Blame it on the Rum

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Only one of the partners can clearly remember the events of New Year’s Eve.

 

This little story was written on New Year’s Eve, 2001, while listening to Simon and Garfunkel and drinking coffee with Bailey’s Irish Cream in it. It was written as a “Happy New Year” present for my sweet friend Paula Wilshe who loved S&G and S/H as much as I did.

Looking it over fourteen years later is humbling–plenty of goofs and things I wouldn’t do today. I’ve fixed the most egregious goofs but left the rest of the story alone because that’s where my skill-set was fourteen years ago.  For the most part, the flavor captured what I wanted Paula to read.

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Sun? Is that sun? Oh, God, is it? What time is it? Eyes more red than blue opened cautiously to see what the malicious light was. That was his first mistake of the new day.

My head! Oh, my God– my head! It’s gonna explode and it weighs fifty pounds. What happened to my head? It took some coordination to feel around the perimeter of the offending object, before gently laying it back down on a slightly damp pillow. It’s huge. I have a huge head and it’s lying on a wet pillow. Why is it wet? What’s that noise?

From the other room came the sound of an enthusiastic baritone singing happily and loudly.

Someone told me it’s all happening at the zoo…
I do believe it!
I do believe it’s true…

Brain cells collided inside his aching head as he tried to make sense of the sun shining, the wet pillow, and now this singing.

Simon and Garfunkel? Is he singing Simon and Garfunkel?

As if the singer heard the silent thought, the joyful voice raised higher still, nearly crushing his suffering head..

But you can take a cross-town bus if it’s raining or it’s cold
And the animals will love it if you’re nude…

He groaned out loud this time.

Nude? Did he say nude? The animals will love it if you’re nude? That’s wrong. It’s the animals will love it if you do, or you’re new. It’s do or new! Oh, my head!

Bright pinpoints of light were impossible to extinguish since his eyes were already closed. The singing was impossible to extinguish, too.

The monkeys stand for honesty
Giraffes are insincere
And the elephants are kindly but they’re dumb…
Orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages
And the zookeeper is buried in the rum…

Hutch sat bolt upright in bed. Buried in the rum? “Starsky! That’s wrong!”

Heavy footsteps preceded the entrance of his depressingly cheerful, bright-eyed partner. “Hey, g’mornin’! Wasn’t sure you were wakin’ up today at all. Now what’s wrong? ”

Hutch gingerly laid his head back down.. “The rum.” he mumbled. “The rum is wrong.”

“Well, babe, so was all that tequila, but there was no stopping you.” Starsky stepped a little closer to the bed. “Okay, this may be the worst you’ve ever looked.”

Hutch groaned again and grabbed his roiling stomach. “Thank you so much, Starsk, and that’s not what I was talking about. The rum in the song is wrong.”

“The song is wrong? Hutch, I was playing Simon and Garfunkel and they’re geniuses. I think they can write whatever lyrics they want to write.”

“You were singing it wrong.”

“I was singing with the record, so I was singing it right.” Starsky smiled at him with a maddeningly patient expression and started to sweep Hutch’s hair off his forehead.

“Don’t touch that!”

“Your hair?”

“Yes, my hair.”

“How come?”

“It hurts.”

“Your hair hurts?”

“Yes, my hair hurts.

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Well, it is and the rum is wrong.”

“The rum is always wrong the next morning.”

“Is it really morning?”

“‘Fraid so. Why don’t you try and get a little more sleep?” Starsky started backing out of the room.

“What happened last night?”

“I better tell you later.”

This can’t be good, Hutch thought miserably, trying to turn on his side at the same time. The movement caused the blankets to fall off, revealing a smooth and naked hip. He stared at it and then at his partner. “Do I want to know why I don’t have anything on?”

“I don’t think so,” Starsky replied with a pronounced headshake in the negative.

The covers were quickly drawn over his nude body and then all the way over his aching head. Hutch could actually feel Starsky grinning at him as much as he felt the pats  Starsky was giving his shoulder.

“Did I do anything illegal?” Hutch asked before Starsky could try and leave again.

“Not while I was there, but you got there way before I did, so let’s hope not.”

Hutch groaned at Starsky’s optimistic pragmatism.  “Did I do anything embarrassing?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Oh, God. What? What did I do?”

“We better talk about that later, too.”

Too? Just how much did they have to discuss? “Come on, Starsk!” Hutch lowered the covers enough to be able to see Starsky. “I have to know.”

“Well, it’s going to be a while before you can go back to the Pits,” Starsky said quickly. “How about you sleep for another hour while I….”

“I’m not sleeping and you’re not leaving.” Hutch tried to make his voice sound menacing and was further appalled at the squeaky pitch of his next word. “Why?”

Starsky had the nerve to laugh at him, the bastard. Hutch narrowed his eyes, because he could make them do that, and Starsky sobered slightly. “‘Well, see, Huggy banned you for two weeks.”

Hutch pondered the words for a second because they made no sense. Banned like in not allowed? Forbidden? He was being forbidden? He felt like he did when he was six years old and his mother told him he was forbidden to get into her china cabinet. Like he would break something! “I’m actually forbidden to go to the Pits?”

“Banned, not forbidden, banned, and only for two weeks,” Starsky said in a soothing voice. “Hug felt bad about it, too, but he said he had to make an example of you, or everyone would think they could do–well, that.”

“What?”

“What you did.”

“What did I do?”

“You danced.”

“Badly enough to be banned? Isn’t that kind of harsh?” Hutch tried to remember dancing, but nothing came to mind. He also couldn’t feel his tongue, and that concerned him. “Does my tongue look normal?” Hutch opened his mouth and wagged his tongue in Starsky’s direction.

Starsky peered at it intently. “It looks normal to me. And you weren’t banned for dancing badly, although…” Starsky started clearing his throat in a pathetic attempt to hide his laughter.

Hutch put his tongue back in his mouth so he could use it, numb or not. “Although, what?”

“Nothing, buddy…I think you should try and get some rest, now.”

“Oh, no. No you don’t.” Hutch sat up and moaned. “Oh, God, my head!”

“Do you want some more aspirin?”

“I’ve already had some?”

“Of course. what kind of partner do you think I am? I gave you aspirin before you threw up the second time, and then I gave you more later, since I figured the first weren’t gonna do you any good anymore.”

“I threw up twice?”

“Nope, three times,” Starsky clarified.

“While I was dancing?” Hutch asked, wishing the squeak would leave his voice. Maybe his numb tongue was causing it?

“Luckily for all concerned, you saved all the throwing up for me when we got home.”

Relief was sweet but fleeting; there was still the matter of his banishment and Hutch really wanted to get to the bottom of that. “Okay, I have to understand this. I was banned for dancing but not because I was dancing badly?”

“No, you were dancing pretty bad.”

“You just said I wasn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” Starsky spoke slowly and clearly. “I said that wasn’t what got you banned. The bad dancing, I mean. Maybe if you’d taken your shoes off, none of this would have happened.”

“What do my shoes have to do with anything?”

“You left them on,” Starsky explained, wearing his patient expression  again. “You know, I just thought of something. I’m pretty sure I left your shirt there.”

How much worse was this going to get? “I had my shirt off? At the Pits?”

“While you were dancing, you…uh…removed it.”

“Oh, well good. as long as it was only my shirt that I took off and not my shoes! Wouldn’t want my little tootsies to shock anyone.”  .

“You do have cute toes,” Starsky said.

“You’re not going to tell me why I was banned, are you?”

“I thought I just did.”

“No, you did not.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll go over it one more time.” Starsky pushed him back against the pillows and pulled the quilt up under his chin. He took a deep breath and began. “You were banned for dancing with your shoes on, on top of the bar.”

Again with the shoes. “I danced on top of the bar?”

“Yes, you did.”

“With my shoes on?”

“That’s right. now you’re seeing the whole picture.”

“But without my shirt?”

“I knew you’d remember everything eventually!” Starsky said, sounding triumphant. “Huggy didn’t mind the bare chest, but he said the shoes on top of his clean bar was just unsanitary, and he could get a health code violation if anyone reported him.”

“And where were you when I was doing this striptease?”

“I wouldn’t call it a real striptease or nothin’, babe; it was more like you got hot all of a sudden and just yanked it off.”

Can he really be trying to drive me insane? “But where were you?”

“Well, at first I was kind of in shock, ya know? I mean, when I got there you were already really toasted and downing double shots.”

“Why would I do that? I never do that!” Hutch shook his enormous head for emphasis and immediately regretted it.

“That’s what I was trying to figure out, but by the time it hit me, you were already on top of the bar, bumping and grinding to ‘Feelin’ Groovy.’ and since it’s not every day that my partner does something like that, it maybe took me a few minutes to get you down.” Starsky sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey, maybe that’s why I chose the Simon and Garfunkel album to clean to? That song must have been in my head, and I subconsciously wanted to hear it again.”

“That’s good to know. I sure would have been worried about why you picked that record if you hadn’t figured that one out.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Hutch.”

“There was no need to get drunk either, but I did.”

“That wasn’t really your fault.”

“You said I was drinking double shots!”

“True, you were, but I think it was the pill that made you do it.”

“What pill?”

“The antihistamine you took for your allergies before you left, remember?”

A coherent memory started to form. “Oh, no. I did do that.”

“Yeah, you did, and you shouldn’t have drunk any alcohol at all, but Huggy said you were nursing a complimentary glass of champagne one minute, and the next minute downing shots of rum, tequila and vodka. That pill must have made you react funny to the champagne, and, well, you know the rest.”

It could be worse, Hutch told himself. It could  be better, but it could be a lot worse. He felt a little relieved and  snuggled further into the still damp pillow. “I don’t know why this pillow is wet.”

“I’ll tell you that later, too, okay? I wanna finish cleaning the living room before you see it. Think you can try and go back to sleep for me? I’ll keep the music low.”

Starsky left and Hutch managed to get his head into a position where he could mostly ignore it and sleep might be possible. He was just drifting off when Paul, Art, and Starsky began crooning again. Paul and Art were getting the lyrics right, but not Starsky.

I’m sittin’ in a railway station, got a ticket for my destination…

On a tour of one night stands, my suitcase and guitar in hand

And every stop is neatly bound for a poet and a one-eyed man…

Homeward bound

Hutch began to giggle helplessly…a one-eyed man? “Starsky!”

The stereo was turned down immediately. “What?” his partner shouted back. “I thought you were sleeping?”

“Can you skip ahead to another song?”

“Sure, now go to sleep. Let the music soothe you or something.”

Hutch closed his eyes again and waited for the next song.

I am just a poor boy though my story’s seldom told

I a’ squandered my resistance, for a pocket full of marbles such are promises…

Hutch sat bolt upright again; this time, holding his belly to keep from laughing out loud. It sounded to him like Art was confused by these vocals, too. The singing went on.

Nigh, nigh nigh…lie, lie lie…lie, nigh nigh, lie lie, oh!

“Starsky?”

The vocalist was soon back in the bedroom. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

Hutch reached a hand out and beckoned Starsky closer. “Come to bed and sing me to sleep, okay?”

Starsky smiled and nodded. “Sounds good, I didn’t get much sleep last night, either.”

Hutch watched as Starsky shed his clothes, and held the covers open for him to slide into bed. He held still while Starsky wiggled and stretched next to him.

“Hey,” Starsky asked, “did I even wish you a happy New Year, yet?”

“No, you didn’t. Hutch laid his head on Starsky’s chest, finally comfortable. Starsky’s arms encircled him. “Happy New Year to you, too, Starsk. Maybe tonight we can really celebrate.”

“No alcohol,” Starsky said, and started to stroke Hutch’s hair. “This still hurt?”

“Not anymore.  Now sing to me.”

Starsky tightened his arms and gathered him a little closer, starting to softly hum…then he began:

Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together

I’ve got some real estate here in my bag…