Everyone Calls Her Fifi

Fifi’s mother once told her she would find her prince, just like Cinderella. She daydreamed as she polished the window, imagining his golden hair flowing in the breeze as he jogged down the street. Fifi didn’t need a fairy godmother to know that Kenneth was her prince. One day, he would belong to her. There was only one thing standing in her way—his partner.

Fifi perched on the stool at the end of the counter, the smell of strong coffee and grease mixed with cigarette smoke saturating the air. She dined on a hot dog, smeared with mustard and a pickle on the side, and an orange soda to wash it down. It wasn’t the most nutritious meal, but it was cheap, and she told herself she could jog later and burn it off, although she doubted she would have time. Her next appointment—cleaning the apartment of her favorite client—was far more important.

Thinking about Kenneth Hutchinson filled her with excitement. Cleaning his apartment was more than a standing job on Wednesdays. It was a job that Fifi upheld with pride and diligence. For the past five years, it was the one day in the week that Fifi looked forward to, even if she usually didn’t see him in person. Normally, their only contact was through an envelope left on the table, with a crisp twenty-dollar bill as her weekly payment inside. Sometimes he would even leave a note, letting her know if there was a change in the schedule, or maybe just to say thank you for the extra effort of doing his laundry. She kept every note in the drawer next to her bed, taking them out to read over and over before turning out the light.

Her mind wandered, warmth igniting in her chest at the memory of the first time she met him.

She had been strolling down the street that early morning, her heart set on reaching the corner bakery—the one with the fresh cinnamon buns that melted in your mouth. The thought of that first, warm bite quickened her pace. They would be a treat, and she deserved one before starting the daily grind of her job cleaning up other people’s messes.

As she turned the corner, her heart leaped into her throat at the sight of him—the golden-haired stranger. Dressed in a blue tracksuit with a crisp white stripe, he strode with determination as he jogged on the opposite side of the road. Fifi was spellbound, unable to look away, the vision of this mesmerizing man overtaking her senses.

“Perhaps I should take up jogging,” Fifi mused to herself.

She was so absorbed by the sight of him that she didn’t notice a menacing figure approaching her from behind. The shadow moved quickly and, in a flash, grabbed her purse from her shoulder. She screamed, a piercing shriek that reverberated through the quiet morning streets, panic racing through her. Her last twenty dollars were in the thief’s possession, a small fortune earmarked in part for her morning treat.

Then, like a blur, a figure darted across the street, passing Fifi in a rush. The golden man was hot on the criminal’s heels.

“Stop!” her hero shouted. “Police!”

The man closed the gap, seizing the hooded thief and pulling him back. There was no struggle as he effortlessly pinned the culprit against a brick storefront just as a black-and-white cruiser rolled by.

“Hey, Burt,” her hero called out, “Cuff this guy and read him his rights.” Fifi watched, heart racing, as justice unfolded before her eyes.

“Is this yours, lady?” The man strolled toward Fifi and held out the purse, his smile outshining the sun.

“Thank you,” Fifi replied, relief flooding her. “Yes, it’s mine. Are you a policeman?”

“Yes, I’m Ken Hutchinson,” he said. “I live a couple of blocks from here. I happened to be jogging when I saw what happened.”

Fifi’s heart fluttered. “Nice to meet you, Ken. Is that short for Kenneth? I’m Fifi,” she stammered. “That’s short for Josephine, but everyone calls me Fifi. You see, my grandmother, my mother’s mother, was French – from Paris originally. So my mother decided to give me a French name.” She blinked. Did this gorgeous man look impressed? “Must be where I get my artistic side. I love to sing and cook, things like that,” she added, her cheeks flushed. “Listen to me, rambling on. You must have important police business to attend to. You’re so brave. I can’t thank you enough. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“That’s not necessary,” Kenneth replied, blinking as he smiled at her. “You can go down to the police station and give your statement. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’ll do that,” Fifi agreed. “And really, is there anything else? I’m a professional house cleaner and an excellent cook—need help with housework? No mess is too much for me, I always say.”

Kenneth looked like he was considering her offer. “Actually,” he said, “I could use the occasional help with errands and housework. I have a small cottage on the canal around the corner. Leave your information when you go to the police station with some references, and I’ll get back to you.”

Fifi’s breath caught at the thought of him calling her. “Sure,” she drawled.

And just like that, a few days later, Kenneth Hutchinson offered her a job: every Wednesday, to clean his apartment.

Fate had woven their paths together, of that she was certain.

_____

Fifi began working for him, tending to Kenneth’s charming cottage with meticulous care. The abundance of plants and the sounds of ducks in the nearby canal added to its delightful hominess. She thought about him constantly, and Wednesdays became her favorite day of the week. It was like a fairy tale coming true.

However, there was a complication. His partner, Starsky.

From the beginning, Fifi found him insufferable. He sometimes left extra towels and clothes at Kenneth’s apartment for her to pick up, and there were often discarded pizza boxes and empty bottles of root beer to throw out courtesy of his overbearing presence.

Worse was his unbearable assumption that he could make decisions for Kenneth. A few weeks into her employment, Starsky called her in a panic after Kenneth’s apartment had been broken into, and Starsky was contacting anyone who might have information. He claimed that he made unsuccessful attempts to get in touch with Kenneth’s girlfriend, Jeannie, and that he was calling Fifi as a last resort. Then, out of nowhere, Starsky instructed Fifi to cancel her Wednesday appointments until further notice. The insufferable nerve.

A few months later, Fifi forgot about Starsky because Kenneth invited her to a party. His ocean-blue eyes locked onto hers, his words lingering in her mind: “Fifi, I’m having a party, and if you can be there, that would be helpful. I could use some help greeting guests and serving snacks. I’ll pay you extra, of course.”

An invitation to a party from Kenneth himself? Oh, she couldn’t wait.

As the party got in full swing, Fifi dared to ask Kenneth if she should remain afterward to help with the cleanup. His response “Much later”—was delivered with a hint of mystery, suggesting to her they could have their own private time once everyone else had departed.

Starsky, however, barely acknowledged Fifi’s presence. His attention was fixed on a girl perched on his lap, reaching for a slice of salami without so much as a thank-you. Fifi seethed but held her tongue—until a sudden knock at the door disrupted the scene.

She opened the door, horrified at the sight of the bloodied man who stood there.

Blood. A latent memory from her past; pushed to the corners of her mind, yet resurfacing at the sight of it. A sight that clouded Fifi’s mind with fear, her tension rising as the red liquid dripped down the man’s face, unexpected and terrifying.

She screamed—a piercing sound that echoed through the room.

Kenneth sprang up from the bed where he’d been entertaining a young blonde, his face showing complete compassion for Fifi’s fear.

But Starsky’s impatience was evident. He dismissed her distress, commanding her to fetch a cold cloth from the bathroom. The nerve of him—the nerve, indeed.

Fifi shook her head, returning to the present as she gobbled down the last bite of hot dog. She had no more time to think about the past. It was time to go. Her favorite client’s apartment awaited.

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

Hutch ran his hands down Starsky’s back, his fingers playing his muscles like keys on a piano, lightly pressing with a feathery touch to bring a soft moan of desire. His hand traveled downward, wrapping around Starsky’s firm erection that had been building along with his own. He felt Starsky reciprocate the touch, and they moved their bodies together, rising, swelling, bursting into a syncopated rhythm, Hutch thought, like a friggin ‘Beethoven symphony that had yet to be discovered by the rest of the world.

The curtains hung motionless in the humid evening air, Hutch’s body sweating from both the lovemaking and the heat. He brushed a hand over his partner’s damp curls as he peered into his eyes, entranced by their blue intensity, which matched, he knew, his similar loving gaze. He rolled over and breathed in the sweet scent of their passion, whispering only a fraction of what he felt in his soul.

“Starsk,” he said. “That was spectacular.”

Hutch knew he didn’t need to say it out loud. Starsky could read his thoughts and feel his heart, a connection as certain as the sunrise. As long as they were together, nothing could break them apart.

“It was more than spectacular,” Starsky added sleepily, as though he too knew words were redundant; just sweet reinforcements, unnecessary embellishments, metaphorically hanging from their bedpost as tokens of their love. “It was life-changing.”

Hutch snickered, turning his head on the pillow, “You said that last time. And the time before that. Can something be life-changing more than once?”

Starsky snuggled closer and let his arm drape over Hutch’s chest. “Of course it can. My life was good before, great even. But now that we’re…together…it’s like a dream come true.”

“Any life I have with you in it is like a dream. And it will be even better once you are off of desk duty. It will only be a few more months.”

“Because of you, Hutch. You were with me in my recovery these past few months, every step of the way. Never left my side.”

“Never will,” Hutch said, planting a kiss on Starsky’s nose. “Which leads me to something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Starsky raised himself on one elbow. “Uh oh. He wants to talk. What’s in that blond head of yours?”

Hutch repositioned himself and turned to face the man who meant more to him than life itself.

“I’ve been staying here at your place for weeks now…correction…months. I only go to my apartment to grab extra clothes, pick up bills, and check on my plants, but Fifi takes care of things so I don’t need to be there much. My question is, what if…”

“Will you move into my place permanently?” Starsky asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you planning to finish my sentences for the rest of my life?” Hutch asked with a smile.

“If I have anything to say about it, yes,” Starsky replied. “What if you move in here and we both save up some money and…”

“Look for a bigger place? Like maybe a little bungalow outside of town, or down by the water?”

“Who’s finishing whose sentences now?” Starsky asked, dropping himself back down, his head nestled against Hutch’s shoulder.

“It’s settled then. I’ll go see my landlord tomorrow and give my notice. Tomorrow is Wednesday. I’ll swing by when Fifi is there. I’ll have to let her know I won’t be needing her anymore. She’s been a good housekeeper. I’ll be sure to give her something extra.”

“Be gentle with Fifi,” Starsky said. “She’s always had a crush on you, you know that, right?”

“Oh, sure, I’ve sensed that, but it’s just innocent. She’s been with me too long, and I have never given her reason to think it would ever be more than that.”

“All you have to do is smile at someone, Hutch. It hooks them every time. Especially since you shaved off your mustache.”

Hutch touched his upper lip and feigned a pout. “You said you liked it.”

Starsky laughed. “I did. I liked it because it was yours. Your naked upper lip, on the other hand…” Starsky pulled Hutch in for a kiss. “Now that I love.”

Hutch succumbed to the lips that captured him, and let the kiss transport him to a world beyond fantasy, in Starsky’s arms; the one place he knew that was real.

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

Fifi pulled one of Kenneth’s mismatched dining room chairs to the window, juggling a bottle of window cleaner and a roll of paper towels in her arms. She especially enjoyed cleaning windows, wiping the streaks away until they gleamed.

When she wasn’t thinking about Kenneth, Fifi would think about her mother. Her eyes were green like a cat, and her hair was jet black, usually tied in a braid, but when she let it fall, it landed at her waist. Fifi tried so many times to braid her hair like her mother’s, but it was too thin, she thought, so she wore it up instead. Most of all, Fifi remembered washing the windows with her as a child, the sunlight sparkling through the glass as they scrubbed until the windows squeaked, delighting Fifi to the core. They would talk for hours, Fifi sharing her dreams about being a singer one day; her mother telling stories about Paris, reminding her that her mother was born there; a place she had never been to but said one day, they would go.

“Josephine,” Fifi’s mother would say, “it’s good to have dreams. I have them too. But you need to be practical too. One day, you’ll get married. You must learn to make the windows sparkle and have a nice home-cooked meal for when your husband gets home. That is the way to a man’s heart.”

Her mother’s words weren’t far from Fifi’s mind as she inspected her work, noticing several streaks still showing on Kenneth’s front window. She continued scrubbing; only her best work would do for Kenneth.

She found Starsky to be an annoying and constant presence in Kenneth’s life. Fifi thought back to the time, about a year ago, when she had been jogging and decided to drop in and surprise Kenneth by finishing his laundry.

She had been polishing the front window, much like today, when she spotted his partner drive up in his jazzed-up red car. She tried to wave, but as always, he ignored her. His curly hair was unkempt and needed combing, especially compared to Kenneth’s smooth, silky strands that framed his handsome face. She heard a rustle in the corridor, but oddly, Starsky didn’t knock; he just left an envelope leaning against the door.

Fifi retrieved the envelope, placed it on the coffee table, and started folding laundry, humming a tune as she worked. Not long afterward, Kenneth came through the door.

“Hi,” she greeted him. His look of surprise made her smile.

“Fifi. Uh, Fifi…I thought I told you I could only use you once a week here.” Fifi thought he seemed pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, well, I was jogging, and there was your apartment, so I thought I’d come by and finish up.”

Did she catch a hint in Kenneth’s expression that he was impressed with her exercise routine? “Can I fix you something for dinner?” Fifi asked.

Sometimes, Fifi would fix him her famous lasagna, with a side salad and garlic bread, and leave it for Kenneth for when he got home.

“Uh, no, I ate at the office,” he replied. “Look, um, Fifi, I, uh, I really appreciate you spending the time here to help me out, but I…”

Fifi felt a surge of warmth rushing through her at his kind words.

“Your partner left that envelope.” She said. It was her duty to report on things that happened while he was away. A moment later, she regretted bringing it up so soon. At the mention of his partner, Kenneth did everything to push her out the door.

Fifi couldn’t figure it out. If Starsky was so close to Kenneth, why didn’t he come in when he dropped by and check if his partner was home? It seemed pretty rude, showing up and then running off.

“Uh, Fifi,” Kenneth started, ushering her to the door. “I hope I’m not rushing you.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Fifi responded demurely. “You shouldn’t eat at your desk.” He was always working so hard.

“Oh, my purse,” she added as she headed to the door.

Kenneth, ever the gentleman, went to retrieve it for her, tripping on the vacuum cleaner on the way. She followed him back inside, drawn to him like a magnet.

“See you on…”

“Wednesday,” she said.

“Wednesday,” he confirmed.

She turned to leave, his velvety voice urging her out the door with a slight brush of his hand on her back. She felt giddy inside, captivated by his presence. No wonder she forgot she was holding a pair of his undershorts. She turned back just as the door was shutting.

“Oh, here’s your other pair of…”

“Shorts.” He nodded, a pink tinge coloring his cheeks. He seemed so embarrassed to have his shorts on display. So very endearing.

She hummed as she climbed down the stairs. She was certain that Kenneth would have accepted her offer of lasagna if it hadn’t been for his rude partner showing up and causing such an uninvited distraction.

Fifi shook her head and came back to the present, hopping down from the chair and placing the window cleaner on the kitchen counter. It didn’t look like Kenneth would be showing up today. Judging by the lack of mess in the apartment lately, he didn’t seem to be spending too much time there, not after his partner had been shot in the police garage eight months ago.

As much as Starsky got on her nerves, she felt bad about what happened. She only wished Starsky would disappear. She didn’t wish him dead or anything. Her mother raised her better than that.

She only wanted what was best for Kenneth.

She only wanted him to herself.

———–

Fifi took her time finishing up, dusting the picture frames on the piano, each swipe of her cloth slow and deliberate. Her eyes lingered on the photo of Kenneth, smiling with his arm around Starsky. She slammed the picture down, not wanting to be reminded of his partner.

The front door creaked open, and Kenneth stepped in, looking weary. Fifi’s heart skipped a beat. Wiping her hands on her pants, she turned to greet him, a smile spreading across her face.

“Kenneth, you’re here,” she said, trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

Kenneth rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that always made Fifi want to soothe away his worries. “Fifi, we need to talk,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

Fifi’s smile faltered. “What is it, Kenneth?”

He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. “I’m giving up my apartment. You know that Starsky is still recovering from the shooting. I’m going to bunk with him permanently, you know, to help out. I’m sorry, but I won’t be needing your services after today.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She felt her legs weaken, but she forced herself to stand tall. “Oh,” she managed to say, her voice trembling. “I understand.”

Kenneth reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” he said, pressing it into her hand. “It’s two months’ wages. I want to make sure you’re taken care of. Give you time to find another client.”

Fifi looked down at the envelope, her fingers trembling. She wanted to cry, to beg him to say it wasn’t true, but she couldn’t. “Thank you, Kenneth,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Kenneth placed a hand on her shoulder, and Fifi had to fight the urge to lean into his touch. “You’ve been wonderful, Fifi. I don’t know what I would have done without you. This isn’t goodbye forever, just for now.”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll miss taking care of you,” she said softly, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice.

He smiled that kind smile that always made her heart flutter. “I’ll miss you too, Fifi. You take care of yourself, okay?”

As Kenneth placed a hand on her back, guiding her toward the door, Fifi felt a surge of desperation. “Kenneth,” she called out, her voice breaking.

He turned back, concern in his eyes. “Yes, Fifi?”

She swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “If you ever need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me.”

He nodded. “I know. Thank you, Fifi. Good luck to you.”

And then she was ushered out, the door closing behind her with a finality that made Fifi’s heart break. She stood there for a moment, clutching the envelope, feeling the weight of her unspoken love pressing down on her.

She thought of all the moments she had cherished in this apartment, the times she had felt closest to him. Now, she felt lost. Without Kenneth to look after, her future felt empty and meaningless. She opened the envelope and stared at the money, but it brought no comfort.

The only thing that mattered was gone. And there was only one person to blame.

Fifi pulled out some change from her purse and walked into the nearest phone booth. “Operator, please connect me to the metro police station. I have some information that I think will be of interest to the cops.”

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

Starsky stormed out of Dobey’s office, anger radiating from every pore, with Hutch hustling to keep up.

“Starsky,” Hutch called, breathless and frustrated, “Slow down. You’re going to make me break a sweat!”

Starsky made it to the parking lot before he finally stopped by the Torino, glaring over the top of the car, eyes ablaze with fury. “What just happened in there? Can you explain that to me?”

Hutch motioned for Starsky to get into the car. He slid into the passenger seat, taking a calming breath before placing a comforting hand on Starsky’s arm. “Dobey got an anonymous tip. He had to tell us. Don’t be mad at him…”

“I’m not mad at Dobey. I’m furious at some coward who called in, too scared to leave a name, accusing me of stealing drugs from the police vault! Hutch, I’ve been on desk duty for two months. Who could I have possibly pissed off lately?”

“You mean besides Gunther and his merry men? Or any of the countless perps you’ve arrested over the past decade? Or someone who just picked your name from the paper to get back at the cops? We’ll get to the bottom of this, trust me.”

“It’s not fair,” Starsky growled through clenched teeth.

Hutch squeezed Starsky’s arm, drawing closer. He took a deep breath, searching for the words Starsky truly needed to hear.

“I erased the word ‘fair’ from my vocabulary the day you got shot, buddy.” Hutch’s eyes locked with Starsky’s. “But you know what? I replaced it with a better word the day you woke up. Do you remember that day?”

“Vaguely,” Starsky replied, his voice softening. “I remember you laughing and twirling a nurse around. I remember your smile. It was beautiful.”

“I couldn’t stop smiling, and I haven’t stopped since. Life with you, what we have now, it’s more than I ever dreamed of. But is it fair that I’m this happy? I don’t know. It’s not like I deserve more happiness than anyone else.”

“You do deserve it, Hutch, but I get your point. So does everyone. Whoever called in that tip probably doesn’t even know the meaning of the word happy.” he paused, clasping Hutch’s hand. “So tell me, what word do you have to replace the word ‘fair’?”

“Gratitude,” Hutch answered. “I decided that as long as you’re alive, I’d stop searching for life’s answers and start being grateful for what I have.”

Hutch looked around, ensuring no one else was in the parking lot. He lifted Starsky’s hand and gently kissed his palm. “And I am so grateful.”

“Softie,” Starsky said with a hint of a smile.

“Mushbrain,” Hutch retorted. “Let’s go back upstairs. We have work to do.”

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

Fifi put her rubber gloves on and swished the soapy water around the bathroom sink. She cleaned Rocko Pellantino’s apartment every Thursday. Rocko, a sharp-dressed restaurant owner from the west end of town, lived in a swanky apartment that matched his stylish suits. He paid Fifi more than any of her other clients, so she didn’t ask questions.

As Fifi scrubbed, her mind wandered, as it usually did when she was doing her chores. Cleaning up after other people didn’t bother her, but that didn’t mean it kept her mind occupied. One person always filled her thoughts.

How could Kenneth let her go? Wasn’t she always there for him? Hadn’t she always tried to help?

Hadn’t Starsky gotten in her way every time?

There was the time Kenneth was in a leg cast after a bad accident. Starsky called her to say that Kenneth didn’t want to be disturbed and that he would take care of everything he needed. Fifi shook her head at the thought, as if Starsky could even come close to looking after Kenneth like she could.

Kenneth once had a nasty case of flu, and Starsky called to say he needed some quiet time to recover. Fifi didn’t listen and decided to bring him some chicken soup, but Starsky refused to let her in. He thanked her for the soup, explained that he had just tucked Kenneth into bed, and then, like a guard dog on duty, sent her away.

However, there were also times, special times, when Kenneth needed her and no one else. Times when he needed emergency clean-ups – his apartment torn to pieces. Fifi didn’t know anything about Kenneth’s cases, but she knew how to read a newspaper. One time, his apartment was destroyed by a pretty, petite nurse, and the article said she was a jealous lover. Fifi wondered if Starsky’s presence was what made her so jealous.

Of course, Kenneth insisted on paying her extra, but she was willing to do it for free. She felt privileged, spending an entire day cleaning up his place; he even asked if she would hang around and wait for a new mattress to be delivered. Fifi made up the bed with fresh sheets, then opened the doors to the greenhouse and lay down, imagining Kenneth lying next to her as the breeze cooled her cheeks. She felt so close to him.

The following year, Fifi thought things were getting better. There were no more break-ins or jealous girlfriends, and it seemed as if Starsky wasn’t hanging around Kenneth’s apartment as much as he used to. Things were finally going as Fifi wanted. She had Kenneth all to herself, at least in spirit. Her love for Kenneth remained unspoken but deep, her thoughts constantly circling back to him as she worked. She knew her place in his life was growing; she could feel it.

Until the day his partner got shot in the police parking garage.

From that point on, it seemed like Kenneth practically disappeared. And now, he was giving up his apartment to move in with his partner.

She looked down at the sudsy water in the sink. That must be it. Starsky had put it in Kenneth’s mind to move in with him, just to get her out of the way.

An anonymous call to the police station accusing Starsky of stealing drugs didn’t seem to be working. She thought about accusing Starsky of being in love with Kenneth. It certainly made sense, the way he looked at him; the way he never let him out of his sight. But even if it was true, Fifi knew she couldn’t do that to Kenneth’s reputation. She needed a better plan.

She released the stopper and let the water drain, watching as it slowly circled and disappeared. Fifi mindlessly continued cleaning Rocko’s bathroom, opening the cupboard beneath the sink to wipe inside, when she spotted a shoebox at the back, covered in a stack of towels. Why would Rocko keep shoes in the bathroom? Curiosity piqued, she removed the rubber gloves and placed the box on the countertop. When the lid slid open, she was startled to see stacks of plastic bags filled with white powder. She knew enough to know what it was. Some bags were large, others small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.

Fifi quickly pocketed one of the smaller pouches, her mind racing. Rocko would never miss such a small amount. She returned the shoebox to its place, finished cleaning the apartment, and left with a little something extra and a plan to make Starsky disappear once and for all.

——

Fifi always enjoyed cooking at Kenneth’s apartment, hoping he would come home and eat with her, but today, she had another reason. She pulled the warm lasagna from the oven and tore off a piece of aluminum foil from the roll.

Fifi winced as the sharp metal edges slipped, nicking her finger. A small bead of blood dropped onto the counter. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the tiny pool of red. Blood made her stomach churn, and her pulse quickened. For a long moment, she couldn’t tear her eyes away, transfixed by the sight as the world started to blur. With a shudder, she shook herself free from the trance, grabbing a paper towel to blot the counter and remove any trace of her injury.

She put on a pair of gloves and picked up the bowl of salad she made to go with the lasagna, covering it with a large piece of cellophane and heading out the door with the lasagna and salad bowl in her hands.

Hutch answered the door to Starsky’s apartment, and Fifi thought he looked pleasantly surprised. He tightened the belt on his bathrobe and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Fifi, hi, what are you doing here? I thought you were the pizza delivery man.”

“Oh, hi,” she replied, holding the lasagna dish and bowl covered in cellophane. She took in his clean scent and legs that were too long for the robe. “Never mind pizza. I brought you real food for you and your partner. I wanted to say no hard feelings about the other day.”

Hutch’s face softened, and he stepped aside to let her in. “You didn’t have to do that, Fifi, but thank you.”

Starsky walked out of the bedroom, shirtless and clad in thin pyjama bottoms, running a towel through his hair. “Pizza here already?” he asked, looking up. “Oh, hi, Fifi. What are you doing here?”

Fifi forced a smile at him, then looked back at Hutch. “You two showering together or something?” she joked. She knew it couldn’t be true. Not her Kenneth.

“Uh, Fifi,” Hutch started. “It was very nice of you to come by with dinner.” He nodded at Starsky. “Wasn’t that nice of Fifi, Starsk?”

Starsky smiled, unfazed by Fifi’s interruption. “That was very nice of you, sweetheart. Let me give you a hand.”

Seizing the opportunity, Fifi handed the salad bowl to Starsky. “Starsky, could you be a dear and take the plastic wrap off the salad so I can add the dressing?”

Starsky complied, with his back to Fifi, and removed the cellophane from the bowl. With her gloves still on, Fifi quickly placed the piece of plastic in her pocket, then put the lasagna in the oven.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going. Enjoy the food. Hope you’re feeling better, Starsky,” she said as she left.

“Thanks again, Fifi,” Starsky called out, shutting the door behind her.

In her car, Fifi retrieved the small pouch of cocaine from the glove compartment and wrapped the cellophane around it.

“There,” she proclaimed, “the plastic was a little big, but it will do. They’ll think it was double-wrapped for safety reasons.”

She looked back at Starsky’s apartment and, when she saw no sign of movement, got out of the car and walked toward the snazzy red Torino. She popped the trunk open, relieved that it was not locked, and threw the package into the back.

“That was too easy,” she thought to herself as she pulled off her gloves, a satisfied smile on her lips. She returned to her car, looked around again to make sure she was alone, and drove off.

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

“Starsky. I need to see you in my office. Hutchinson, you may as well come too.” Dobey’s voice barreled out of his office.

Hutch looked at Starsky, his eyebrows raised. “Hope this is good news for a change,” he said as they both stood up.

The duo stood in front of Captain Dobey’s desk for the second time that week, watching him rub his temples. He looked at Hutch as though he would find more patience there. “We got another anonymous tip.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Starsky said. “So much for good news.”

“Anonymous, as in there’s no evidence as to who is making these calls and nothing to go on?” Hutch asked.

The captain sat behind his cluttered desk, taking a deep breath, seeming to brace himself before he spoke.

“The caller said there are drugs in Starsky’s car.”

“You can’t be serious!” Hutch said, his eyes widening.

“You know what I think, Hutchinson,” Dobey bellowed, “but we have to go through the process. A team is meeting us downstairs in the parking lot.” His eyes met Starsky’s. “Let’s go, Dave.”

“Did you hear that, Hutch? He called me Dave. Never did like that name.”

“I heard, Starsk. You might need to take that up with your mother,” he smiled as he put a hand on Starsky’s back as they walked to the parking lot. “So, do you like mushbrain better?”

Hutch heard a quiet snicker, his hand losing contact as Starsky headed down the stairs.

A team of cops had already gathered by the Torino, and two I.A. officers at the back, their expressions grim. Hutch stood by Starsky’s side, his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

“You know I would never…” Starsky said.

Dobey held up a hand. “Of course, I know that, but we have to follow procedure. Let’s just get this over with.”

The officers began their search, methodically going through the car. They moved to the trunk and opened it. It wasn’t long before one of them called out.

“Captain, you need to see this.”

Hutch’s stomach turned into knots as Dobey walked over to the open trunk. Underneath the spare tire, wrapped in what looked like plastic, was a packet of cocaine. The scene felt surreal, like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Starsky’s face turned ashen. “This is crazy! I’ve never seen that before in my life!”

Dobey barked orders to his crew ”Run that for prints, and I mean pronto. If one of my men is being set up, I want to know who’s behind it!”

——-

Starsky and Hutch waited in Dobey’s office for the lab results, Starsky pacing the floor as Hutch sat and watched.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll figure this out.” Hutch assured him. “Unless you wear a hole in that carpet, then you’ll really be in trouble.”

Hutch was rewarded with a glare from Starsky. They heard the door open, and Dobey walked in and sat down.

“The prints on the packet are a match. They belong to Starsky. There are no other prints on any part of the package. Starsky, have no choice but to suspend you, effective immediately.”

Starsky’s face contorted with fury and despair. “I didn’t do this! Someone’s framing me, Captain. You know it, and I know you know it.”

Dobey looked up. “I believe you, but we have to follow the rules. Take some time, clear your head. We’ll keep investigating.”

Starsky shook his head, defeated. “This is insane. How did my prints get on a package of cocaine wrapped in cellophane?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” Hutch said confidently, rising from the chair. “Let’s go, partner.”

Starsky looked at him. “Partner. Sure, I’ve got no badge and no gun, but you can call me partner.”

Hutch put a hand on his back as he let him go ahead out the door. “It’s better than Dave, isn’t it?”

Hutch caught a small smile on Starsky’s lip. “You got me on that one. Partner.”

——-

Starsky climbed into the passenger seat of Hutch’s car, his face sullen and dark. “They confiscated my car for evidence…”

“Temporarily,” Hutch corrected. “We’ll figure this out. In the meantime, how about we go to your place and get something to eat? I think there is some leftover lasagna that Fifi brought over,” he suggested. “I just need to swing by my place and get some fresh clothes.”

Starsky couldn’t hold back a smile. “Ok. I didn’t know you still had some clean clothes left at your place.” He reached over and touched Hutch’s knee. “I thought after you let Fifi go, your dirty clothes would be piling up.”

“Very funny, Starsk. I am perfectly capable of doing my laundry.” He sobered. “Maybe someone lifted your prints from something you handled recently,” Hutch said, his eyes sharp with determination. “The cocaine was wrapped in cellophane. It looked unprofessional, like child’s play.”

“Wait a minute. Say that again. About the lasagna.” Starsky said.

“I said there was some leftover lasagna that Fifi brought over. Don’t tell me food is the only thing on your mind right now.”

“And then you said something about cellophane.”

“Yes, I said it looked like the cocaine was wrapped in cellophane by a child.”

“Or a kooky housekeeper who brought me a dish of lasagna and a side salad?”

Hutch did a double-take. “Fifi? Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m not kidding, Hutch. You were in the other room when it happened.” Starsky’s eyes narrowed, glancing at Hutch. “She asked me to remove the cellophane from the salad bowl so she could dress it. I didn’t give it another thought until now.”

“Are you saying she swiped the cellophane so that she could frame you with your fingerprints? Fifi? That’s crazy. Why?”

“No idea, but do you have a better theory as to how my fingerprints mysteriously got onto a piece of kitchen cellophane wrapped around a package of cocaine?” Starsky asked.

Just then the police radio crackled.

“Zebra Three, or should I address this to you, Hutch? There’s a call from one of your neighbors. A disturbance at your apartment.”

“We’re two blocks away,” Hutch answered, placing the mic down.

“I’m on suspension, Hutch,” Starsky protested, “and I don’t have a gun.”

Hutch looked at him and nodded, “No problem. I’ve got a gun. And if your theory is right, all you have to do is watch my back.”

“Count on it,” Starsky answered, throwing the police siren on top of Hutch’s car. “I hope I’m wrong about Fifi. I do.”

“So do I, partner, so do I,” Hutch replied.

He rounded the corner and brought the LTD to a screeching halt in front of Venice Place. Hutch ran up the stairs, Starsky right behind him.

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

Fifi hummed softly as she polished the front windowsill of Hutch’s apartment, the cloth gliding in smooth, circular motions. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be there, but she wanted to make it nice, one last time. The early afternoon sunlight streamed in, making the room glow with a deceptive warmth and serenity. She sighed, taking a moment to admire her handiwork, when a familiar car pulled up to the curb below.

Her heart froze. It was Rocko Pellantino. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered the packet of drugs she had found—and stolen—from his apartment a few days ago. Fifi’s eyes widened in panic as she watched him exit the car, a menacing look in his eyes.

Dropping the cloth, she scrambled down and darted to the door. Her mind raced with the only thought: escape. But as she reached for the doorknob, it burst open, and there stood Rocko, a gun gleaming ominously in his hand.

“Where do you think you’re going, Fifi?” Rocko snarled, stepping into the room and blocking her only exit.

Fifi stumbled back, her breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. “Rocko, please…How did you find me—”

“You think I don’t know your schedule? I check out everyone who works for me. Now shut up!” he barked, advancing on her. “Where are my goods? You think you can steal from me and get away with it?”

Terror seized her as she ran to the other side of the room, desperately searching for something, anything, to defend herself. Rocko’s eyes burned with fury, his grip tightening on the gun.

“Tell me where they are!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

Before she could respond, the door burst open.

There was Kenneth, pointing his magnum at Rocko, while Starsky followed and rolled to the ground.

“Freeze! Police!” Hutch yelled.

Rocko whipped around, raising his gun toward Hutch. Time seemed to slow as Fifi’s eyes fell on the heavy cherub statue on the coffee table. Without thinking, she grabbed it and swung with all her might at Rocko’s head.

The statue connected with a sickening thud, and Rocko’s gun fired wildly, the shot going astray. The force of the blow staggered him, and he stumbled, his aim faltering.

In that split second, Hutch took the shot. The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the small room. Rocko’s eyes widened as he clutched his chest, then collapsed to the floor, his gun clattering away.

Fifi stood trembling, the statue still in her hands. Starsky rushed to secure Rocko and check his pulse. “He’s dead,” he reported.

Sirens blared in the background.

“It’s over, Fifi,” Hutch said gently. “You’re safe now.”

She let the statue slip from her grip, tears of relief streaming down her face. Without thinking, she stepped toward Rocko and picked up his fallen gun. It felt heavy and cold in her hands, an instrument of finality.

She raised the gun, pointing it at Starsky.

“You have some nerve, Starsky. Always getting in the way of me and Kenneth.”

Starsky raised his hands to calm her down. “Fifi, put the gun down,” he said.

“Why should I?” she asked. “If it wasn’t for you, Kenneth would have married me a long time ago. Now, he’s living with you. What have you done to my Kenneth?”

Hutch rushed over, stepping in front of Starsky, blocking the loaded gun, his voice calm and steady. He lowered his gun and put it on the coffee table. “Fifi, put the gun down. You don’t need to do this. It’s over.”

Fifi’s eyes filled with tears, and her hand started to shake, gun in her hand. Slowly, she sank to the floor, her back against the wall.

Tears streamed down her face as she turned the gun away from Starsky, and pressed the barrel to her head.

Hutch crouched down, his voice calm and steady. “Fifi, put the gun down. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Is it?” Fifi’s voice cracked, her finger trembling on the trigger as she pressed it deeper into her temple. “You have your partner. You love him, don’t you? What have I got left?”

“Fifi,” Hutch began, then paused, softening his tone as he tried again. “Josephine.”

Fifi’s eyes widened in surprise. “You remembered my name.”

Hutch nodded. “Yes, your grandmother was French. From Paris. Your mother’s mother. Where is your mother now, Josephine? What would she be thinking?”

A sob escaped Fifi’s lips. “She got sick, and she died when I was fifteen.”

Hutch was on his knees in front of her, his face tense, but Fifi thought he was as beautiful as ever.

“After she died, my father wouldn’t let anyone call me Josephine. It reminded him of my mother. He would correct anyone who tried. ‘Everyone calls her Fifi,’ he would say.”

She saw the pool of blood dripping from Rocko’s chest, staining Kenneth’s carpet. She would have to clean it up after everyone leaves.

She pressed the gun deeper into her temple.

“I had to look after my three younger brothers. I dropped out of high school and started cleaning houses to make extra money because my father was too…distraught. He thought a bottle of whiskey every night would cure his grief, but it only made it worse. About six months after my mother died, he took his shotgun from his cabinet, went to his bedroom, and…” She stopped, her voice breaking. “There was so much blood. It’s okay, though. I cleaned up the mess so my brothers wouldn’t see him that way. I got very good at cleaning up messes.”

Hutch’s expression softened, and he moved a little closer. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Fifi’s eyes met his, filled with a sorrow that seemed to engulf her entire being. “Each one of my brothers graduated from high school. I made sure of it. I would have looked after you too, Kenneth. I would have made you a good wife,” she whispered. “You are my prince charming.”

Hutch shook his head gently. “No. No, I’m not. But that doesn’t mean someone isn’t out there for you. Put the gun down. Let me get you some help.”

For a long moment, silence hung between them, the tension palpable. Fifi’s grip on the gun tightened, then loosened. Slowly, she lowered the weapon, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

Starsky was there in a flash, taking the gun from her and setting it aside. Hutch helped her to her feet, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“It’s going to be okay,” Hutch said softly. “We’ll get you through this.”

Fifi nodded, tears still streaming down her face. She looked at Starsky. “I’m sorry. I would never have pulled the trigger. I’m sorry I planted drugs in your car. I only wanted Kenneth to myself.”

Starsky nodded, his eyes shifting to Hutch and back to Fifi,. ‘It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“He was my prince charming,” Fifi repeated. Hutch gripped one of her arms, Starsky the other, propping her up between them just as a team of policemen barreled through the door.

“It’s okay,” Hutch commanded, raising his hand. “We’ve got it under control.”

One of the uniformed cops stepped forward with a set of handcuffs.

“No cuffs, Burt,” Hutch stopped him. “Starsky and I will take her downtown.”

“Where are we going?” Fifi asked as she let them guide her out the door, “My job isn’t done. I need to clean up that mess. There’s so much blood. There is always so much blood.”

“Come on, Fifi,” Starsky said. “We’re going to get you some help.”

Fifi glanced up and met Kenneth’s blue eyes. “Where are we going, Kenneth?“ she repeated.

“It’s okay, Josephine,” Hutch whispered. “We’ve got you.”

Fifi surrendered to Kenneth’s soothing voice, his arm wrapping around her like a warm embrace. It was as if a weight had lifted. “You remembered my name,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “My name is Josephine.”

Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears, the memory of her laughter a sweet and familiar sound, piercing her armor of grief.

For the first time since her mother died, Fifi cried.

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

Tonight, the air held a crispness that Hutch welcomed. It was a refreshing change from the usual warmth, a subtle shift signaling a new beginning, a fitting reprieve to mark their final night in Starsky’s apartment. Tomorrow, a new place, a home they would have together, awaited them.

The fluttering curtains and refreshing breeze didn’t matter much to Hutch at that moment. He was filled with a heated passion that no amount of chill in the air could extinguish.

Starsky lay beneath him, his body open and pliable, his face relaxed. Hutch saw a man who put every ounce of trust in the world in him, wrapped up in a look of love, for Hutch, a cherished gift.

“I love you,” Hutch whispered, leaning in for a kiss. “Let me make love to you.”

Starsky moved his head upward, his lips offered in agreement, not needing to say more. Hutch knew permission was not needed, but also knew it was nothing he would ever take for granted. He slipped in easily, the stretched opening ready, inviting, pulling him as much as he was pushing, pumping, feeding, imploring him to find the deepest parts of Starsky’s body, to fill him up with his body and soul.

His eyes were latched to Starsky’s, every movement mirrored, every breath infused with a synergy of vitality and precious life.

Hutch took his time, as though he needed to savor it, like closing a satisfying and good chapter before moving to the next. Good, but not even close to the best part. That was yet to come.

Hutch watched in awe as Starsky climaxed. He quickly followed, unable to hold back his cries of pleasure; ecstasy was an understatement. He tumbled down and fell next to Starsky, for the first time feeling the breeze that started to lower his uncontrolled heat.

“How do you expect me to get out of bed ever again?” Starsky said, his breath shallow as he spoke. “I may not have enough energy to carry moving boxes tomorrow after that.”

Hutch smiled and turned his head. “Nothing can stop me from moving into our house.” He put his arm around Starsky and pulled him close. “I just wish…”

“Don’t go there, Hutch. It wasn’t your fault. How were you supposed to know about Fifi’s childhood?”

“She worked for me for almost five years. I barely knew anything about her.”

“You were good to her, Hutch, but you were her boss, not her friend. You paid her fairly and treated her well. I don’t know much about my cleaning lady either. I only know she has kids because she has to take time off when they’re sick. Other than that, I pay her for her work, and that’s that.”

“But I knew Fifi had a crush on me.”

“Sure, but that’s not your fault either. Can’t say as I blame her. “ Starsky kissed Hutch’s nose and said, “She’s getting the help she needs now, thanks to you. You pushed for the best institution for her, and it’s a fine one with the best doctors. She’ll get excellent help…the help that someone should have given her when she was a teenager. It’s sad, but there are a lot of people who fall through the cracks. You know that. If you ask me, having you in her life, something that gave her hope, is probably what saved her. When she’s ready, she’ll get out and will have another chance at life.”

Hutch took a heavy breath. “I guess you’re right. But she tried to hurt you, Starsk. She tried to discredit your name. It’s hard for me to forgive anyone, and I mean anyone, who tries to hurt you. I think a part of me will never forgive her for that.”

“I get that, Hutch. If the roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way.” Starsky said as he pulled up the covers, sheltering their bodies from the cool night air. “How about you don’t worry about it anymore?”

Hutch hunched further down the bed, the warmth of Starsky’s body against his. He closed his eyes, falling in love with Starsky even more. ”Deal,” Hutch managed an answer, his heart swelling. He felt sorry for Fifi, but he knew Starsky was right. She was getting a second chance.

“Let’s get some sleep, Hutch. Let me do the forgiving for both of us.”

Hutch pulled Starsky close as they closed their eyes, the warmth of Starsky’s body and the sound of his breath lulling him to sleep.

“You’re incredible, Starsk,” he whispered, and kissed his forehead.

Oh, how he loved that man.