starsky turned and hurried away.

“Looks like he didn’t recognize me,” Starsky thought. “Not sure if I feel disappointed or relieved.”

*******

Hutch watched Starsky hurry away. “Thank God he didn’t recognize me,” he said. “I drove from Chicago to New York with him five years ago. Everything was going fine until…”

“Until what?” Abby asked.

“Until he made a pass at me,” Hutch said.

He didn’t feel angry; if anything, he felt nostalgic. He cleared his throat and brought himself back to the moment.

“He was dating my friend at the time. What was her name again? It’ll come to me. What I do remember, very clearly, is that he told me we could never be friends. He said if there’s physical attraction, even if it’s one-sided, sex always gets in the way. Especially between two men. Can you believe that? Don’t you have platonic friends who find you attractive, Abby? I mean, it’s hard to imagine there could be anyone who doesn’t.”

“Oh, Hutch. I think what he meant was something deeper. Not just thinking someone is attractive, but feeling attracted to them. Beyond the surface.”

“No, he definitely wasn’t that deep. Or at least, he pretended not to be.”

Abby kissed him. “I promise, I’ll check with all my friends, male and female, and ask them if they’re physically attracted to me. If they say yes, that’ll prove him wrong, right?”

Hutch nodded, though not entirely convinced. “Of course. And I trust you, Abby, either way.” He tugged at his nose thoughtfully. “Terry!” he said triumphantly. “Terry Roberts. That was her name. Thank God.”

Abby kissed him again. “Have a good flight. I’ll miss you. I love you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“I love you, too.”

CHAPTER SIX

Starsky popped his head over the seat in front of him.  He looked at the blond man in the seat one row ahead, seated by the window on the other side of the aisle. After all this time, he would know that unforgettable face anywhere.

Hutch turned his head, seeming to sense someone’s eyes on him. He spotted Starsky watching him, but turned quickly to the flight attendant who asked for his order.

“Can I offer you a drink, sir?” said the stewardess.

“I’ll have a vodka tonic with a twist. Fill the glass with ice, then about three-quarters tonic and just a splash of vodka. I’ll have the lemon twist on the side. If you don’t have a lemon, then nothing.”

“Not even the drink?”

“Yes, the drink. Just not the twist. And then, no ice.”

Starsky chuckled to himself, leaning forward in his seat.

“Chicago, right?” Starsky shouted over the top of his seat.

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

The passenger seated next to Hutch spoke up. “Would you two like to sit together?”

“Sure!” Starsky said quickly, already standing. He switched seats with the man and sat down beside Hutch.

“We drove from Chicago to New York together,” Starsky commented to the man behind him, who had just switched seats. “Isn’t that right?” Starsky turned to Hutch as he buckled his seatbelt.

“That’s right,” Hutch said.

“You were friends with… hang on a second…”

“Terry,” Hutch said. “I can’t believe you didn’t remember her name.”

“Of course I remembered. Terry Richards.”

“Roberts.”

“Yes, Roberts. That’s what I meant. Whatever happened to her?”

“I have no idea. But I’m surprised you don’t know. I thought you two were in love.”

“I thought so too, but life happens, you know? Long-distance relationships are tough.”

“Sure,” Hutch said with a trace of sarcasm. “You were so far away from her, you hit on me about an hour into the trip.”

“You regret it, don’t you?” Starsky’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Not taking me up on my offer. All because of your loyalty to a friend you haven’t even stayed in touch with.”

“I turned you down because I don’t swing that way,” Hutch reminded him.

“Right,” Starsky smirked, “How could I forget?”

Hutch didn’t answer. He shifted in his seat, adjusting his posture.

“So,” Starsky continued, “how long have you been with Abby? A month or so?”

“Six weeks,” Hutch answered. “How did you know?”

“It’s obvious. You’re still in that new relationship honeymoon phase. She even took you to the airport. Trust me, if you were a year in, she wouldn’t have bothered.”

“You don’t know anything about us.”

“Fair enough. I’m getting married, by the way.”

Hutch blinked. “You? Married? To whom?”

“To a wonderful woman named Rosey.”

“A woman? That’s surprising, considering the best sex you ever had was with a man.”

“You’d be surprised what falling in love does to you. Makes you rethink what matters.”

“Oh, please. You’re saying sex isn’t important now?”

“No, I’m just saying…” Starsky looked at him. “You get tired of the whole routine.”

“What routine?”

“Of being single. The cycle. You meet someone, get to know them, then you sleep with them, lying there wondering how long you have to stay before it’s polite to leave. With Rosey, we slept together right away. She was only supposed to be in town for a few days for her family’s business, international art, sculptures, pottery, that kind of thing. She was supposed to fly to Mexico the next day, but the trip got canceled. The next morning, her father dropped by and practically threatened me to ‘do right’ by her.”

Hutch raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Sounds like a fairy tale. Assuming fairy tales involve the bride’s father threatening the groom with an ultimatum.”

Starsky laughed. “We haven’t known each other long, but she makes me happy. That’s what counts. You’ll see. Maybe you’ll marry Abby and settle down.”

“I’ve done that once, remember? I’m not in a rush to go back.”

“What if she is?”

“Right now, we’re both happy being able to fly to Paris on a moment’s notice, or have sex on the kitchen table.”

Starsky raised a brow. “Didn’t know you were kinky that way.”

Hutch shot him a suffering look. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I’m coming to realize that,” Starsky said. “You want to grab dinner after we land? Just friends.”

“Are you hitting on me again?”

“Hitting on you? No. Of course not.”

“I seem to recall you once told me we could never be friends.”

“That was before we were both in relationships. Different rules.”

“So you’re no longer attracted to me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Hutch turned to look at him. “Then how would Rosey feel knowing you were having dinner with someone you’re still attracted to, even if it’s ‘just friends’?”

Starsky paused with a thoughtful expression. “You’re right. I guess we still can’t be friends.”

Starsky wasn’t sure why Hutch sighed at that comment.

“That’s too bad,” Hutch said after a long pause. “I thought maybe we were getting somewhere.”

Starsky looked down and noticed their thighs were touching. Hutch pulled away, ensuring they were separated.

“Good luck with your marriage then,” Hutch offered. “I hope Rosey makes you happy.”

“I hope Abby makes you happy, too,” Starsky remarked.

The plane landed shortly after, and Starsky stood up to let Hutch out of his seat.

“After you,” Starsky said. “

“Goodbye,” Hutch said, nodding at Starsky.

“Nice seeing you again,” Starsky said, feeling a hint of something missing as he watched Hutch walk away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Mr. R, this is Mr. and Mrs. Fleishman. They celebrated their sixtieth anniversary last month,” Molly said, her voice a mix of hope and hesitation.

“Sixty years, huh?” Mr. R asked. “Alright, let’s give them a shot.” 

The director shifted his attention to the elderly couple seated on the loveseat, their hands lovingly intertwined.

“Action!” 

Mr. Fleishman cleared his throat loudly, a sound that filled the room. 

“My name is Harold Fleishman, and this is my wife, Agnes.”

“You can call me Aggie,” she added, with a smile that seemed to speak volumes about a long life shared.

“We met in 1928,” Harold continued, his gaze softening.

“And married in 1929,” Agnes chimed in, as if they’d both rehearsed this part a thousand times.

“I remember it like it was yesterday. I saw her at the market, right by the apple stand. She was picking out McIntoshes.”

“I wasn’t at an apple stand,” Agnes shot back with a bemused frown. “I don’t even like apples. Never have. I was picking out tomatoes.”

Mr. Fleishman blinked, slightly thrown off. “Oh. Right. That was Matilda Patterson at the apple stand. The best-looking girl in town.”

“What did he say? I didn’t catch that last part,” Mrs. Fleishaman said as she cupped a hand to her ear.

“I said, you were the best-looking girl in town, Aggie,” he repeated, a little louder.

“Oh,” Mrs. Fleishman said with a smile, “I thought you said something about Matilda Patterson. That whore.”

“Cut!”

Molly was unable to suppress a groan.

“Can we have a word?” Mr. R’s voice was calm, but the look in his eyes was serious.

Molly shifted closer, her face a mixture of confusion and concern. “Yes, sir?”

“Molly,” he began, as though choosing his words carefully. “Why do you want to be in the documentary-making business?”

Molly paused, collecting her thoughts. “I want to tell stories. Real stories about love, life, tragedy… everything that makes us human. I want to entertain, sure, but also lift people up. Make them think.”

Mr. R. regarded her for a moment, then sighed. “That’s a noble reason, Molly. But when I asked you to find a couple that represents love in the ’80s,” he paused dramatically, “I meant the 1980s, not the 1880s!”

Molly’s face flushed. “Right. A little more… contemporary?”

“Just a touch,” the director said through clenched teeth. 

*******

Five Years Later

1988

Hutch stood in the bookstore in downtown New York, browsing the cookbook section. His friend Huggy was with him, flipping through a copy of How to Cook on One Dollar a Day.

“What are you looking at that kind of book for?” Hutch asked. “Aren’t they paying you a king’s ransom to write for the food section in New York Magazine? It’s not like you’re living on a shoestring budget.”

“Hutch, my man, I’m most definitely not living on a shoestring budget. I’m looking at this book because it’s what they call the new norm, self-help books. Gone are the days of Julia Child’s recipes with foie gras and caviar. This, my friend, is a cookbook for the working woman.”

“Or man.”

“Of course, Hutch. Not unlike you. Maybe I’ll buy this for you for Christmas.”

“It’s only November,” Hutch said, grabbing the cookbook from him. “I might need it before then. It just so happens I’m single again,” he said. “Abby and I broke up.”

“What happened, dude? I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hutch sighed. “Abby and I were growing apart. When I first met her, she had just moved to New York from a small town and was working as a social worker for the elderly. We met while I was working on a class-action case for tenants at a rundown retirement home. Good thing I showed up when I did. Those folks were about to drop a bomb on the landlord if he didn’t start providing basic needs like heat and decent food.”

“I remember that case. You did some good work there. Not to mention a slew of others… but carry on.”

“Well, a little while ago, Abby started to dislike the city after she was almost mugged.”

“Almost?”

“She was on the subway when she saw a man grab a purse from a woman two seats down. The guy waited for the train to stop, yanked her bag away, and took off as the doors opened. It all happened so fast. Abby said the guy got away.”

“But was she ever actually in danger?”

“No. But she said it scared her. She said, and I quote: “I never thought about dying before. ”

“Dying? From a purse snatcher on the subway? She ought to visit my old neighborhood back home. We called that kind of thing Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Hutch snickered, “I’ll bet. I guess the city isn’t for everyone.”

Hutch stopped short. “Oh my God,” Hutch said, glancing across the store. “That’s Starsky.”

“Who’s he?” Huggy asked.

“David Starsky. A photojournalist for The Times. You’d like him. He loves to eat.”

“He’s cute,” Huggy said.

“He’s married. Or at least he was five years ago.”

“So maybe he’s not married anymore.”

“He never remembers me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Hutch?”

“Told you it was hard to believe,” Huggy said, making his exit.

“David Starsky,” Hutch said. “I thought that was you. Starsky, this is, or was, my friend Huggy Bear.”

Huggy was already heading out the front door, waving as he left.

“Huggy Bear?” Starsky asked. “You’ve made some interesting friends out here.”

“Huggy is one of my best friends,” Hutch explained. “And yes, interesting is the best way to describe him.”

“How’s Abby?” Starsky asked, folding his arms.

“We recently broke up,” Hutch replied.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Starsky’s voice sounded genuine.

“How’s married life? Rosey, right?” Hutch asked, pivoting from his own love life.

“We’re divorced.”

“I’m sorry too,” Hutch said. He found himself touching Starsky’s wrist in comfort. “What happened?”

“She said I was working too much, and that she was lonely. So, she found other companionship.”

“She had an affair?” Hutch gasped.

“No. Worse.”

“What could be worse than an affair?”

“She left me for her father.”

Hutch blinked. “You’re right. That is worse.”

“You want to grab a coffee?” Starsky asked, his posture more relaxed.

“You sure you’re willing to risk it?” Hutch asked tentatively. “Having coffee with someone you said you could never be friends with?”

“Who said that?”

“You did.”

“Oh. Right,” Starsky said, softening. “I remember. Well, I’ve grown up a little since then.”

They walked together, chatting casually about the weather and their jobs. They came across an outdoor café and took a seat at one of the small tables.

“So here we are,” Hutch said. “Two divorced guys, feeling sorry for ourselves. Of course, my divorce was years ago. Yours is what?”

“One month.”

“Ouch. She really left you for her father?”

“Not technically,” Starsky said. “She joined the family business. Her dad offered her a job opening a new art gallery in Mexico. She invited me to visit while we ‘sorted things out.’  She said it would be like dating, but I figured, where’s the incentive in dating your wife? I got married to stop dating. Then I just asked her straight out if she still loved me. And do you know what she said?”

“Sure.”

“Sure, what?”

“Sure, I know what she said.”

“Oh yeah, hotshot?” Starsky said, smirking. “Go ahead. Enlighten me. What did Rosey say?”

Hutch frowned. “She said, ‘I don’t know if I ever loved you.’”

Starsky’s face fell. “How did you know that?”

Hutch took a sip of coffee. “Same thing that Vanessa said to me when we ended it. I think it’s a line women use when they’re hurting.”

“Thanks for telling me. I won’t take it personally. Like I’ve said before, a man would never pull that kind of crap. He wouldn’t say something just to make you feel worse.”

“Don’t be so sure. Men can be pretty heartless, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m sure you loved Rosey. But didn’t you tell me you married her after only knowing her for, like, a month?”

“Two weeks.”

“Precisely. So, is it that hard to believe things moved too fast? Maybe she did love you, but just not enough. That’s how it was with Vanessa. We were too young. Wanted different things.”

“And with Abby?”

Hutch took another sip. “I cared about Abby. I’ve missed her since she left, but maybe it’s for the best. We were drifting apart.”

Hutch paused, his gaze piercing right through Starsky.

“You know, when we first met, I thought you were a bit obnoxious and smug,” Hutch said.

“But you liked my look, my jeans and sneakers, so I had that going for me.”

“Yeah,” Hutch said through a laugh. “I figured anyone who wore sneakers all the time was either pretty relaxed or…”

“Or what?”

“Or ready to take off at a moment’s notice.”

Starsky looked down at his feet. “I’m wearing dress shoes these days.”

“I see that,” Hutch said with a grin. “So, are we starting to be friends now?”

Starsky drew a deep breath. “I figure you’ve been following me around for ten years, so why not?”

That made Hutch laugh. “Oh, I think it’s the other way around,” he teased. “If we’re starting a friendship here, why don’t you come by my apartment on Friday night.  I’ll cook something.”

Hutch signaled to the waitress to bring the check.

“It’s a date,” Starsky said.

Hutch noticed Starsky was smiling from ear to ear. And so was he.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Starsky lounged on Hutch’s sofa, legs sprawled out with a magazine resting lazily on his chest.

“Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing,” he called toward the kitchen. “You sure I can’t help? I’m pretty good at opening jars and getting in the way.”

“No, I’ve got it under control,” Hutch replied.

Hutch lit the candlesticks at each end of the dining table, then picked up the bottle of wine that had been breathing beside them and gave it a curious sniff.

“You like red?” Hutch asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“I love red,” Starsky said, tossing the magazine aside. He stood and made his way to the table. “Even more when someone else is buying.”

Hutch grinned and went to the oven, pulling out a roasting pan with a pair of mitts. He set it carefully in the center of the table and lifted the lid with a bit of ceremony.

“Pot roast with carrots and mini potatoes?” Starsky said, eyes lighting up. “How did you know this is one of my all-time favorites?”

“You told me,” Hutch said as he grabbed a serving spoon. “On our eighteen-hour drive from Chicago to New York, remember?”

“I did?” Starsky asked, genuinely surprised.

“You did. You spent most of that trip talking about two things. Sex and food.”

Starsky smirked. “Well, at least I wasn’t boring.”

“Not for a single mile,” Hutch slid into his chair and placed a napkin on his lap. He looked across the table and noticed Starsky hadn’t moved.

“Something wrong, Starsk?”

Starsky shook his head. “No, nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering… do you usually cook like this for your friends? Wine, home-cooked dinner, the works?”

Hutch looked a little shy. “Sometimes. Don’t you?”

Starsky bent forward, as though he was telling a secret. “I cook for my friend Joan Meredith sometimes.”

“Who’s Joan Meredith?” Hutch asked, his expression curious. “Someone you used to date?”

“Nah. Joan and I are just friends. She’s a cop, a lieutenant with the NYPD.

Starsky watched Hutch’s brow wrinkle as he took in this new information.

“So, you mustn’t find Joan attractive?” Hutch asked.

“That’s your question? Not, how did a guy like me become friends with a cop? No cheap shot about getting arrested for driving too fast?”

“Oh, those questions were next,” Hutch said, chuckling. “I just started with the obvious one, given your rule about not being friends with someone you’re attracted to.”

“Joan is very attractive. I walked into the precinct one afternoon, hoping to interview a couple of detectives for a story I was working on. I took one look at Joan, walked into her office, and made a pass at her. Called her sweetheart. You know what she did?”

“Filed a restraining order?”

Starsky narrowed his eyes, but not with anger.

“She pushed me up against a wall, took the pen out of my hand, and told me to address her as nothing short of Lieutenant Meredith. I realized right then and there that I wasn’t attracted to her romantically, but boy, did I respect her. The rest is history. We still laugh about how we first met to this day.”

“She sounds like quite a lady. What did you like to cook for her?”

“Lasagna,” Starsky said. “From scratch. Like you get in one of those little Italian restaurants.”

“I’m impressed,” Hutch said, nodding. “Hey, Starsk?”

“Yeah?” Starsky said, taking a drink.

“Just so you know, you’re the first to get the candlesticks.”

Starsky smiled at that, even though Hutch seemed to shrug off the admission like it was no big deal.

“I’m honored,” Starsky managed to say, raising his glass. “Here’s to firsts.”

“And to friends.” Hutch lifted his glass in return.

Their glasses clinked together as Starsky felt a flush creep into his cheeks before he could hide behind a sip of wine.

CHAPTER NINE

“He brings me flowers once a month. Red roses,” Mrs. Anderson said with a hint of a smile.

“Red roses,” Mr. Anderson echoed proudly. “Been doing it for thirty years now.”

“And I bring him coffee every morning while he’s shaving for work.”

“It’s the little things,” he continued, with a small, affectionate nod.

“It’s the friendship,” Mrs. Anderson said softly, her gaze meeting his. “The bedrock of a relationship.”

“Too bad the sex was never very good,” Mr. Anderson added flatly.

“Cut! Molly!” Mr. R.’s voice was sharp, cutting through the awkward tension.

“I’m sorry, Mr. R., I had no idea he was going to say that,” Molly said, her face flushed as she turned toward him.

“Of course you didn’t,” Mr. R. said, crossing his arms. “But I bet you know exactly what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

Molly winced. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Out of the slew of couples we’ve interviewed, have we managed to get anything useful at all?”

“Well, I’ve pieced together some clips. A few short ones from different couples…” she trailed off.

Mr. R’s eyes narrowed. “Molly, this is supposed to be a full-length documentary, not a highlights reel!”

“Yes, sir,” Molly said, pleading, “Don’t give up on me!”

Mr. R. looked at her calmly. “I’m not giving up on you, Molly. But if this were a VHS tape, I’d be tempted to hit pause right about now!”

*******

Hutch reached out to answer the ringing phone on the bedroom nightstand.

“Hello?”

“Hey, schweetheart, are you watching?” Starsky asked.

Hutch could hear the faint sound of crunching on the other end. He tucked himself deeper under the covers and pressed the receiver to his ear.

“Watching what?”

“The best Humphrey Bogart movie ever made,” Starsky said. “Channel five. I’ve already got my popcorn.”

Hutch grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He’d resisted putting a television in the bedroom, but Abby had insisted it wouldn’t hurt their relationship. She’d been right. The TV had nothing to do with it.

“That was the worst Bogey impression I’ve ever heard, by the way. Okay, I’m on channel five,” Hutch said, settling into his pillow. “Oh, it’s Casablanca, right?”

“Oh, it’s Casablanca, right?’” Starsky repeated mockingly. “Tell me you’re not watching this for the first time.”

“I’ve seen it… a long time ago. My mom had it on once, and I watched a little. Don’t they end up together? Bogart and Bergman?”

Starsky groaned.

“Hutch, I can’t believe you don’t know how this ends. It’s a tragic love story. Ilsa gets on the plane with her husband so they can escape occupied Casablanca. Her husband’s vital to the resistance. Rick lets her go, even though he loves her, for the greater good.”

Hutch thought that over.

“When you put it that way, yeah, it is tragic. Not Romeo and Juliet tragic, but still. Wait, don’t tell me they both die in the end.”

“How can you not know this movie? If I were there with you, I’d give you a piece of my mind.”

“You’re doing just fine over the phone.”

“Very funny,” Starsky said. “Quiet. You’ll like this part. Sam’s about to play the piano.”

Hutch smirked to himself, giving in. He focused on the screen, and before long, he was completely absorbed. They watched in silence, broken only by the sound of Starsky munching popcorn.

“She got on the plane,” Hutch said eventually, more disappointed than he let on.

“I told you. It gets me every time,” Starsky answered, his voice husky. “Shush. Best closing line in movie history coming up.”

Hutch heard Starsky softly echo the words as Humphrey Bogart spoke them on-screen. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Hutch was quiet for a moment. “That is a great last line,” Hutch said. “Almost makes up for the heartbreak.”

“How do you figure?” Starsky asked.

“Because if you can’t have love, I think the next best thing is a beautiful friendship. What do you think?”

There was a pause; only soft, uneven breathing on the line.

“You there?” Hutch asked. “Starsk, are you still there?”

Starsky cleared his throat loudly. “Yeah. A popcorn kernel in my throat. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Hutch said, sighing. He didn’t get an answer to his question, and didn’t have the nerve to ask again. “I should hang up. Got an early morning.”

“Me too,” Starsky replied. Then added, “Hey, Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

“Ever seen The Maltese Falcon? Bogart plays a private detective. Sam Spade.”

“Nope. But I like detective movies.”

“Me too. We should watch it sometime. Lunch tomorrow?”

“It’s a date. Night, Starsk.”

“Goodnight, Hutch.”

CHAPTER TEN

“I know, ma,” Starsky said, pressing the phone to his ear as he opened the fridge. “It was good to see you, too.  You know I always enjoy Friday night dinner when I can find the time.”

“You would think you could find the time a little more often,” his mother said, a touch of humor in her voice.  “Of course, if you’re seeing someone special, I understand. You talked about Hutch all night.  Nicky couldn’t stop rolling his eyes at how much you talked about him. Too bad he couldn’t come, so we could meet him.”

“I told you, Hutch went camping this weekend. I also told you Nicky needs to grow up and get out of your house,” Starsky answered. “Besides, I didn’t talk about Hutch that much.  I talked about work, too.”

“All I care about is that you’re no longer talking about that Rosey. She was never good enough for you…”

“Ma, I got it,” Starsky interrupted. “I’ll call you again next week.”

“Or come over.”

“We’ll see, ma,” Starsky said.

No sooner did he hang up the phone than it rang again. Starsky picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Starsk.”

“Hutch! You’re back. How was the camping trip?”

“Very relaxing,” Hutch said. “I didn’t have to do much of anything. Kiko’s a capable young man, just finished college. He had everything under control. He even caught the fish and cleaned it.”

Starsky let out a low whistle. “It’s great how you were a Big Brother all those years, Hutch.” Starsky felt his heart swell a little. “The kid likely has a dozen merit badges.”

“Yeah, these days I just have to supervise from the hammock with a book and snacks. So, what’d you get up to this weekend?” Hutch asked.

Starsky glanced around his apartment. Last night’s empty pizza box on the coffee table and two half-finished bottles of root beer did a great job of reminding him.

Starsky straightened up, as if posture could make his answer sound more impressive. “Oh, you know. Kept busy. Visited my mother.”

“That’s nice. Are you up for a Sunday afternoon game of basketball?”

“I could be persuaded,” Starsk said, looking around for his sneakers.

“Perfect,” Hutch said. “I only have until five o’clock, though. I have a date tonight.”

Starsky felt a tinge of regret. “Oh, yeah? What’s her name?”

“Gillian Ingram.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“Hey, we should go bowling. Make it a foursome. What do you say?”

“I say you’re on. I’ll call Nancy and set it up.”

*******

Hutch lay in bed, trying to concentrate on the files he needed to review for work the next day. His eyes scanned the text, but the words kept slipping past him. Then the phone rang, cutting through his thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Hutch. How are you doing? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’ve already told you, I’m fine. You don’t have to keep checking up on me. We had only been dating a few weeks. Gillian was just a transitional person.”

“You said you were really into her.”

“I repeat. A transitional person. You’re supposed to fall hard for someone right after a long-term relationship. I guess I should’ve seen it coming, after Abby left.”

“Sounds like you’re being a little too casual about Gillian dumping you.”

“She left me for a city councilman, of all people.”

“So… you’re okay?”

“I will be, Starsk. One day, I’ll probably look back and realize I dodged a bullet. Thanks for calling. Tell Nancy I said hi.”

“Nancy? She and I aren’t dating anymore.”

“What happened?” Hutch asked, his voice shifting to concern.

“It started with bowling. You know how she’d yell ‘Bingo!’ every time she got a strike? Cute at first. Then she started calling sex ‘Bingo’ too. At some point, I couldn’t tell if I was about to score or win a door prize.”

Hutch frowned. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, I truly am.”

“It’s okay. I guess she was a transitional person, too.”

Hutch heard Starsky take a breath, like he was about to say something more, but didn’t.

“Want to grab lunch tomorrow?” Hutch asked, breaking the silence.

“You bet,” Starsky said. “Let’s meet at the usual deli downtown.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hutch and Starsky sat at a table for two in the center of the delicatessen. A waitress approached with a notepad, ready to take their orders.

“I’ll have the pastrami on rye, please,” Starsky said, closing his menu. “Plenty of mustard, and a large side of fries.” He nodded across the table at Hutch. “In case my friend here wants a few.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Hutch said sweetly to the waitress. “He always orders extra fries for himself.”

The waitress turned to Hutch. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the pastrami too, but no mustard. Mayo instead, but on the side. And no fries.” He shot Starsky a look. “My friend here said he will share.”

“Hutch,” Starsky muttered, leaning in slightly, “now you’re pushing it.”

“You won’t share?”

“No, I mean mayonnaise? With pastrami? Who does that?” He turned to the waitress. “Have you ever heard of that?”

She shook her head. “Nope, and this is New York City. I’ve seen some weird stuff, but we still have standards.” She dropped the notepad in her apron pocket and walked away.

“I like what I like,” Hutch said with a shrug, unapologetic.

“So do I,” Starsky said with a smirk.

Hutch shook his head with a smile. It felt good to have Starsky to talk to. It was so easy, they could talk about anything.

“That reminds me,” Hutch said, his voice hushed as he looked around. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that… you know… what you like.”

“What I like?” he asked, curiosity piqued. “You mean about sex?”

“Keep your voice down,” Hutch said, glancing around. “And yes, sex. You talk about it all the time, and you flirt with women even more, but I’ve never seen you flirt with a guy. What gives? I thought men were the best sex you ever had.”

“Oh, so nothing personal that can’t be discussed in a deli, then,” Starsky said with a chuckle, then turning serious. “I do enjoy sex with men, but that doesn’t mean I’ve had a lot of it.”

“Why not?” Hutch said. “I’m sure a guy like you would have no trouble finding someone. I feel like you’re holding something back.”

Starsky’s eyes flickered away, and his voice became low. “Truth is, I’ve only been with two guys in my life, Hutch.”

“Oh,” Hutch said, surprised. “I thought… I don’t know. More.”

“I made it sound that way when we first met. I exaggerated.” Starsky winced and gave him a crooked grin, like he was bracing for a reaction. “Guess I was trying to impress you. It kind of backfired, didn’t it?”

Hutch softened. “No, it didn’t. Honestly? I found it fascinating. You were so confident, so self-assured. Still are.”

“I appreciate that. But the truth is, I’ve always been less confident than I let on.”

The waitress arrived, setting down their sandwiches and a mountain of fries in the middle of the table.

“Wait. I’m mustard, he’s mayo,” Starsky called, but she was already gone.

He shrugged and switched plates with Hutch.

“So,” Hutch said, picking up a fry as he looked around to confirm no one could hear. “Tell me more about the two guys you were with. I’m curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Hutch.”

“That’s ok. Cats have nine lives.” Hutch said, his gaze becoming serious.

Starsky drummed his fingers on the table like he was contemplating his answer.

“It was a long time ago,” Starsky said, looking away. He concentrated on sprinkling salt on the fries. “The first time was in high school. Spider McGuiness and I were on a camping trip. We were teenagers and didn’t know much about anything. One night, we snuck out of the tent and fooled around on the beach. Nothing serious, just hand jobs and messing around. We never talked about it again. A year later, Spider got into the wrong crowd. I steered clear of him from there. Needless to say, we drifted apart.”

Starsky took a bite of his sandwich, looking tentatively at Hutch.

“Go on, Starsk,” Hutch said.

“The second time was in college,” Starsky said. “A guy named Duke. He was good-looking, smart, and fun to be around. We slept together twice. The first time, he was on top. The second time, I was.”

Starsky gave Hutch a look, clearly waiting for a response.

“And?” Hutch asked, like he was hanging on Starsky’s every word.

“Both times were fantastic,” Starsky said, licking mustard off his thumb.

“What happened to Duke?” Hutch asked.

“No idea,” Starsky quipped, popping a fry into his mouth. “It was great sex, but we weren’t exactly Bogart and Bergman.”

“So… not in love?”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of telling a man I loved him.” His eyes darted to Hutch, then he looked away, like he was hiding regret. “Why do you ask?”

Hutch shrugged. “Like I said, I’m just curious. I always figured men played fewer games.”

“Unlike women, who are famously straightforward,” Starsky said sarcastically.

Hutch smirked and took a bite of his sandwich, nodding. “Especially in bed,” he said, chewing. “I read once that most women have faked an orgasm at least once. For men, that’s pretty much impossible. But for women? It’s apparently very common.”

“No way,” Starsky said. “Not with me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I  know, that’s how. Are you saying a woman has faked it with you?”

“I’m saying I potentially wouldn’t know. Statistically speaking, most women have done it. So you do the math.”

Starsky set down his sandwich. “I’m sure you would know, Hutch. And even if you didn’t, I would. I can tell.”

Hutch scooted forward in his seat. “You’re telling me you’ve got some magical way of spotting fake orgasms? I’ve dated women for years, and I wouldn’t be so bold as to make that claim.”

“I’m not saying I’m psychic,” Starsky said. “But I pay attention. The way she moves, the sounds she makes. The rhythm. The breathing. Once you’ve seen the real thing enough, you can’t be fooled.”

The older couple seated across the aisle glanced over. The woman arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and shook her head.

“Keep your voice down, Valentino,” Hutch laughed under his breath. “So, tell me.  How exactly do women sound when you’re bringing them to orgasm? Maybe you can enlighten me. What does it sound like when she’s not faking it?”

Starsky dropped the last piece of sandwich onto his plate, his expression shifting into mock seduction. He slowly ran a hand through his curls and licked his lips like a bad soap opera actor.

Hutch stared, wide-eyed. Then he looked over at the elderly woman, who was pretending not to eavesdrop. He turned back to Starsky.

“Um… what are you doing, Starsk?”

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,” Starsky said in a breathy voice.

Hutch burst out laughing.

“What?” Starsky asked, pouting. “I’m serious. A woman always says ‘Oh God’ at least three times.”

“I don’t think so,” Hutch said, wiping tears from his eyes. “There’s usually a ‘Yes’ in there. Like, ‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh yes.’ Then at least a few ‘Don’t stops.’”

“Like this?” Starsky asked. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh yes. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“No, with more passion. More energy,” Hutch said, matching his tone. “Like this: ‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I’m almost there. Keep going.”

Hutch shot Starsky a knowing look as he sat back. He picked up his sandwich and ate the last bite like nothing had happened.

Starsky dragged his eyes up and down Hutch’s body, like he was preparing for a challenge.

Starsky’s voice rose even louder.

“That’s it. Right there.” Starsky started pounding the table.  “Oh God. Oh God. Oh yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I’m almost there. Keep going.”

Hutch stopped chewing, swallowing quickly. He felt warm, his cheeks flushed, then his face became serious.  He couldn’t help but join in with Starsky.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.” Hutch’s voice was low at first, escalating quickly.

Starsky got louder, matching Hutch’s tempo.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!”

Their eyes locked, their hands pounding the table in sync as their voices rose, building to a ridiculous crescendo.

“Yes!” They shouted in unison, both banging the table one last time.

“Ahem.” The waitress had appeared beside them.

Hutch looked up bashfully, wiping his forehead with a napkin.

Starsky’s eyes stayed on Hutch as he ran a hand through his curls.

“Can I get you two anything else?” the waitress asked.

“No thanks,” Starsky said, not looking up. He pushed his empty plate forward, his eyes fixed on Hutch. “That really hit the spot.”

Hutch wiped his upper lip, then his forehead again.

The waitress nodded, seemingly oblivious. She tore the check from her pad and set it on the table before turning to the couple in the booth across the aisle.

“Are you two ready to order?” she asked the elderly couple.

The older woman looked at the waitress, then nodded towards Starsky and Hutch.

“Yes,” the woman said, her expression deadpan. “We’ll have what they’re having.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Starsky power-walked along the mountain trail, his friend Joan Meredith a few steps behind him.

“Hey, slow down, would you?” Joan called out. “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but I’d rather make this a stroll than a race.”

Joan Meredith was an attractive young woman, slim in build, with shining dark eyes and a naturally glowing complexion. Her curls matched the thickness of Starsky’s, and her long legs gave her more strength than Starsky liked to admit.

“Okay, okay,” Starsky muttered, stopping with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. “Something must be on your mind if you’re more interested in talking than walking.”

“I do have something I wanted to talk to you about,” Joan replied as they started to stroll. “It’s that I don’t understand this relationship you have with… Hutch, is it?”

“Yeah. Hutch,” Starsky said. “What about him?”

“Well,” Joan said. “You enjoy being with him, and you find him attractive?”

“That’s right.”

“But you’ve never slept together?”

“No.”

Joan reached out to touch Starsky’s forehead. “Are you sick or something? The David Starsky I know wouldn’t hesitate to get into bed with someone he’s attracted to. At least not without trying.”

Starsky’s face fell. “Who says I didn’t try? It was years ago. He turned me down. But now, it’s different. I think if we had slept together, we wouldn’t be friends today. And now, that friendship is not worth risking. You get it, don’t you?”

“You mean like when you made a pass at me when we first met and I turned you down?”

“Joan, if you hadn’t turned me down, we probably wouldn’t be friends today. And it’s not because I don’t think you’re attractive, but because I’m not attracted to you. And neither are you to me. There’s a big difference, and I’ve come to understand that.”

“I’ll give you credit for that, Starsky. It’s not like I didn’t already know it, so I’m glad you’re finally catching up.”

They began strolling again, the crunch of gravel under their feet as they descended the sloping path back to their cars.

“So, you’re saying you find Hutch attractive, but you’re not attracted to him?” Joan asked. “That kind of makes sense now.”

Starsky stopped and gently grabbed Joan’s elbow. “No, I didn’t say that either,” he said with a sigh.

Joan looked at him, puzzled. “Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying Hutch’s friendship means something to me, and I don’t want to lose it. I’m learning from this. No sex makes for a better friendship. Don’t you agree?”

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth,” Joan teased. “Our friendship works because we both know we’re strictly platonic. If that ever changed, I’m not sure what would happen. Besides, I still want the whole package. Friendship, love, and great sex, all from one person. I just hope I find him someday.”

“Why don’t you start looking for a ‘her’ instead of a ‘him’?”

“I don’t swing that way.”

“You’re reminding me of Hutch,” Starsky said. “Maybe I should set you up with him.”

Joan shrugged, “Maybe you should.”

******

Hutch walked briskly down the sidewalk with Huggy on their way to the restaurant.

“Huggy, I’m telling you. David Starsky is very attractive,” Hutch asserted. “You saw him at the bookstore that day. And he’s got a great personality.”

“So if he’s so great, why aren’t you dating him?” Huggy asked.

“Huggy, you know I don’t swing that way.”

“Sure, Hutch. That’s what you keep telling yourself. But didn’t you tell me about kissing a guy in high school under the football bleachers?”

“Jack Mitchell? Yeah, we kissed, but that was it. No spark. Not for me, anyway. Not long after that, I started dating Vanessa, and that was a spark. That pretty much settled it. Women were my thing.”

“Ever occur to you it wasn’t about men or women? Maybe Jack just wasn’t the right person. Trust me, I’ve been there. Man, woman, it’s not the gender that gets me flying, it’s the person. Sometimes we humans just hang onto the story we keep telling ourselves, not realizing there might be something else out there even better. You dig?”

“I dig, Hug. That’s why I think you and Starsky might hit it off. He’s a lot like you. He goes both ways, easy as breathing.”

“You mean he’s honest with himself,” Huggy muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m getting hungry myself,” Huggy mumbled as they reached the restaurant.

Hutch opened the door and held it for him. “After you.”

“At least I hope the food is good here,” Huggy said, stepping inside. “If it’s bad, I’m blaming you.”

Hutch patted Huggy’s back as he let him go ahead.

“That’s fair,” Hutch mumbled, “but if sparks fly between you and Starsky, I expect full credit.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Starsky, Hutch, Joan, and Huggy sat at a table together in an elegant restaurant. Joan was seated next to Hutch, while Starsky sat across from him, beside Huggy.

“Is that right?” Huggy asked Starsky, responding to something he had said about the bad traffic in New York. “So, where are you from that the traffic is any better?”

“New York,” Starsky remarked. “Originally from the south end of Brooklyn.”

“No traffic down there?” Huggy asked slyly.

“Oh, there’s traffic,” Starsky said. “But here in Manhattan, it’s meaner. Like, they actually want to run you over. In Brooklyn, they just aim to maim you.”

Huggy looked at Starsky with surprise. “Hutch told me you were a little broody.”

Starsky cast a good-natured look of disbelief at Hutch. “Is that right? Funny, Hutch didn’t tell me much about you. Other than you’re a food writer. Where are you from?”

“California,” Huggy answered. “Traffic’s a bitch there, too.”

“Interesting,” Starsky said flatly.

Meanwhile, Joan and Hutch were having a conversation.

“You work at police headquarters?” Hutch asked. “I’ve had some dealings with some cops down there on a few cases.  Funny how we’ve never met.”

“Yes, funny,” Joan answered, expressionless. “So, where are you from?”

“Duluth,” Hutch said. “You?”

“New York, born and raised,” she answered.

“Oh,” Hutch said through a smile. “Interesting.”

An awkward silence swept the table.

“So, what is everyone going to order?” Starsky asked, forcing a smile.

“I’m thinking of starting with a Caesar salad,” Hutch said.

“Hutch can make any order in any restaurant special,” Starsky boasted with a laugh. “You won’t believe how Hutch can make even the simplest request come out better than expected. One time, he ordered beluga caviar, and instead of water crackers, he insisted on saltines. On the side, of course. I thought it was crazy, but it was delicious.”

Hutch shot Starsky a look that said, very clearly, to be quiet.

“I think restaurants are trying too hard,” Huggy said. “It’s like replacing regular food with expensive, overcomplicated dishes has become the main point. And that’s coming from someone whose entire career is built around the restaurant experience.”

“I agree,” Joan chimed in. “High-scale restaurants are to people in the eighties what drive-in theatres were to people in the sixties.”

“I wrote that,” Huggy said, grinning.

“You did?” Joan looked surprised. “I’ve never quoted anything from a magazine in my life. And that came from you? Really?”

Huggy nodded and inclined toward her. “I also wrote, ‘The microwave is to the eighties what crockpots were to the sixties.’”

“Stop it!” Joan exclaimed. “I read that in a magazine at my dentist’s office!”

“No one’s ever quoted me back to me before,” Huggy said, clearly delighted.

Starsky and Hutch exchanged a look, already feeling left out before the salad had even arrived.

******

The foursome exited the restaurant, walking in a line down the sidewalk.

“That meal was great,” Starsky said. “I’m stuffed.”

“Then it must have been good,” Hutch joked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say you’re stuffed before.”

“Ha, ha,” Starsky teased. “Just wait until I get you on the tennis court this weekend. No mercy from me.”

“The quality of mercy is not strained…” Hutch began with a smirk.

“How about you two show some mercy and stop acting like an old married couple?” Huggy teased.

“Now listen here!” Hutch said teasingly, pointing his finger at Huggy.

Huggy grabbed Hutch’s elbow and pulled him to the side. “Hutch, I need to ask you something. Are you into Joan at all?”

“She’s very attractive, smart, funny,” Hutch said. “But for some reason, I didn’t feel a spark. What about you? Do you like Starsky?”

“There’s only one thing I had in common with Starsky, besides the fact that we both like food. I found out he has a pet rock. I bought one of those from a street vendor in the Bronx, so there’s that.”

“But you like Joan?”

“Yes, I felt a real connection with her. Of course, I wouldn’t ask her out if it bothered you.”

“It’s fine with me, Hug,” Hutch said. “Just wait a week or so, okay? Let Starsky down easy. After his divorce from Rosey, he’s a little fragile. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Meanwhile, ahead of them, Starsky and Joan were having a similar conversation.

“Hutch is everything you said,” Joan said. “Great looking, smart, funny. But there was no spark. On the other hand, I wanted to ask if you were going to call Huggy for another date?”

“Nah,” Starsky replied. “I can see myself kicking back with Huggy over a few beers, maybe playing some pool, but dating him? No, I don’t think so.”

“So you don’t mind if I call him?”

“No, I don’t mind. But hold off for a while, okay? Hutch’s still pretty vulnerable after breaking up with Abby.”

“Of course. I wasn’t thinking about tonight,” Joan said.

Hutch and Huggy caught up to them and stopped.

“I don’t feel like walking anyone,” Huggy said. “I think I’ll catch a cab.”

Just then, a yellow cab pulled up to the curb.

“I’ll go with you,” said Joan.

In a flash, the two jumped into the taxi together, and it sped off.

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other sheepishly.

“Dessert?” Starsky asked.

“I’ve got ice cream at my place,” Hutch offered.

“Rocky Road?” Starsky asked hopefully.

Hutch put an arm around Starsky’s shoulder.

“You bet, buddy.  I bought it just for you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“We were set up on a blind date,” said Mrs. Rutherford. “Twenty-five years ago.”

“I was originally interested in her sister, Marie,” Mr. Rutherford remarked.

“But Marie started dating Tommy Walters.”

“Tommy was my best friend. So when he told me Marie had a younger sister, I figured, why not?”

“I didn’t want to go at first,” Mrs. Rutherford admitted.

“But Marie talked her into it,” said Mr. Rutherford, nudging her affectionately.

“And here we are, twenty-five years later.”

“Tommy and Marie are still together, too.”

Mr. Rutherford squarely faced the camera. “And that Marie? Still the better looking sister.”

“Cut!” Mr. R. groaned. “We almost had it, Molly.”

“I can fix that in editing,” Molly said, clinging to optimism.

Mr. R. gave a tired nod. “Sure. Why not? At this point, all we have to do is edit out all the parts where the couples talk!”

******

A Few Months Later

Starsky surveyed the department store, excited by the Christmas decorations. A model train circled overhead on a track suspended from the ceiling, its soft chugging blending with holiday music playing through the speakers. In the center of the store stood a towering Christmas tree, glittering with ornaments and twinkling lights.

Meanwhile, Hutch strolled through the aisles, scanning each shelf with a critical eye. His brow was furrowed, his arms crossed. He examined item after item, then dismissed them all with a shake of his head.

“We’re never going to find a housewarming gift in here,” Hutch said. “Huggy and Joan already have everything they need, and what they don’t have, they definitely won’t want from a novelty store like this.”

“Hey, it’s not our fault they’re moving in together at Christmas time,” Starsky declared. “All the stores are packed with nothing but novelty items nobody actually needs.”

“It’s only November. It’s not that close to Christmas,” Hutch complained.

“Hey, it was last November when I saw you in that bookstore, wasn’t it?”

“Starsky, are you saying we’re having a one-year friend anniversary? Should we be buying each other gifts?”

Starsky’s eyes lit up. “Don’t have to ask me twice. Hey, look at this! How about a karaoke machine!”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Does it come with a guitar?”

“Nope,” Starsky said with enthusiasm. “Just a nice background beat for your beautiful voice.”

He grabbed the microphone and started singing loudly, drawing curious looks from everyone in the store.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly…”

He held the mic out to Hutch, who immediately pushed it away.

“No, I don’t sing in public.”

Starsky laughed and kept singing, making up the words.

“My friend doesn’t sing in public… Fa la la la la, la la la la.”

He held the mic to Hutch again, who again refused.

“’Tis the season to be jolly…” Starsky sang.

Hutch sighed, then gave in and sang into the mic.

“Fa la la la la, la la la la. Don we now our gay–”

Starsky suddenly pulled the mic away, cutting Hutch off.

“What’s the matter?” Hutch asked. “I told you I needed a guitar.”

“Hutch, it’s Rosey.”

“What? Where?” Hutch looked around.

A slender woman with long blond hair was approaching, her arm looped through the elbow of an older man in a tailored coat.

“Hello, David,” Rosey said to Starsky with a polite smile. “How are you?”

Starsky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Fine. Just fine, Rosey.”

“You remember my father?” she said lightly.

The older man extended a hand. “Hello, David. Rosey wanted to come to New York for Christmas. She said Mexico was too hot. She wants to skate at Rockefeller Center. What could I say? I never could say no to my little girl.”

“Nor she to you,” Starsky muttered.

“Pardon?” Rosey asked.

“Nothing,” Starsky said quickly. “Rosey, this is Ken Hutchinson. Hutch, for short. Hutch, this is my ex-wife, Rosey Malone.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hutch said politely.

“You as well,” Rosey replied, equally polite, though distant.

A beat of awkward silence settled between them.

“Well, good seeing you, David. If you’re ever in Mexico…”

With that, Rosey and her father turned and drifted back into the crowd.

Hutch touched Starsky’s elbow, then rubbed his arm in quiet comfort.

“Remind me of something, would you?” Starsky said softly.

“Sure. What’s up, pal?” Hutch asked.

“Remind me never to go to Mexico.”

Hutch laughed. “Come on, it’s a big country. And they’ve got amazing burritos.”

Starsky cracked a smile. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking that plant over there would make a great housewarming gift for Huggy and Joan.”

Starsky looked in the direction that Hutch was pointing and nodded.

“You read my mind, Hutch. Let’s pay and get out of here.”

******

Your apartment is beautiful,” Hutch said, kissing Joan’s cheek. He handed her the plant and turned to Huggy. “I didn’t know you had such great taste.”

“Very funny,” Huggy retorted. “You know I’ve always had great taste, even when I was broke.”

Starsky laughed. “Judging by those red leather pants, I can see what you mean.”

“See?” Huggy said, turning to Joan. “Starsky recognizes my exquisite taste.”

Joan crossed her arms. “It’s a wagon wheel coffee table, Huggy.”

“Hey!” Hutch said, suddenly noticing. “Isn’t that the wagon wheel I gave you? I had it in the back of my car. I was going to use it for—”

“This wagon wheel coffee table was your doing?” Joan asked. “That explains it,” she muttered, raising her hands.

“What?” Huggy said, sounding wounded. “I think it’s very retro. Reminds me of a table my uncle used to have. It says ‘home’ to me.”

“If it came from Hutch’s trunk, it says ‘homeless’ to me,” Starsky muttered.

“Hey!” Hutch protested. “If Huggy likes it—”

Starsky tapped Hutch’s arm, his eyes twinkling. “If their relationship’s going to survive, we should probably stay out of it.”

Huggy and Joan stepped into the other end of the room, quietly discussing the coffee table’s decorative fit.

Hutch dropped onto the couch. “You’re right. Did you and Rosey ever fight over stupid stuff like this?”

“Oh yeah,” Starsky said. “I used to have a painted carousel horse in my living room. My dad gave it to me for my first birthday. I couldn’t ride it, obviously, but it always sat in the corner of my room.”

“So what happened to it?”

“Rosey hated it. Told me it creeped her out. I ended up throwing it out.”

“That’s awful,” Hutch said. “That’s a lot like what happened with my cherub statue. Vanessa loathed it.”

“Wait a second. Don’t you still have a cherub statue on your coffee table?”

“Yep,” Hutch said proudly. “That was the one fight I actually won.”

Huggy and Joan returned from the other room, mid-discussion.

“Sorry about that,” Joan said. “We must sound ridiculous arguing over a coffee table.”

“Nah,” Hutch said. “Compromise is the backbone of a good relationship. You’ve got to give a little.”

“I agree,” Joan said, suddenly sweet again.

“Me too,” Huggy said, pulling her in and kissing her on the cheek. “Which is why the wagon wheel table’s going to the dump.”

“The dump?” Hutch gasped. “But that wagon wheel is good for something! I was going to use it for—”

“Hutch,” Starsky cut in, placing a hand on his arm. “Let it go. That table would clash with your cherub statue anyway.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Starsky and Hutch said their goodbyes to Huggy and Joan, then headed to a nearby Chinese restaurant for dinner.

Starsky ordered the chicken chow mein. Hutch went with the sweet and sour pork, sauce on the side.

At the end of the meal, Starsky headed to the door, holding it open for Hutch as they stepped into the night.  “What’s in the bag?” Starsky asked.

“I got a takeout order of Wonton Soup,” Hutch said. “I’ll heat it for lunch tomorrow.”

Hutch looked up and held out his hand. “It’s starting to rain. My place is only a couple of blocks,” he mused. “Want to stop by? You can call a cab from there.”

“Sure,” Starsky said, zipping up his jacket. “I love the rain. Lead on, Macbeth…”

“Macduff,” Hutch corrected. “Not Macbeth. It’s a paraphrased line from Macbeth. But it’s something Macbeth says to Macduff.”

Starsky picked up the pace as the rain started coming down harder.

“Macduff, Macbeth…what’s the difference? We’re still getting soaked.”

An hour later, Starsky was sprawled on Hutch’s sofa, shivering, a hand towel draped over his forehead, a blanket draped across his body. Hutch had lent him some dry clothes, a red sweater, and a pair of green jogging pants.

“You think this is funny?” Starsky grumbled. “I look like a Christmas tree.”

Hutch had changed into dry jeans and a white cable-knit sweater. He perched on the arm of the sofa and carefully placed a thermometer in Starsky’s mouth.

“You’re running a bit warm,” he said.

“How come you didn’t catch anything?” Starsky asked. “We were in the same rainstorm.”

“Must be my Minnesota roots.”

“That’s right. I keep forgetting you’re from Minnesota. You’re used to the cold.”

Hutch set the thermometer on the coffee table. “How was the Wonton Soup? Did it help?”

“Yes. Thank you for letting me have it. That was very generous.”

“Anything for you, pal,” Hutch said.

He stood and carried the empty bowl and spoon into the kitchen. When he came back, Starsky was watching him with a warm smile.

Hutch sat on the edge of the sofa and placed the back of his hand on Starsky’s forehead. “Maybe you should stay here tonight.”

“Are you always like this?” Starsky asked. “Mother-hen mode when your friends are sick?”

Hutch was sure he had turned a shade of fuchsia.

“I’m just concerned about your health. We’re supposed to play squash tomorrow.”

“The soup, the blanket,” Starsky said. “It’s all helping. Not to mention the company. Did I ever tell you your eyes are beautiful when you’re worried?”

A deeper pink crept into Hutch’s cheeks, spreading to his ears.

“Starsk, I think you might be a little loopy from the cold medicine.”

“I haven’t taken any yet,” Starsky said quietly.

Hutch ducked his head, blushing even more.  He looked up, catching Starsky off guard with his piercing eyes.

“You sure you’re okay after seeing Rosey today?” Hutch asked. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

Starsky sat up a little, lightly grazing Hutch’s wrist with his hand.

“It’s funny,” Starsky said. “I always figured I’d run into her eventually. And today, when I did, I realized something. I’m over her. Completely. I watched her walk away with her father, and all I could think was how much of a fool I was to let myself get tangled up in a marriage that was based on so much pretense. Her father was like a rusty third wheel through our whole marriage.” Starsky exhaled loudly. “I don’t miss any of it.”

Hutch’s eyes softened. “So, you’re truly a free man.”

Starsky swallowed. “Hutch,” he whispered. “I want to tell you something.”

Hutch leaned in. “What is it, buddy? You can tell me anything.”

Starsky placed his hand on the back of Hutch’s neck and drew him closer. For a heartbeat, everything went still. Their eyes locked, shifting between hesitation and something deeper.

“What is it, Starsk?” Hutch repeated, voice low.

“I forgot what I was going to say,” Starsky murmured, brushing his thumb across Hutch’s lips.

Hutch closed his eyes and took a slow breath. When he opened them again, he realized their noses were almost touching.

Then, their lips met.

Starsky moaned softly as their mouths found each other. Hutch felt his heart hammering in his chest.

He took Starsky’s hand and helped him off the sofa. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m a new man,” Starsky said. “Or at least… I think I’m about to be.”

Still locked in a kiss, they moved toward the bedroom and tumbled onto the mattress.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It wasn’t just sex. Not by a long shot.

The dreams Starsky had about being with Hutch didn’t even come close to the reality of what had just happened. It felt like heaven.

No, that wasn’t even the right word.

It felt like he’d climbed the highest mountaintop, stood at the edge just long enough to brush the clouds of heaven, then descended, with ecstasy as his gravity, landing softly with his angel on a soft, shimmering cloud called afterglow.

Starsky winced at his sappiness, pinched himself for good measure, and drifted into a deep, satisfied sleep.

At first.

He woke up with a jolt. The clock read 4:00 a.m. He stared at the ceiling, confused, heart thudding in his chest. He turned toward Hutch, whose face was soft and relaxed, like someone who’d just had incredible sex.

Starsky smiled at the thought. Then his heart started racing again.

He peeked at the clock. 4:05. Way too early to get up. He shut his eyes and cursed silently.

Why did you have to sleep with the best friend you’ve ever had? You’re going to ruin everything.

The inner monologue wouldn’t stop.

I can’t lose Hutch as a friend. That would be like losing an arm. I wouldn’t be able to function.

4:30.

What if Hutch wakes up tomorrow and tells me it was ‘nice’? What if he didn’t think it was incredible at all?

5:00.

Okay. I’ll get up at six. That’s reasonable. I need to get ready for work. It’s not like we won’t see each other again.

He watched the clock every few minutes until the digits flipped to 6:00 a.m.

Starsky sat up quietly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and reached for his clothes. Well, technically, Hutch’s clothes. He had no idea where his wet ones had ended up.

He pulled the red sweater over his head, then pulled on the green sweatpants. He tiptoed across the room to retrieve his socks.

“Where are you going?” Hutch’s groggy voice floated across the room.

“I’ve gotta head home, get ready for work,” Starsky said, glancing down at his outfit. “Can’t show up to the office looking like a Christmas tree.”

Hutch began to sit up. “I can grab your clothes. They’re in the dryer…”

Starsky raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get them another time.”

He walked over to the side of the bed, seeming to hesitate before he kissed Hutch on the cheek.

“We’re still on for squash later, right?” Starsky asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll catch up then.”

Starsky slipped out of the apartment and closed the door behind him, noting the look of confusion clouding Hutch’s face when he left.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Huggy and Joan lay in the soft hush of morning, Huggy’s arm draped lazily around Joan’s waist. The first rays of sunlight peered through the blinds, slats of white dancing across their tangled sheets.

Two telephones sat on separate nightstands, each with a separate line. Not because they weren’t utterly, completely a couple, but because Huggy had declared long ago, “If there’s a police emergency at three a.m., I don’t wanna know about it unless I’m the one bleeding.”

So when both phones rang at once, they sat up in confusion.

“Someone better have been murdered,” Huggy mumbled into the pillow.

Joan squinted. “It’s your phone.”

“Nope. Yours too.” They stared at each other, wide-eyed.

Joan reached first. “Hello?”

Huggy groaned and picked up his. “Someone better have been murdered.”

“Starsky? What’s going on?” Joan said, voice rising.

“Hutch? You good?” Huggy followed, sitting up slowly.

Joan’s tone sharpened. “What did you do?”

“What’s all your fault?” Huggy echoed.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Joan said soothingly.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it,” Huggy assured.

“You what ?” Joan gasped.

“You did?” Huggy blinked.

“They did it,” they whispered to each other in disbelief.

Joan’s face lit up. “Starsky, that’s amazing. You two are perfect together; literally everyone says so.”

“Hutch, it’s about damn time. You’re like two puzzle pieces that finally figured it out.”

They both exhaled in unison, dropping their shoulders as the tension ebbed.

“Starsky, why would you think you ruined your friendship?” Joan asked. “Did Hutch say that?”

Huggy frowned. “Hutch, where’d you get the idea that Starsky wants to end the friendship? Did he tell you that?”

And then, perfectly synchronized: “Then why don’t you talk to each other?”

Huggy rolled his eyes. Joan lifted a hand as if to say, Can you believe this?

“Okay, okay, take a breath,” Joan said, rubbing her temple. “Give it a day or two. But don’t wait forever. You and Hutch are made for each other. And if this was a mistake? One mistake doesn’t kill a real friendship.”

“I agree,” Huggy said. “Take it easy. You two can work this out.”

“I’m sure,” Joan said gently.

“I’m sure,” Huggy echoed.

“You wanna come over for breakfast?” they both asked at the same time, blinking.

A beat.

“No?” Joan said, relieved. “Alright. Next time.”

“Yeah, no sweat,” Huggy replied. “Rain check.”

They both reached over to their respective nightstands, phones clicking back into their cradles in harmony.

Joan nestled against her pillow again. “Tell me I’m never going to have to face the dating world again.”

“Marry me,” Huggy said, staring into her eyes.

Joan nodded and smiled as Huggy cupped his hand around her chin and pulled her in for a tender kiss.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Two women in their forties sat close together on the loveseat, facing the camera.

“This is Mrs. and Mrs. Waterdown-White,” Molly said, her voice full of cautious optimism.

“Two women. Nice change, Molly,” Mr. R. commented optimistically. “Maybe we’ll finally get something usable.”

Molly forced a hopeful smile. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

“Action!” Mr. R. barked.

“I’m Mary-Ellen Waterdown-White, and this is my wife, Paula.”

“I’m Paula Waterdown-White,” she said with a confident nod.

“Yes, I just said that,” Mary-Ellen replied, gently nudging her.

“She’s the love of my life,” Paula said warmly.

“And she’s my better half. We met at a bar, of all places. I was ordering a beer,” Mary-Ellen said.

“And I was ordering a margarita,” Paula said

“I asked her if she’d ever had a real margarita in Mexico.” Mary Ellen said.

“I told her no, I just really like the salt and the lemon,” Paula said

“Lime,” Mary-Ellen corrected, grinning.

“Right. Lime. See? She’s the brains of the relationship.” Paula said

“Paula’s being modest,” Mary-Ellen said. 

“You’re right. She’s not the brains,” Paula said.

Mary-Ellen looked shocked. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you get upset when I call you ‘the not-too-inconsiderable brawn’…” Paula said

“Because it’s insulting, Paula. What woman wants to be called that? Like, I’m supposed to be the man in the relationship or something?”

“I didn’t say that! I was trying to compliment you. Why do you always take it the wrong way?”

“Cut!” Mr. R shouted, rubbing his temples.

“Don’t say it,” Molly muttered, already bracing herself. “Keep looking, right?”

“Yes, Molly. But I’m running out of film, so unless the next couple’s got an abundance of chemistry and charisma, we’re finishing this thing on a chalkboard and a prayer!”

******

Hutch swung his racket, the ball thudding sharply against the squash court wall. Starsky lunged low, returning it with a crisp snap of his wrist. Hutch was already moving forward, his sneakers screeching across the hardwood. He intercepted again and slammed the ball hard.

No words passed between them. Hutch preferred it that way. He didn’t want to bring up last night. He didn’t want to hear Starsky say it had been a mistake.

Serve, chase, hit, repeat. Sweat trickled down Hutch’s neck. Starsky’s curls clung to his forehead. There was no eye contact, no banter, no pats on the back. Just the relentless rhythm of motion. It was easier this way. A way to burn off the weight of things neither wanted to say aloud.

Starsky’s eyes looked hollow, each strike of the ball echoing like a regret. Or maybe it was sadness. Hutch couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t going to ask. Starsky was the one who had slipped out of bed before sunrise. Starsky was the one who left so fast that it made Hutch’s head spin. And his heart ache.

The game ended, not from points but from sheer exhaustion. Both of them paused, bent over, hands on their knees, their breath coming in heavy gulps. The silence hung between them like static on a radio.

Starsky looked up, and Hutch noticed his eyes weren’t empty anymore, but looked like they were searching for something, like he wanted Hutch to crack a joke, maybe tap his arm, remind him things were still okay.

“It’s good we don’t have to talk all the time, don’t you think?” Starsky said, his voice a little too casual. “It means we’re comfortable as friends.” He paused, eyes quietly pleading. “Right?”

“Sure, Starsk. Not talking is the best thing for a friendship,” Hutch said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Hutch turned and left, swallowing hard. Hutch had no choice but to leave. Staying and pretending everything was the same would mean admitting that last night hadn’t meant to Starsky what it had meant to him.

He could feel Starsky’s eyes on his back as he walked away, the heat of them burning like fading embers from a fire he didn’t know if he could keep alive.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The church looked like something out of a snow globe, with pine boughs, holly berries, and flickering candlelight lining the pews. Joan floated down the aisle in a gown of lace and winter-white satin, her bouquet bursting with red roses and evergreen.

At the altar, Huggy stood grinning ear to ear, dressed in a white tux that only he could pull off without looking like a magician.

The two best men stood on either side of Huggy.

Hutch adjusted the cuffs of his black tuxedo, the shirt crisp, the shoes polished to a shine. Starsky, standing on Huggy’s other side, was dressed in a similar tuxedo.

As the judge began speaking, the room hushed. Sniffles echoed softly through the pews.

Starsky caught Hutch’s eye during the vows.

Hutch returned the look, his eyes steady, but for the first time, Starsky couldn’t read them.

Starsky wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse.

******

The reception was in full swing; glittering lights, champagne flowing, and a band playing a chaotic mix of ’70s disco and ’80s pop.

Starsky found Hutch leaning against a wall near the dance floor, sipping a drink.

“Hey,” he said, straightening his tie like it might help.

“Hi, Starsky.” His eyes moved down and back up. “You clean up all right.”

“You too, Hutchinson.”

A waiter floated by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Hutch grabbed a mini quiche and shoved it in his mouth, mostly to avoid speaking.

“Are we ever going to get past this thing?” Starsky asked.

“What thing?”

“You know what.”

Hutch swallowed. “You mean the night we slept together? That thing ?”

Starsky cleared his throat. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Right. And that’s, like… a probationary period, right? For accidental sex between friends?”

“Accidental?” Hutch scoffed. “You mean the night with the rainstorm, the wonton soup, the way you took over my sofa? Not to mention the weepy puppy dog eyes you gave me when you were all wet? The night we had sex?”

The band abruptly stopped playing right as Hutch said, “sex,” loud enough to echo.

Hutch went red.

Starsky winced.

“Okay, fine, not accidental,” Starsky implored, “but it wasn’t planned either.”

A nearby couple looked over. Hutch nodded at them, then beelined out of the room towards the coat check. Starsky followed, ducking through coats like a man looking for another accident.

Hutch shoved a fur coat out of the way and turned. “If we’re going to fight, can we at least do it where things aren’t killed for fashion?”

Starsky folded his arms. “I wasn’t trying to fight. I just…why have you been freezing me out?”

“Me?!” Hutch blinked. “Excuse me, but I believe the silent treatment began around six a.m. when someone was preparing to sneak out of my apartment like a raccoon raiding a trash can.”

“I wasn’t sneaking! I stopped and kissed you goodbye, didn’t I?! I even whispered ‘See you at squash later.’”

“How could I forget? Nothing says romance like discussing racquet sports after sex.”

Starsky ran a hand through his hair. “You think that was easy for me? You think I knew what to do after sleeping with my best friend ?”

“I didn’t either!” Hutch shot back. “I was terrified! Not to mention, it was my first…” He scanned the area, looking for any prying eyes, his voice hushed. “My first time with a man, and you knew it!”

“Don’t go all Sandra Dee on me now,” Starsky muttered. “It may have been your first, but you sure got the hang of it.”

“Oh, very funny, Danny Zuko,” Hutch said, blinking rapidly.

 “I’m sorry,” Starsky said. “That was a cheap shot. I honestly didn’t know what you expected from me. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know!” Hutch said. “Breakfast? A conversation? Anything besides the Olympic sprint out of my bedroom without even tying your sneakers!”

Starsky opened his mouth, then shut it. His face hardened. “It was a mistake.”

Hutch froze. His face went from red to white in five seconds flat. His voice dropped. “I agree.”

Hutch turned around, shoving past the coats and out the door, back toward the reception.

Starsky followed, stopping short when he nearly ran into Hutch, who had halted just inside the ballroom.

The music had gone quiet. Everyone was gathered around Joan and Huggy as they stood on a small stage, glowing and happy.

“I just want to thank all of you for celebrating with us today,” Huggy said, his arm around Joan. “I am, without a doubt, the luckiest man alive.”

He lifted a glass toward the crowd. “A toast to Starsky and Hutch, who brought Joan and me together. Their poor matchmaking was our perfect beginning.”

The crowd erupted in laughter and applause.

Starsky and Hutch exchanged a look.

Both frowned.

Starsky reached for Hutch’s elbow, but Hutch pulled away without a word and walked out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Hutch sighed heavily. He was unpacking groceries, dropping each item onto the counter with more force than necessary. His mind buzzed with a thousand things: work, deadlines, the fight with Starsky. He opened the fridge, the cold air hitting his face as he slid the milk onto the shelf.

Then the phone rang.

He froze, one hand still gripping the fridge door. He didn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It was probably a wrong number.

The answering machine clicked on.

“Hey, it’s me,” Starsky’s voice floated through the kitchen, achingly familiar. “If you’re there, please pick up. I need to tell you something.”

Hutch’s heart kicked in his chest.

“He won’t say what you want him to say,” Hutch told himself. “He never does.”

He turned toward the phone anyway.

His hand hovered over the receiver.

He pulled his hand back.

Starsky’s voice seemed to waver. “I’ll take this as a sign you’re not there. Or, you’re there and don’t want to talk to me. Or, you’re not there because you’re on a date or something. All of which I would understand.”

“God, he always does that,” Hutch said under his breath. “He turns everything into a little performance, like a cover.”

Hutch sighed. His fingers closed around the receiver before he realized he’d made the decision.

“Hello, Starsky.”

A beat of silence followed, then, “Hey.”

The sound of his voice immediately made Hutch’s chest ache.

“Hey, yourself,” Hutch managed to say.

“It’s been a week since Joan and Huggy’s wedding,” Starsky said. “I haven’t heard from you. You want to play squash this week?”

Hutch closed his eyes in confusion, his thoughts muddled.  

“I can’t, Starsky. I’ve got a big case this week. Tenants, eviction, slumlord. Welcome to New York.”

“Oh. What about later this week? It’s New Year’s Eve on Saturday. You doing anything?”

Hutch didn’t answer.

“Huggy and Joan are going to some big party in midtown,” Starsky said, filling the silence. “Are you going to that too? If not, maybe we could do something together?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing for New Year’s,” Hutch said, rubbing his nose. “You know I’m not much into the holidays.”

Starsky’s voice sounded weak. “Hutch, I’m sorry about what I said at the wedding. I never meant to hurt you. You know that, right?”

“I have to go,” Hutch said, the kicking in his chest quickening. “I have a lot of prep work for this case.”

“Okay,” Starsky said quietly. “Maybe we can get together after the holidays.”

“Sure, Starsky.” Hutch’s throat ached.  “Another time.”

He hung up, holding onto the phone for longer than necessary.

The silence that followed hung as heavily as the ache in his chest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A large mirrored ball hung from the ceiling, scattering light across the crowd below. People danced, dipped, twirled, and laughed all around him.

“I’m going home,” Hutch said to Huggy. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Nonsense,” Huggy insisted, guiding Joan off the dance floor. “You’ll never get a taxi on New Year’s Eve.”

Joan tilted her head toward a blonde woman at the bar. “I could introduce you to O’Reilly over there. She’s a traffic cop, but trust me, she’s a lot of fun.”

“I’m sure she is,” Hutch said, “but I’ve got more parking tickets than I can afford. That could end badly.”

Hutch sighed and looked at his friends. “What am I even doing here?”

“You’re here because you’re too stupid to call him,” Huggy said bluntly.

“Oh, come on, Hug,“ Joan said. “’Stupid’ isn’t quite the word. ‘Cowardly,’ maybe.”

“I figured you’d take his side,” Hutch muttered. “If you only knew the whole story…”

Joan and Huggy exchanged a look of confusion.

“Hutch,” Joan said in a calm voice, “we do know the whole story. Starsky told us. He said he made a mistake.”

“I know,” Hutch said glumly. “He told me those exact words. He said the night was a mistake.”

“The night?” Huggy blinked. “No, you’ve got it wrong. He said leaving you that morning was the mistake. From what he told us, he didn’t regret a second of that night.”

“What?” Hutch asked, incredulous. “You mean… I thought he was just… I don’t know. We’ve spent so long talking about how sex ruins friendships, I thought he was telling me the friendship was over.”

“Hutch,” Joan said, placing a hand on his arm. “You are beautiful and brilliant, but right now, you’re living up to every blonde stereotype in the book.”

Hutch’s heart began to pound like a runner at the finish line, the truth settling over him with sudden, startling clarity. “I have to find him,” Hutch declared. “I’ve got to go.”

He patted Huggy’s arm, kissed Joan on the cheek, and hurried out of the ballroom.

******

Starsky was wandering down the quiet midtown street, his hands jammed into his pockets for warmth. The shops were closed, lights dimmed for the holiday, but he stopped occasionally to look in the windows.

He spotted an ice cream shop still open and went inside, buying a rum butter cone, Hutch’s favorite. Zipping up his leather jacket, he returned outside to the ten-degree air.

“It’s freezing and I’m eating ice cream. Why? Because it reminds me of Hutch,” he muttered. “Hutch, who would nurse me back to health if I caught pneumonia from this stupid decision.”

He stopped by a trash can and tossed the half-eaten cone inside, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He started to cross the street, but a yellow cab sped by. He hurried back to the sidewalk.

“Hutch, who’d probably throw himself in front of a moving car to save my life. No hesitation. And I’d do the same for him. That’s just a fact.”

He looked around the quiet street. “What the hell am I doing out here?”

Huggy and Joan had said the New Year’s party was just a few blocks away. They told him Hutch was going.  They also suggested it might be best if Starsky didn’t show up.

He started walking faster. Then jogging.

“Sorry, Joan and Huggy, but it’s not up to you if I want to see Hutch.”

He turned his collar up and broke into a run.

“Correction,” he said to himself, “If I need to see Hutch.”

He rounded the corner, arms pumping like a marathoner with something to prove.

He reached the building and climbed the steps to the front entrance two at a time, bursting through the front doors.

Starsky stopped cold.

There he was.

Hutch was coming through the foyer, dressed in a black jacket and tie, his hair smoothed back, eyes soft and bright in the holiday light.

Hutch stopped when he saw Starsky.

“Starsky,” Hutch said, not moving.

“Hutch,” Starsky said, breathless.

Hutch stepped forward.

Then Starsky.

One more step each until they were close enough to touch.

They spoke at the same time.

“Why did you come here?”

“Where were you going?”

Silence hung between them.

Starsky counted three beats of his pounding heart.

Hutch didn’t look away.

And then, together.

“To find you.”

Another step, and they were in each other’s arms, holding tight. Their lips met, tentative at first, then more sure, more urgent, until they gradually pulled apart, breathless.

From the ballroom, cheers from the crowd echoed: “One minute to midnight!”

“I’m sorry,” Hutch said. “I never should’ve frozen you out.”

Starsky pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhh. I’m the one who should apologize. For leaving that morning. I was just scared. Do you believe me?”

“I want to, Starsk. I mean it. But, I don’t think I could survive it if you walked out on me again.”

“Hutch, you’ve got to believe me. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

“You love me?” Hutch said, his lips wavering.

“Yes, mushbrain, don’t you know that by now? Not just because of how you look, like how sunlight seems to kiss your skin and make your hair glow like honey. I love so much about you. I love how your eyes go wide and your mouth goes flat when you’re overthinking a problem. I love the way your upper lip trembles when you’re sad, especially during those weepy movies you pretend not to care about.”

Starsky paused, running a hand through Hutch’s hair as he continued.

“I love how long it takes you to order a sandwich. Or a drink. Or to decide what combination of healthy vs non-healthy items to order on a pizza. I love how you make protein shakes in the morning, but steal my fries at lunch. I love that you hate technology but still try to understand every button on the microwave like it’s a puzzle, and how you mother-hen me when I’m sick, even though I act like I hate it.”

Hutch looked at him, smiling as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Starsky was encouraged to go on.

“I love that after spending seventy-five percent of my time with you, I still want more. I smell your aftershave on my clothes after you leave. I hear your sweet voice in my head, singing along when I listen to music.” He stopped, his body trembling with emotion. “You’re the last person I want to talk to at night and the first one I want to see in the morning. Hutch… I love you more than life.”

Hutch’s eyes glistened. “Starsky,” he whispered, pulling him closer, “I love you, too. I was coming to find you.”

“Why?” Starsky asked, hoping he knew but needing to hear it.

“Because mushbrain. When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible!”

Starsky pulled him close, and they kissed passionately, just as the clock struck midnight.

The ballroom exploded with cheers and laughter. Auld Lang Syne began to play.

Starsky tilted his head, smiling. “What is this song even about?”

“Something about remembering old friends,” Hutch murmured.

“That’s nice,” Starsky said. “But I know something even nicer.”

He took Hutch’s hand and led him out into the street, waving down a cab.

“What’s nicer than remembering old friends?” Hutch asked as they climbed inside.

“Remembering old friends who become new lovers,” Starsky said.

“More like soulmates,” Hutch said.

Starsky smiled and kissed him again.

“Yeah,” Starsky repeated. “Soulmates.”

The cab rolled forward, fireworks popping in the background, bursting across the sky with color as they drove home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“The first time we met, we hated each other,” Hutch said.

“I didn’t hate you. You hated me,” Starsky countered. “I was attracted to you, and I told you so.”

“Okay, fine. You said you were attracted to me, and I acted like I hated you. But the truth was, I was fascinated.”

“I know,” Starsky said, turning to the camera with a grin. “He told me that later.

“The second time we met, he didn’t remember me,” Hutch said.

“I was pretending,” Starsky said. “Of course I remembered.”

“The third time we met…” said Hutch.

“We became friends,” said Starsky.

“Until we weren’t,” said Hutch.

“No, that never changed,” Starsky said. “Not even when we were fighting.”

“And then we fell in love,” Hutch said.

“We were always in love, if you ask me.” Starsky corrected.

“He’s right,” Hutch said, voice softening. “I felt a connection the first time we met. I always hoped we’d meet again.”

“And here we are,” Starsky continued. “Ten years and fifteen months later, we’re married.”

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Hutch mused. “On the beach, in California. Our friend Huggy provided the food. He’s got family out there, knows everyone.”

“You should’ve seen the cake,” Starsky marveled. “Half chocolate, half vanilla.”

“Because he’s dark-haired, and I’m light. Get it?” Hutch grinned.

“With rum butter ice cream.”

“My favorite.”

“On the side, of course…” Starsky offered.

“All our friends and family were there.”

“We’re even thinking of moving to California someday.”

“I don’t care where we live,” Hutch said. “As long as he’s next to me.”

“Count on that, babe,” Starsky assured him.

They paused, gazing at each other. Then Hutch leaned in and kissed Starsky on the lips, lingering for a while until they slowly parted.

Mr. R. let the moment go on until he finally shouted out.

“Cut!”

“That was beautiful,” Mr. R said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “Just beautiful. Molly, where’d you find these two?”

Molly straightened with pride. “Hutch helped my dad with free legal advice when he was about to be evicted. After my dad died, Hutch found me a place to live, with a new family, with Mrs. Ramos and her son Kiko. Then Starsky came along, and… well, they’ve both kind of been big brothers to me ever since. It’s a long story. You got time?”

Mr. R. smiled heartily. “The unconventional American family. Sounds like our next documentary. I’ll need a casting assistant, of course…”

“You mean it?” Molly asked, eyes wide.

“You bet, kid.”

The director turned to look at Starsky and Hutch, who were still holding hands and smiling like no one else was in the room.

“Now that’s a love story,” he said softly. “I don’t think we’re topping this one.”

He turned to the crew and gave the signal.

“That’s a keeper!”

Hutch stood up and held out his hand to Starsky, who took it and got up.  The overhead lights were still shining on their faces.

“Come by for dinner soon,” Hutch said, squinting up at Molly.

“Bring Kiko and your mom,” Starsky tossed in.

“Who’s cooking?” Molly asked with a chuckle.

“He is,” they said at the same time, pointing to each other.

Molly laughed, her eyes following Starsky and Hutch as they walked off set.  Their love story was still rolling, with no end in sight.

Mr. R. reached over and patted Molly’s arm. “Sometimes,” he said, almost to himself, “you catch the real thing.”

“Yeah, and the best part is,” Molly said with a smile, “when it’s perfect, editing is not required.”

Fade out.

Cue music.

That’s a wrap.