Starsky & Hutch mysteriously get transported to 2013 Los Angeles. Everything becomes all mixed up when Hutch is the one to fall in love with the technology, while Starsky becomes immersed in gay rights and causes.
Written for S&H Big Bang 2014: SH Present Tense.
Cover Art by mella68.
Note: Author considers this AU as well, due to aging of other characters in the 1970s Starsky & Hutch universe. Also, Starsky & Hutch’s jurisdiction has been expanded for believability in this story.
1981
All units in the vicinity of 5445 San Fernando Road: be on the lookout for a two-toned gray Ford Granada with at least three teen occupants. Driver is white male. Wanted for 187 in process of 211 at Jin Sing Skuteup.
“Damn. Another Korean mom and pop hit,” swore Starsky lightly. “That’s the third this month. What’s going on?” He took a turn, tightening his hands around the steering wheel.
“I’m guessing the same group of kids,” Hutch replied from the passenger’s seat, looking out the window as they drove along near Route 5, near the Angeles National Forest. “And this time they upped the ante.”
Starsky glanced over at his partner. “What the hell’s going on with these kids now-a-days?”
“You know what you sound like? An old man. Kids have been stealing from grocers since penny candy came out, and probably before.”
“Yeah, but it’s one thing to steal penny candy, and another to do it with a gun and kill someone in the process,” Starsky retorted to his partner.
“Touché.”
“Wonder how they think they’ll get away in, of all things, a Granada,” Starsky mused.
Hutch rolled his eyes. “We can’t all have fire engine red tomatoes.”
“Yeah, some of us have moldy cheese…like your latest piece of mustard-colored shit.”
“Hey, the Thunderbird’s a classic.” Hutch pretended to be affronted, even though he knew his cars weren’t always in the best of condition and prone to breaking down. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to be seen in a car that…?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, only the bad guys could love, because they can see it a mile away.”
Hutch took a breath. “I meant, that only kids drive, but yeah, that too.”
“What do ya mean, ‘only kids drive’?” Starsky pitched back in faux irritation.
“Just take a look at this car!” Hutch waved his hand around. “A Mazda RX-7? Really? For a thirty-eight-year-old man? One who’s had a history of bullet wounds and has to unfold himself just to get out of it?”
Starsky looked wounded at the reminder, but Hutch didn’t have time to apologize. Out of the corner of his eye, he eyed a charcoal sedan turning down Paxton toward Laurel Canyon road at a high rate of speed.
“Hey, Starsk? I think I just saw them.”
“Who?”
“The kids we were just talking about. They just turned on Paxton from I-5 going north.”
“Shit, Paxton? We just passed that.”
Hutch threw the Mars light on the roof and called in the information as well as a chase. Simultaneously, Starsky pulled the wheel sharply, pitching the car sharply in a u-turn and then left down Paxton, so that Hutch was thrown about like a suitcase on an airplane.
“Ow! Starsky, watch it!” Hutch rubbed his elbow, which was sore from smashing into the door handle.
With a quick glance to his right to make sure Hutch was okay, Starsky apologized. His right turn onto the I-5 was just as sharp, but not as fast.
He continued chasing the suspect teens in the gray Granada north on the I-5. Both fleeing and chase vehicles picked up speed as they left the city and began climbing the foothills of Mission Point, with the teens weaving and missing several cars driving opposite, and Starsky crossing the double yellow line several times.
“Didn’t you learn anything last time you lost control? Does me being in the hospital with a concussion and broken arm ring a bell?”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch. You never complain when we get our man.”
“Get our man? Who are we? Royal Mounties?”
“Well, we do have a lot of horsepower, and we’re going north.” Starsky grinned, drolly.
“Ha ha.”
As they approached the Newell Tunnel, Starsky automatically flipped on his headlights. Even so, with their perps being in a dark-colored car, it was difficult to see them through the darkness of the tunnel. Only the beams of the Mazda bouncing off the Granada’s silver bumper gave the detectives any indication of the distance between the two cars.
Just as the lead car approached the end of the tunnel, it over-corrected the tight turn of the road into the gravel berm. The tires skid, throwing the car sideways right into the path of the oncoming RX-7.
With nowhere to turn to avoid the flailing gray car, the red car with the detectives was poised to hit directly full force into the driver’s side.
“Starsky!”
“Son of a bitch!”
Then everything turned bright pale yellow and orange….
Whoosh!
With a loud crack in the air, like lightning, a bright orange flash, and a jolt, the Mazda RX-7 tore out of the northern end of the Newell tunnel.
Starsky applied the brakes hard, tires squealing, and the car pitched back and forth, tossing Hutch into his partner, behind the wheel.
After the car came to a stop, both rattled officers took a deep breath they hadn’t known they were holding, and looked at each other, amazed they and the car were in one piece.
“What…where? What happened to the kids in the Granada?” Starsky’s thoughts were fuzzy and his stomach felt churned up.
“How the hell did we miss hitting them?” Hutch wondered in astonishment, looking out the windshield for any evidence of the gray Granada–tire marks, skids in the gravel berm, evidence of an accident.
Starsky straightened out the car and proceeded to drive slowly, both men looking carefully around just in case the teens had run off the road. Both men were quiet, each beginning to realize that something was off, but unable to figure out just what exactly was wrong.
As Starsky finally opened his mouth to say something, a mid-1990s Ford Taurus drove past going in the opposite direction. His jaw dropped open in confusion.
“Did…what…what the hell kind of car was that, Starsky?”
“Not sure, Hutch. And I know all the Big Three models. That must be an experimental one, or maybe something from the Germans.”
“Looks like a damn jelly bean to me.”
Starsky snorted in amusement. “Can’t see anyone wanting to drive around in Easter candy. It’ll probably flop bigger than the Edsel or Corvair.”
Just then, a Kia Soul drove around the slower Mazda, crossing the double yellow lines before crossing back and moving on at a faster pace than the detectives were driving.
“What the hell is that?! Soul? What kinda name is that?”
“Maybe a British car?” Hutch just shrugged his shoulders, then noticed something looming in front of them. “Uh, Starsk? What’s up on the left ahead?”
Starsky looked at Hutch sideways, while still keeping his eye on the curving road. “Did you hit your head on the side of the door? Rattle those big brains of your again? Forget that ‘Magic Mountain’ is right up the road?”
“Smart-ass. I know Six Flags is coming up. What I’d like to know is what is that!” Hutch threw his hand out in front of him.
His partner followed the pointed forefinger to above the trees just ahead, and saw… “When the heck they add a new coaster? And how tall is that sucker?” Starsky began to get excited. “Oh, I know what I’m doing next day off! I can’t wait to try that puppy out!”
“Starsky, they don’t put those coasters up overnight! Not only that, have you ever seen one that tall? And they’ve either been on a massive building binge, or some of your aliens have come down and placed fully built rides into the park.”
With a look of wry disdain at his non-believing partner, Starsky taunted Hutch. “Just wait. One day you’ll find out there is intelligent life on other planets, and then all us believers will fly off to exotic and exciting lands, and you’ll be stuck here all alone without me.”
“I hope there’s intelligent life on other planets, because sometimes I’m not sure there’s any on Earth.” With a nod to Starsky, Hutch finished, “Present company included.”
“I guess that means you, too,” Starsky shot back happily. “So, do you want to make a day of it next time we…. Son of gun! What the heck happened here?” Now that the car had approached the entrance to Six Flags Magic Mountain, it was apparent that things were different. “Did some giant’s kid’s Tinker Toy set explode?”
“Starsky, do you get the feeling that something’s not right?”
The other man didn’t say anything, but pulled into the entrance of the amusement park. He drove down the driveway that was much better paved than he remembered.
“I am now, Blintz,” he replied as he looked around the parking lot. They spied all sorts of unusual vehicles, skimpy clothing on people walking toward the main gate, and the many large differences to the amusement park he and Terry had loved to visit.
“Pull over and let me get out for a second. I want to check out some of those plates.”
Starsky, who’d had the same idea, put his RX-7 in park behind some very futuristic looking vehicles, while Hutch jumped out to examine a few license plates.
When he entered back in the car, Starsky questioned Hutch on what they read.
“Well, they all seem to be California plates, but none I’ve ever seen. There’s the word ‘California’ written in red across the plate, and the stickers…” Hutch faltered. “There’re stickers on them–at least I think they’re stickers.”
“Stickers? Like slogans?”
“No…no. These read dates…. I think.” Hutch’s forehead was wrinkled in bewilderment. “3-14, 8-13, 6-13, 1-14. Like that.”
Starsky’s face was screwed up in consternation. “Okay, that’s it.” Starsky picked up the mike attached to the police radio. “Dispatch, this is Zebra 3.”
An unfamiliar female voice answered, with a hint of puzzlement. “George, is that you?”
“No, it’s me, Dave Starsky, with my partner, Ken Hutchinson.”
“I’m sorry, sir. This is an official radio frequency. I need to ask you to stop broadcasting.”
“I am a police officer. Dave Starsky. S-T-A-R-S-K-Y. We’re assigned to Zebra 3 with the LAPD.”
The disembodied female replaced more coldly this time. “Zebra 3 is the call sign for Martinez and Hernandon. Again, please remove yourself from this frequency or I will have you arrested.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?” Starsky was getting livid, so Hutch grabbed the mike from his hot-tempered partner who looked ready to charge downtown and terrify the woman.
“GPS, sir. All radios are equipped with them. If you really are cops, turn on your monitors to the dispatch station and show yourselves.”
The very confused detectives disconnected their mike and looked at each other.
“GPS?” they asked in tandem.
“There’s only one thing to do now,” muttered Starsky as he pulled the car away to leave Magic Mountain.
“Huggy,” they said in unison.
As they drove down the I-5, the atmosphere inside the car grew increasingly tense and quiet. Views out the windows showed a brighter, cleaner city with less blight and more newer looking buildings.
Without saying a word, Hutch leaned over and turned on the radio.
Bam sounded a bass drum loudly. “It’s radioactive, radioactive.”
Both men startled at the loud sound coming from the dashboard speakers, and Hutch hurriedly turned the knob to the off position.
“Thanks, my ears.” Starsky shook his head. “If that’s what the radio is playing in this day and age…” He trailed off, not wanting to say aloud what both men were fearing.
They finished the drive to the Pits in silence.
But the Pits wasn’t the Pits anymore.
The large sign on the front of the building just said “Huggy’s Club,” and it wasn’t open yet.
“Well, at least we know he’s still around,” Hutch grumbled.
“So what do we do now?”
“Go home? See if we still have our apartments,” suggested Hutch as he shrugged his shoulders.
“What the…! Where’s my apartment?!”
“Shouldn’t that be ‘where’s the apartment building‘?” Hutch said to try to lighten Starsky’s lament.
They were both looking at the newer townhouse complex where Starsky’s apartment building should be.
“What about all my stuff? My clothes, my records, Philip… my stuff?” he mourned. “Where’m I gonna live?”
“Uh, Starsk. Maybe we should check mine out.” Hutch’s voice now had a minor tremble.
When they arrived at Venice Place, both men breathed a sigh that the building was still standing. That relief, though, was short lived upon walking closer to the building.
“The door’s different. That tree thing’s missing.” Then Starsky also pointed out the sign that was in place where Helene’s restaurant should be. “Primo-something wine bistro? You’re the brains, what’s a wine bistro?”
“Got me.” He entered the center doorway and waved to his partner. “Come on.” He was anxious to get upstairs to see if his apartment was there. Or rather, if it was his apartment.
Reaching over the doorway, Hutch ran his hands across the lintel. No key. Then he tried the one in his pocket. It wouldn’t fit, and no one answered his knocks.
The very helpful male sommelier at the wine bistro told them a young couple lived upstairs in the back apartment and used the front apartment as a photography studio.
“You two look like you need a drink. I’ve got a real nice 1981 Pinot Noir from Napa Valley. Only eighty-eight dollars for the bottle or ten dollars a glass.”
“Eighty-eight dollars for a bottle of wine they make here in California? I’m a cop and I can have the Controller down here so fast, those grapes won’t have time to ripen,” Starsky fumed over the quoted price, ready to jump over the counter at the poor wine server.
Hutch put a restraining hand on his partner’s arm. “Leave it be, Starsk.”
As they were leaving, a well-dressed man with thick, brown, curly hair graying at the temples, perhaps in his late forties, asked them if the Mazda RX-7 was theirs.
“Yeah, it’s mine. Why?” the equally dark-haired detective replied suspiciously.
A distant look came over his face. “Man, that takes me back. I went to my prom in one back in eighty-three.”
“Eighty-three?” Both detectives spoke the question in tandem.
“Yeah. Hot little date. This was back in Pennsylvania. Not much room in the back for any hanky-panky, though.”
Starsky and Hutch stumbled out of the bistro and almost fell into Starsky’s car. They looked at each other, faces white as can be.
“1983!”
“Well, the lights are on inside the joint,” Starsky remarked when they pulled back up to Huggy’s Club. “Let’s go find out what the hell is happening.”
As the two bewildered detectives walked into the darkened room, a familiar voice called out from behind the bar. “Emilio, that you? You’re late, your black ass is late.” Huggy’s voice trailed off as he stood up and glared at whom he thought was a tardy employee.
Even with his darker coloring, it was obvious that the blood had drained from Huggy’s face. “Oh, shit…” The tray of clean beer mugs he was holding fell from his hands and crashed onto the floor. Pieces of glass shattered like the Big Bang explosion so many eons ago.
“No…no. It’s, it’s not possible.” The proprietor put his hands over his eyes.
Starsky put his arms out, hands up in a placating manner. “Hug, it’s us. Starsky and Hutch. Something weird’s going on, and we need your help.”
Ignoring the curly-haired man, Huggy muttered to himself as he closed his eyes and grasped the edge of the bar. “They can’t be here. I must be hallucinatin’ in the twilight of my being. Maybe I got Alzheimer’s.” He stumbled to sit at the nearest table.
Slowly, Starsky and Hutch made their way to their friend, looking around and noticing the differences in the bar–or club as the sign said outside.
There was a small dance floor and raised platform where the pool table used to be. The bar was the same, but the swinging doors to the kitchen weren’t next to the bar as they should be. There were autographed pictures on the wall. Some that the detectives recognized, like The Love Boat’s Gavin MacLeod, but who was the short-haired blond with the pert nose and narrowed eyes and a Spanish last name of Diaz?
When they got to their friend’s side, where Huggy was holding his head, they noticed that he looked…older, with wrinkles and glasses.
“Hug, what’s going on?” Hutch asked softly, reaching out to put his hand on their friend’s arm, but Huggy pushed it away.
“How…how do I know it’s you, and I’m not havin’ some flashback from smoking the wacky weed? Tell me.”
“Why would you think you’re hallucinating?” Starsky asked him, as he sat down on Huggy’s other side.
“Because you’re not supposed to be here. And if you are, you’re sure enough not supposed to be looking so young. Unless you got taken away by the…” and he made a whoop, whoop sound while twirling his forefinger toward the ceiling.
Hutch snorted and shook his head. “Only you, Hug would come up with a story like that.”
The now older man stood up and shouted, “What the hell am I supposed to think, what with you two sittin’ here looking all like 1981!”
A young man dressed in a white chef’s outfit came from the back hallway. “Um, Huggy, you okay out here?”
“Sure, Gianni. It’s cool, man.” The proprietor waved his hands and sat down.
Starsky shook his head. “What the hell is going on? Of course it’s 1981!”
“It’s 2013, man. You guys disappeared over 25 years ago!”
“This makes no sense. We saw you two days ago. Just this morning we were chasing a bunch of teens in a gray car down I-5 by Six Flags.” Hutch sat on Huggy’s couch in his condominium as Starsky paced around the living room.
“You need to take a load off, Starsky. My eyes are twirling like a chipmunk on crack.”
The antsy detective stopped striding and looked at Huggy with a narrowed, confused stare. “Crack?”
“Type of cheap, injurious coke.”
“Huggy, what happened?” Hutch interjected quietly.
“You askin’ me?! How’m I supposed to know what you white dudes have been up to?”
“We told you–to us, yesterday was June 12, 1981.” Starsky was getting more agitated with each step.
“And I’m telling you that now it’s June 3, 2013.” He paused at the distressed look on his friends’ faces.
“All I remember is, you guys were out in Starsky’s god-forsaken little doll-car up somewhere on the Old Road–”
“Old Road?”
“That’s the I-5 for all you time displaced. And the dudes you were chasing got in an accident, if I recall. They swore they were bein’ chased by a red car, and that you were right behind ’em. But you didn’t hit them. Everyone just figured you crashed somewhere off road, like in the forest, but no one could ever find anything. Thought maybe you were burned to a McRib.”
“A what?”
“Ignore him, Huggy. All he heard was ‘rib’ and he’s hungry.”
Starsky just gave his partner a scornful look.
“Who’s we?” asked Hutch, as he took his own advice.
“Everyone. The PD, your friends, Dobey…” Huggy’s voice trailed off. “Oh, damn. You don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“The big man. He retired shortly after you all vamoosed. He and the Mrs. retired south somewhere.” Huggy paused as his voice quieted further. “He died about three or four years ago; right about New Year’s. Heart attack.”
The news hurt; this wasn’t something either considered. It wasn’t real to them.
Starsky sat down hard in another chair. “Who else?”
This time Huggy didn’t say anything. The atmosphere was more than overwhelming.
“Who else?” Starsky was firm.
“Your mother.”
His eyes closing to hold back his emotions, Starsky propped his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.
Hutch stood up and went to his friend’s side and laid a hand on Starsky’s shoulders. “How?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t ask when Steve Babcock told me. I figured he told me, ’cause he knew we’d been good friends.”
“What about…?” Hutch was almost afraid to ask.
“Nobody ever told me anything about your folks, Hutchie. Sorry.”
Right now, the passage of time and all its concerns were too abstract.
Shaking off the news of his mother’s passing, Starsky brought up a more paramount concern: where they were going to live? “Well, obviously we can’t stay at my place, and someone’s living in yours. We’ve got some money, but I’ll bet it doesn’t last long.”
“I imagine prices have gone up some,” Hutch agreed, as they looked to Huggy.
He agreed. “And then some.” Their friend suggested they stay with him for now. “Until needs be.”
Hutch pointed out they needed to find a way to get back home, and jobs to earn them money in case it took some time.
“If we even can,” muttered Starsky downheartedly.
At that, Hutch looked horrified. He couldn’t picture not being able to get back to 1981 and said so.
But to be prudent, both he and Starsky agreed to take Huggy up on his offer–even if it meant they were sleeping in the same room and bed for the time being.
“Wonder if we could get our old jobs back?” Starsky mused, only half-joking.
The lanky, now older man held out his arms. “Whoa. You guys can’t just go out and be yourselves. You’re dead as far as the world knows. You’re trying to crack a nut with a sledgehammer.” He was sorry for the harsh words and the winces they caused, but it was better to be forthright. “People gonna talk, or they’ll be splashing this intel all over the ‘net, with all sorts of bunk.”
Starsky shook his head at their friend as he continued his pacing. “Huggy, we had difficulty understanding you then, now you’re worse.”
“And I’m telling you–you can’t just appear back up like the last 25 years never happened!”
“Any suggestions?” Even though Hutch appeared calmer, it was obvious to the other two that the blond was just as distressed as the more frantic partner.
Huggy shrugged his shoulders. “Change your identities?” he suggested.
“Who am I, if I’m not Dave Starsky?”
“Mr. Night and Mr. Day?” Hutch said jokingly in a strangled voice that gave away that it wasn’t a joke.
Starsky narrowed his eyes and threw his partner a derisive look.
“Why don’t you just keep things copacetic? Change only your birth years and maybe mix up the names. People’s was always mixing you up. You can be Ken Starsky and Dave Hutchinson.”
Now Huggy got the Dave Starsky scathing look that he knew only the real Dave Starsky could give out. “We need birth certificates, Huggy.”
“Anybody with some good graphics can fudge a birth certificate. In fact, I know some people.”
Hutch just rolled his eyes. “You always know people.”
The now older man looked at the dubious faces of his two friends. “Oh boy, you got more to get used to than new cars and higher gas prices. Just leave it to Huggarino the Magnificent.”
“In the meantime why don’t we try to find out what we can about our case?” Hutch said.
“That sounds weird, ya know? Our case.”
First problem with their plan, Starsky and Hutch realized, was that they couldn’t just show up at Metro or Parker without doing some serious explaining. Knowing that libraries have access to public records and microfiche newspapers, that’s where they decided to head to first.
At the library, they asked a young receptionist for help finding microfiche for newspaper articles from the Bay City Examiner dated around June 12, 1981.
“You can just use the computer. Everything that was fiched is now archived on our website.”
“I’m sorry, a web-site? What’s that?” Hutch asked.
The disbelieving librarian scoffed. “Have you been living under a rock?”
“No, just the seventies,” Starsky retorted.
Hutch grasped Starsky’s elbow. “Can you show us how? We’ve never been much for computers.”
As the woman walked the men over to a bank of what looked like small TV monitors, Hutch pulled on Starsky’s arm. “Be nice. Or better yet, let me handle her. She obviously thinks I’m cute,” he whispered in library quiet.
“She must, because she sure can’t be thinking you’re too smart,” his partner lipped back.
After a few false starts, Starsky and Hutch got the hang of maneuvering around the library’s website. Sitting together at one monitor, they were amazed at the bright screen and bold graphics.
“What if I want to find information out?” Hutch looked up and asked the young woman, who probably wasn’t even born when they disappeared.
“Just Google it.”
“Google? What’s a google?” they both asked.
She sighed and pitched her voice in annoyance. “The search engine?”
“Can you show us?”
She was able to spend a few minutes going over a few things they needed to know to search this ‘inter-net’.
Starsky was intrigued despite himself. “So I can find out all sorts of stuff? Even obscure facts?”
Not to be outdone, Hutch asked, “And I can read what’s going on all over the world?”
Starsky tried rolling the unfamiliar terms over his tongue. He continued to pester the young lady with questions. “I can watch movies and TV shows? How?”
“Weekee-what? Is that Indian?”
“You can alter pictures?”
Hutch finally got a question in. “What’s a mouse?”
“A rodent with beady eyes,” Starsky said.
“Ignore him. He couldn’t tell a Beta from a VHS.” Hutch thought he’d show off his superiority.
“Beta? Like the opposite of alpha?” The young woman was momentarily just as confused.
“Tweeting? Web? Facebook? Blog? YouTube? Photoshop? Google? Surfing? What are all these terms? What do they mean? Why would anyone want to go around sounding like a bird? What’s the use of a web? Is it a term for covering the computer? Is Facebook a bunch of pictures of people? Is it called surfing because of the radio waves? Can you put VHF on U-tube, or is it only for UHF?”
“Are you sure you guys didn’t just wake up from comas?”
Finally, Hutch asked what he felt was the most important question. “Can I go somewhere to learn how to use one of these?” He waved at the computer on the table in front of them.
“Of course. We offer several introductions to the internet and Microsoft Office classes as well. You can look on the library’s home page–that’s the first page–for all our instructional classes.”
When she left to help other patrons, Starsky and Hutch could no longer avoid reading about their disappearance in the Examiner.
And a year later:
Just to see if they were remembered, Hutch continued to type in various years representing benchmarks: 1986, 1991, 2001, 2006, but came up with nothing in the headlines, until the last one.
Reading the headlines and various articles was not easy, but they struggled through. Most difficult was reading interviews from friends and family.
On a hunch, Hutch decided to see if the Bay City Police Department had a computer page.
At the same time, Starsky had similar thoughts. “Hey, Hutch? See if the department has one of these screens. Maybe we can get the real department response, versus what the newspapers reported.”
They were unable to figure out if any records related to their disappearance were on the Bay City Police Department location–or at least how to find them.
“What about this?” There was a tab at the top of the screen that Starsky pointed to labeled “Departments.” “Maybe we should click on that.”
Hutch looked at what Starsky was pointing at and as he clicked the thing called the mouse, the screen changed to announcements. They moved the pointer down to see if they recognized anyone or anything. It repositioned faster than they realized, and soon they were looking at a news release from January 2013 about the closing of Parker Center. After several more tries, the blond man finally got the hang of the movement of the pointer–or mouse as the librarian called it.
The most recent announcement was for the retirement of Captain Dee O’Reilly of Homicide.
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Starsky wondered.
“Because she was the meter maid that kept harassing me a few years back,” Hutch answered drolly. “Or rather several decades ago.”
“Just think of it…a female captain.” Starsky mulled over the changes that they missed. “A meter chick is now captain of Homicide.” Then he was struck with an idea. “Hey–let’s try and crash the party; get the low down on what’s going on in the department.”
“I hate to point out the obvious…” his partner began.
“No, you don’t. You love it.”
Ignoring Starsky’s cynicism, Hutch continued, “But don’t you think some people might recognize us?”
“Not if we disguise ourselves. You did it pretty damn good several times, I recall.”
Hutch reached out to muss Starsky’s mop of curls. “And how do we cover this mess up?”
“We don’t.” Starsky grinned roguishly. “If asked, we pretend I’m a relative. Some distant cousin or other that Nick asked to check out our case when he heard that I was moving here.”
“Good thing to have a cover story. In case we’re stranded here.”
A look of horror came over Starsky’s face as that unforeseen situation dawned on him.
“Hasn’t it ever occurred to you, Starsky?”
“No! I’m still trying to process all this!”
Presently a tune–if you could call it that–burst out from one of the patrons at another computer terminal.
Both detectives jumped at the garish sound and unusual lyrics. They looked at each other as a young kid–barely a teenager–fumbled with something that resembled a slender radio, and pressed something to turn it off.
Opa Gangum? they mouthed to each other, confused.
Being the more curious, Starsky walked over to the teen and asked him how his radio worked.
When the teen looked up blankly, Starsky pointed. “Your radio, kid.”
“You mean my iPod?”
“Eye-what? Kid, I just want to know what kind of music that is.” Starsky’s voice level matched his frustration, trying not to catch the attention of the librarian.
To be safe, Hutch was at his side, pulling him away. “You’re making a scene,” he said, through a clenched smile.
The two men spent several hours at the library. When the librarian notified them that they were only allowed two-and-a-half hours on the computers, they decided to explore the library shelves on their own. Hutch went in search of news magazines and felt more comfortable when he recognized quite a few–Time, National Geographic, Smithsonian, hell, even People was a welcome sight.
Starsky, on the other hand, spent time observing others. Once he went in search of a card catalogue, but couldn’t locate one. He felt too embarrassed to ask a librarian. They already were watching him and Hutch with sideways glances.
By the time they left, it was past 6:00pm.
“I don’t know, Hutch. Social Network, Netflicks, muggle, Reality TV, Cardasheon, 24-7, Starbucks, iPod, metrosexual, Kurig.”
“Where did you learn all those?”
“At the library,” Starsky explained. “Listening to people or reading the computer. All these words mean nothing to me, but apparently are now part of the American lexicon.” Starsky sounded defeated and irritated at the same time.
Hutch raised his eyebrows as he looked at Starsky in astonishment.
“Learned that one on the computer, too.”
Huggy greeted them with hands on hips. “And to where have you two taken your disappearing act all day?” He scolded the two like a fishwife. “If you’d a gone again, who am I to take it to? Not your brothers in blue. ‘Excuse me, I want to file another missing persons report on two of your detectives, missing for 30 years the first time. They just “poof” appeared at my place yesterday and vamoosed again.’ This poor mortal’s heart can’t take that.”
“We’ve sort of been catching up on what happened in the world in the last 30 years, Hug.”
“Space shuttles exploding, kids shooting up schools, O.J. Simpson on trial for murder, road rage, mothers killing their kids, identity theft, and hardest to believe–the mainland being attacked and the World Trade Center Towers destroyed?!” Hutch got more and more distressed as he listed some of the news that he’d read today that they had missed.
“You’re lucky you missed 9/11, seeing planes run into those places, people jumping out of 100 story buildings, the collapse of the towers, a big gash in the Pentagon and the Pennsylvania farmland. But listen: all’s not doom and gloom. There’re digital cameras, the first black U.S. President, the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union, video games, and HDTVs that look more real than life, Starbucks on every corner–okay that might not be completely a good thing…”
“The librarian showed us a little on how to research, but…”
“But nothin’, Hutchinson. This world’s a completely different one than you last saw.”
The detective sighed. “We realize that, Huggy. But where else would be the best place to learn all these things than a library?”
“Why can’t you ask me?!” Huggy slapped his palms on his chest. “Didn’t you always come to me for righteous info?”
“Okay,” Starsky acquiesced. “We can get some information from you, but a library has a lot more resources.”
“What can a library do that a laptop with WiFi cannot? And those, Huggy’s got. Along with these. As promised.” And he handed them each a new driver’s license made out to Ken Hutcheson and D. Michael Starsky.
“Wifi?” asked Starsky, looking at Hutch.
The latter shrugged his shoulders in confusion Why’re you asking me?
“All these strange terms makes me feel like a muggle.”
“A what?” Hutch looked at Starsky as if he had grown another head.
“You know–a non magical person?”
“Of course, I know,” Huggy said. “Huggerino the Magnificent wrote the lesson on magic. But where’d you pick up language like that?”
“I was skimming this book about a boy wizard named Harry. Looked good, might get them for myself. There’s a giant and a magic rock…”
“Are you sure you weren’t reading ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’?” Hutch laughed scornfully.
Starsky just glared at his partner as he mouthed. Those were beans and you know it.
“Uh, back to the matter as it may be,” Huggy said. “Starsky, you go ’round usin’ words like muggle, and you’ll stick out like Miley Cyrus’ tongue. Let me get my laptop, and you can fiddle around to your heart’s content.”
Their friend came back into the living room with a silver case about the size of a pad of lined notebook paper, and not weighing much more.
Hutch was amazed at the size and weight as he held it up and peered at it at eyelevel. “This is a computer? Are you sure this won’t cost anything? Just searching around it?” He looked over at Starsky. “What did that librarian call it, Starsk?”
“Some sport. Riding? No, surfing. It doesn’t cost any money to ‘surf’ on your computer?” Starsky asked.
“Nah. You just pay a monthly fee to get connected, et voila! You are riding the waves of the World Wide Web highway!”
“You might as well be speaking another language here, Hug,” Starsky said.
“Let me show you how it’s done.”
“What about time limits? Does the company you hook into have time limits on your connection to this internet?” Hutch asked curiously.
“It’s open for business twenty-four-seven. Unlike yours truly.”
“Twenty-four-seven? You mean around the clock and open all the time? No wonder you need a coffee shop on every corner.” Starsky shook his head.
“For which I am thankful. Any coffee you make requires a skull and crossbones,” joked Hutch.
“Since I already got coverage down at the club,” Huggy said, “how about I show you ’round the town? We could get some vittles, grab a few brews, maybe find a few ladies that might be interested in the three amigos.”
Hutch opened Huggy’s laptop and was intrigued. “It turns on by itself?” He was awed by this, his expression similar to that of a child unwrapping an unexpected toy on Christmas morning.
“The power turns on, but you have to double click the mouse over the blue ‘e’ to get onto the internet,” Huggy explained.
Hutch looked at the side, held the laptop over his head and looked underneath, and then turned it around to look at the back. “Where’s the mouse?”
“It’s built in. See this piece in the middle of the keyboard?” Huggy pointed to a smooth square nestled beneath the keys in the center of the laptop. “That’s your mouse. It’s controlled by your finger.”
“Welcome. You’ve Got Mail.”
Hutch jumped up and nearly dropped the laptop. “It talks?!”
“And sings and plays movies and television and videos.”
“Does it think?” Starsky asked sarcastically.
“Afraid of being replaced by robots, meathead?” chuckled Hutch, as he ran his hands over the laptop almost sensually.
“Like you ain’t.”
“The way I see it, we have to embrace all this technology. We’re stuck with it for now.” He turned to Huggy. “Why don’t you guys go out? I’m going to stay in and play on this.” He lifted the laptop in reference.
“Okay by me,” Huggy said. “Let me get you the power cord, and you can sit at the dining table and plug it in.”
Starsky was bothered that Hutch wasn’t intimidated by the computers. “You really want to stay in and play around with that thing?”
Hutch snickered at the look on Starsky’s face. “Look at you. You look at this computer as if it were a rabid dog. Staying just so far away from it.”
Huggy and Starsky came back around midnight, after having dinner and driving around, stopping for a beer here and there. They were surprised to see Hutch still sitting at the dining room table, hunched over the laptop with only the dining room light on.
“You’re still on that thing?” Starsky asked, surprised.
The blond raised his head and lifted his hand to rub his neck. “You’re back already?”
“Already?” Huggy said. “Hutchie, it’s past midnight. We’ve been gone four hours.”
“Did you even eat?” Starsky asked, as he walked behind his partner to rub his neck, which seemed to be stiff from bending over the machine for several hours.
“Uh, no.” Hutch looked around for a clock to confirm his friend’s assertion that it had been four hours since they left.
“Do I know you, or what? Good thing I brought you a doggie bag.” Huggy held up a white Styrofoam container with a roast beef sandwich.
Later that night, as they lay in Huggy’s spare bed, Hutch excitedly told Starsky about all he had looked up on Huggy’s laptop. “People take videos of everything and post them online! Their pets, their kids, music. They give lessons on how to do everything from making cordon bleu to fixing a motorcycle engine.
“There’s sites about vintage advertising, music lyrics, television and movies, games you can play on your computer. And there’s online diaries–those are the blogs. Something called ‘forums’ where people get together through this internet to discuss and exchange ideas on all kinds of issues–political, raising kids, entertainment.
“You’d love it, Starsk. You can research archaic information and all the weird things you’re interested in.”
“You’re the weird one.” Starsky rolled onto his side away from Hutch. “Can’t believe you’re behaving like a kid.” He snorted. “My partner, the computer nerd. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”
There was a quiet for several minutes. As Starsky began to relax toward sleep, Hutch broke the silence. “There are sites where you can find single women. And watch pornography,” Hutch finished without missing a beat.
Slowly, Starsky rolled back over. “Porn? On the computer?”
Grinning, Hutch looked over at him. “Yep. In the privacy of your own home. No more going to a smelly, stained, run-down theater. Of course, you gotta pay to watch it,” he acknowledged with a tilt of his blond head.
“Seriously? You actually went searching for pornography?”
“Well, no. I didn’t know it was there, but I was looking at a few of these sites for singles, and some ads just popped up in front of what I was reading, and well…one thing led to another,” Hutch said sheepishly.
“Uh-huh. Tell me another. I know you, remember?”
“Seriously, Starsky? How was I supposed to know all this was out there? And there’s so much more to discover. I could spend days on the computer and not find half the things I want to learn.”
Starsky pulled his arm from under the cover, and put his hand on Hutch’s forehead. “Are you okay? Where’s this coming from?”
Ignoring Starsky’s disquiet, Hutch’s face was lit with exhilaration in the dim light from the window. “Did you know there are over 34,000 species of spiders? And while I was reading about their importance to the Earth, I came across a video called ‘Spiders Hooked on Drugs’. It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. And I read that George Mallory’s body was found in 1999, but they still can’t determine if he made it to the top of Mt. Everest.”
“Who?”
“George Mallory. The famous British explorer who disappeared climbing Mt. Everest in 1924.”
The dark curls shook; Starsky needed to clear his head.
“There are videos from around the world of newborn animals from zoos–koalas in Cleveland, pandas in D.C., dolphins in Chicago, polar bears in Toronto. So many things about the world that can be seen or found with just the flitter of fingers!” He snapped his fingers, remembering more. “Oh, and there’s dances called…something mob. Where people get together and dance elaborate steps to popular show tunes in the middle of public places. I also read about O.J. Simpson, who got acquitted of murdering his ex-wife, but now is in jail for armed robbery and kidnapping. It’s sad to see what he’s become and what he looks like.”
Starsky just stared at his partner, animated in the dark. “O.J. Simpson, an armed robber? Videos of strangers dancing in public places? Spiders on drugs? Hutch, have you lost your damned mind?!”
He saw Hutch’s face fall, and apologized. “I’ve never seen you this worked up about something mechanical. It’s freaking me out that maybe you changed when we went through the time warp, or whatever it was.”
“But there’s so much we missed, so much to do and see and discover. I want to absorb it all.”
“If you don’t shut up about it, you’ll absorb my fist.”
“All right. You don’t have to get violent. I didn’t realize that missing decades makes Starsky a grump. Thought this kind of stuff would be right up your alley.” And Hutch rolled over in the other direction, put out that his partner couldn’t share his enthusiasm.
The next morning, they woke to marvelous smells. Their hunger pangs took them to the kitchen where they found Huggy Bear cooking up maple syrup pancakes with cinnamon butter, honeydew and cantaloupe melon with sour cream and coconut dip, and the aroma of spiced coffee lingering above it all.
Without turning around, their friend knew the former detectives were there. “Since it’s Sunday–and this en-trey-pre-neur closes on God’s day, we should get you two duded up.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Starsky complained, looking down at himself.
“Nothing. But tell me this, Starsky? You got anything else to wear?” When neither answered, Huggy nodded knowingly. “Uh-huh. Styles haven’t changed too much, but those sneakers of yours, Starsky, are passé. And your flairs won’t cut it anymore. Boot cut–that’s the way to go now.”
“But what about money? I’m sure my credit cards are no longer any good.”
“It’ll be like old times–you’ll owe me,” Huggy deadpanned. “So it’s settled then.” He clapped his hands. “The three of us will hit Targé and get you as fine as yours truly.”
Hutch snorted in amusement as he looked at the lanky man’s outlandish outfit of bright red pajama pants with what looked like a cartoon of an angry cardinal, and an orange-trimmed blue satin robe. He made a suggestion. “You know what I like, Starsk. Why don’t you two go shopping? I’ll stay here. I want to work some more on your computer, if that’s okay, Hug.”
With hands on hips, Starsky was adamant. “No, Hutch! You were on that damn thing enough, yesterday! Six hours between the library and here. You barely ate, your neck was sore from bending over, and I’ll bet your eyes hurt from staring at that thing all the time.
“Now, sit down and eat this delicious breakfast Huggy’s prepared for us. Then we–all of us–are going shopping.”
Hutch held up his hands, as if he was a mime in a box, as Huggy walked gingerly back in the kitchen. “Okay, okay….” And he sat down, muttering all sorts of names aimed at his best friend.
“Two-hundred-thirty-five dollars!” Hutch exclaimed. “Just for a couple of pair of pants, a few Henley t-shirts, and other essentials? That’s a crime! Charging people for what we used to be able to get for less than a hundred dollars. And they’re not even all that well made! Look at the stitching?! What about the sizes? I haven’t worn a size thirty-six pant in my entire life; they must be making them smaller. And did you see the prices of food in that place? Since when did retail stores start selling food, and how are they going to convince me to buy from them at those prices?”
Huggy leaned across the front car seat toward his other passenger. “You wanted to bring him.”
“Yeah,” Starsky said, “and I’m beginning to see that maybe he should’ve stayed back at your place. At least playing on the computer keeps him quiet.”
Addressing the complaining blond in the back seat, Huggy yelled, “Hutch, you should know that prices are going to rise in the 30 years you’ve been missing.”
“I know, I know. Brands change, things become obsolete, and taxes get higher…” He turned his head to the right, distracted by something out the side window. “Did that sign say four dollars and seven cents? For gas?! Is there some kind of gas or oil crises? Because if not, that’s criminal!”
To tune Hutch out, Huggy turned on the radio to ’80’s hip-hop and street music. At the sight of his friends grimacing slightly, Huggy started to apologize, but then thought better of it. “This is nothing, guys–grandma’s muzak. You do not want to put an ear to the ground and hear the Gangsta Rap.”
As they turned off Santa Monica toward Christopher Street to Huggy’s place, the street became more colorful and cleaner, the people dressed more fantastically.
Momentarily distracted from Hutch’s complaining, Starsky stared at the flags draped from poles that were brightly colored with rainbow motifs. The air of newness–from the renovated old buildings to the clean streets with a well dressed and well-behaved populace–shown in the delight on most faces. Especially some of the women. In fact, Starsky highly suspected that most of them were men.
“Hey, Hutch? Remember Sugar–the female impersonator?”
“They call them drag queens now,” Huggy said, “though some are transgender.”
“Transgender?” Starsky asked.
“Believes they are in the wrong body,” Huggy explained.
“Like possessed?” Starsky was confused.
The front conversation caught Hutch’s attention and stopped his rant about the cost of everything. “No, a transgender is someone who actually believes they are female, but were born male. And vice versa. The term was really just starting to be used in the late seventies. Most of the time, they dress as the other sex–the one they believe they are. Most states still do not allow for gay marriage, though California does now. And you can’t be fired for being gay anymore. In fact there are gays on the police force now.”
Starsky turned to look behind him with a sour look. “Give the man a cookie. You’re very up on the gay lifestyle,” he added pointedly.
Ignoring his partner, Hutch continued, “West Hollywood wasn’t so bad in the seventies. Lots of artists and musicians lived here. I knew a few; went to some of the clubs as well.”
“I beg to differ. There was still a lot of drugs and crime then. And it wasn’t so bright and clean,” Starsky countered. He turned away, back to Huggy. “Anyway, whatever happened to Sugar? Is he still around, or…”
“No, she passed on in the late eighties–the big C.”
“Is the ‘Green Parrot’ still around?”
“Not per se. It’s been made into loft apartments with a coffee and bake shop, street level.”
“Is anything still the same?”
“Hutch’s place in Venice is still standing. Oh, and the canal house is still there…somewhere.”
That confused them, so they asked Huggy for clarification, and he explained about the re-emergence of the city and the canals, and how million dollar homes now stood along the various canals with lots of lush greenery.
“What little we saw, kind of surprised us. Made me sad to miss out. Venice Place must be worth a fortune by now,” Hutch said gloomily. “Can we go back now?”
Starsky responded with a biting critique. “He just wants to go on your computer some more.”
“So? I happen to find it interesting.” Hutch pouted from the back seat.
Starsky continued to stare out the window–intrigued by all the costumes, the festive decorations, and the friendliness of the people greeting each other. Then a more disturbing thought came. “Did Society regress and force all the homosexual people to live in one area?”
“Like the Beatles, they decided to ‘come together’ and create their own neighborhood,” Huggy explained. “Now, it’s not as big a deal. Heck, even in some states–including California–gays can get legally hitched.”
“No shit?”
“Some of your most influential people are gay, including yours truly.” Huggy stated what was always obvious, but never said aloud.
“We always knew you played both sides, Hug,” Hutch admitted. “That didn’t make you less to us.” The deep brown and light blue eyes met in the rear view mirror.
“I know, and I appreciate that you respected yours truly, even though the whole idea seemed to bother Mr. Straight and Narrow here.” And Huggy turned his right thumb in the direction of his front passenger. “I am one of those glorious beings who loves the sum and the total.
“Starsky, baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Let me bring you down here for Pride next weekend. It will blow your mind.”
“Careful, he doesn’t have much left to blow,” Hutch piped in, jokingly.
“And you’re going to have even less,” Starsky responded, “the more you play with that portable contraption.”
Huggy was confused by Starsky’s aversion of his laptop, or any technology that made life easier, and said so. “You used to dig all sorts of weird minutiae, my friend.”
Starsky grumbled and glowered about so many changes and his fear that he wouldn’t be able to cope or understand “this new world” he was stuck in. Ignoring his car mates, he turned away again, looking out the window.
He liked what he saw visually about this strange new world, but it left him off kilter. And he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to understand the technology behind everything.
Starsky spent the next week wandering around the town, trying to get his footing, pondering how to go about getting a job and what he could do; it was probably out of the question to go back to the force now.
“How do I fit in this world as a thirty-eight-year-old man, when I should be seventy? Seventy! It blows my mind,” Starsky mumbled as he sat next to “his” tree. The one Hutch had paid for back in 1975. It was now large enough to sit beside and gather a bit of shade. “If Hutch can do it, I can,” he resolved.
Hutch had accepted a job just yesterday writing articles on the internet for the Legal Aid Society, and said he had interviews lined up on the phone for next week to do more of the same.
His partner was immersing himself to this time and adapting. Hutch could whip around on the computer, play with the tiny music box they called i-Pod; and play video games on Huggy’s phone and with a box labeled W-I-I, right on Hug’s television.
Starsky wasn’t sure about taking up Huggy’s invitation to go to Pride the following weekend, but he was curious, and anything was better than watching Hutch play on gadgets.
The crowd was colorful–in both dress and behavior. He used to think Huggy dressed off color. That was nothing compared to what he saw at the festival. Women dressed like men and vice-versa, Hawaiian leis, leather riding chaps, and dog collars?! The half-dressed men grinding and jiggling embarrassed him. “Hutch is more attractive than these fake muscle guys.” At first, the blatant kissing and fondling made Starsky uncomfortable, but by the time they had to leave so Huggy could get to work, he could smile when two people could kiss without fear.
Starsky respected and even admired them to an extent, because they didn’t care who was aware of what they did, how they looked, or who thought what of them.
The sights he saw that weekend intrigued Starsky. Everyone was friendly, happy, and having a good time. Yeah, some displays were over-the-top and freaked him out a bit, like the older women that looked like they could be his mother’s age–or the age he remembered her last–throwing out condoms to the crowd.
He told Huggy that it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, and that he enjoyed himself so much that he wanted to come back the next day.
The sarcasm Huggy threw back wasn’t expected. “Gee, thanks for your support.”
“You got me wrong. I mean, if everyone could enjoy life like that, crime would be low.”
“Starsky, the gay community has crime, just like everyone else. My brothers and sisters from around the world are just that. Gay, straight, Muslim, Judea, Atheist, Kenyan, or New Yorker. No one group is more or less subjected to crime. Yeah, there are bad places where crime is high. Gays kill gays, steal from each other, and cheat on each other. Straights can get killed in Japan or New York. And politicians get murdered in Dallas or Ghana. We all just want to get married like everyone else, too.”
“I thought you said gay marriage was legal in California?”
“Not if Prop 8 comes back.” Huggy’s wizened face was set in grim lines.
“Prop 8?”
Huggy went on to explain the twists and turns of the gay marriage fight in California.
The remainder of the drive home was spent in silence as Starsky was lost in thought about how the world was, and how all that he remembered had changed.
After Huggy dropped Starsky off at the apartment, he found Hutch flipping through the channels of Huggy’s fifty-inch wall-unit television
That a television was thin enough and light enough to be mounted on a wall and used no picture tubes, awed Starsky. He was less afraid of learning to use that than he was of other things–like music players, digital phones, and computers.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked his partner from behind the couch.
“Did you know there are TV channels dedicated solely to animals, and to movies, health, nature, old TV shows, and even different kinds of music?”
“Yeah? They got one for homosexuals?” Starsky asked, not without a little sarcasm.
“Actually, they do. I saw a commercial, but I don’t remember the channel. Huggy would probably know.” Hutch paused, briefly. “Why? You want to watch it?”
“Might be interesting to see what it’s about. Seems like there’s a lot of changes. More than just electronics and prices. More people are accepted for who they are and differences in nationality and religion seem to be accepted and embraced. I actually had a good time, you know. Surprised the hell outta me.”
Hutch sat open mouthed, just staring at Starsky. “Did you undergo some kind of brain transplant?” At Starsky’s look of disdain, Hutch explained. “Homosexuality used to make you uncomfortable. Discussing it, faced with it.”
Starsky was affronted. “I always treated gays with respect.”
“No one said differently, buddy. And you always did your job. But you can’t tell me that being confronted with John Blaine’s secret life didn’t bother you. I also remember you being troubled by people like Peter Whitelaw and Harvey Milk. And I remember how angry you were when you read an article that suggested Eleanor Roosevelt might’ve had a lesbian relationship.”
“Yeah, well tarnishing a great lady’s name like that…” And Starsky trailed off, realizing how he sounded. “Okay, I did feel that way then. But I don’t now,” he insisted.
“Why?” Hutch persisted.
Starsky shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s Huggy. We always knew he swung.”
“But we never talked about it.”
“No, but he never changed. Even now, years later, he’s still the same Huggy Bear. But today everyone pretty much behaved and had a good time. Sure, some things were embarrassing. But most of ’em were just regular people, having a good time and celebrating their openness.”
“Okay, I’ll give that you can change perspective on that. But what about the other?”
Starsky had a look of confusion. “Other?”
Hutch clarified. “Back before, you were crazy about technology and were constantly spending your paycheck on the next craze.”
“Says Mr. Seaweed and Biorhythms. Besides, it’s not the same.” Starsky scowled.
Hutch just raised his eyebrows.
With a sigh, Starsky explained what he meant. “We knew ahead of time about new products coming. And everything went from A to B to C. Not A to Z with maybe a stop at J in between. It’s like going from a horse drawn carriage to a Ford Mustang with no Model A first.”
“Or cave drawings to Gutenberg’s Press. I get it. I do. But you have to learn some time, buddy. There’s no other way to live in these modern times without learning the existing technology.”
Starsky narrowed his eyes in displeasure. “Who says we’re staying here? You better not have any big ideas,” he snarled.
“Starsky, we don’t even know if we can get back to 1981. Besides, I don’t think it’s so bad here. You’ve got to be open to new things.”
The despondent man walked around the couch and sat down heavily. “I know, Hutch. It’s just hard. Who are we now? We can’t be Dave Starsky and Ken Hutchinson if we stay here.”
Hutch reached out to touch Starsky’s arm. “Yes, we can. To each other. And Huggy knows who we are, in truth.”
“But no one else will. What about my brother? Your family? They can never know. We can never see them again if we stay here.”
Hutch’s eyes were sad. “As far as everyone knows, we’ve been dead for thirty-two years. Don’t you think coming back into their lives now–as we appeared at age thirty-eight–would hurt them and cause confusion? Our friends and family have probably had some measure of healing by now.”
Starsky winced at the words, “we’ve been dead.”
His partner also reminded Starsky that if they just showed up as themselves without aging in thirty years, they’d be subjected to government scrutiny, people who believed in alien abductions, cults, and who-knew-what other kinds of groups. “I wish I could reassure you somehow.”
“But you can’t.” Then, with a change in character that could be jarring if the accompanying grin weren’t so infectious, Starsky slapped his hands on his upper legs, and stood. “You know what? While I’m here I can at least put my military and police expertise to good work as a volunteer. Maybe with the veterans. I’d even volunteer as a school guard if it gives me something to do.”
“And volunteering is a great way to make connections in finding a paying job. Not to mention building up some job references.”
Starsky felt better–a little. “Hey, maybe when we get back, we can take all we learned, invent stuff first and retire in style.” Seeing Hutch open his mouth, he allowed, “If we can get back.”
After Starsky went to take a shower, Hutch sighed and shook his head. Starsky would never give up the dream that they could get back to 1981.
Over the next weeks, both men settled in more comfortably.
Hutch found himself first as a volunteer for the Legal Aid Society at the neighborhood social center, then, as of August first as a part-time counselor, which, along with his blog work, brought in a fair wage, though not enough to find an apartment of their own yet.
Starsky began volunteering for the VFW, eventually helping out at parades and funerals.
It still bothered him that he wasn’t helping out financially. He also worried that he and Hutch were impinging on Huggy’s love life by being there all the time, but Huggy assured them that he could make do as needs be.
In mid-August Starsky was asked if he could help out with security in two days at the funeral of an Army private killed in the Middle East, working alongside the Hell’s Angels.
“Who do we need to keep out? I mean, who does the gang normally keep an eye out for?” Starsky asked.
The coordinator for family services looked a little oddly at Starsky, as he mentioned the Westboro Baptist Church.
“Oh, yeah, them.” In reality, Starsky was confused why a church group were the bad guys and a motorcycle gang the good ones.
Over dinner, Starsky mentioned the screwed-up situation to his best friend. “What does it say about this world that the Hell’s Angels are the ones keeping the bad guys out? But you’re so gung-ho on staying here.”
“If I had my way, don’t you think I would want to go back?”
Starsky let his silence speak for him.
“I might, but I just don’t think it’s possible,” Hutch clarified. “For me, it comes down to why dwell on it. Let’s deal with what’s been thrown at us one day at a time.”
“Well, I guess I’m not as accepting as you are, Mr. Open Mind,” Starsky said sarcastically, then tossed a crumpled pop can into a nearby small garbage can.
“Hey!” Hutch objected. “That’s a can.”
“Yeah, so?”
“That’s recyclable. It goes in the green bin beneath Huggy’s sink.”
“It’s just a pop can.”
“Starsky, do you have any idea the problem with conservation? If everyone in California threw only one can in the regular trash, there would be thirty-five million cans in landfills. They’re already filling up with items that can’t be reused or recycled. Do you know how long it takes a cigarette butt to breakdown?” He didn’t wait for Starsky, but answered his own question. “Five years, that’s how long. An aluminum can takes two hundred years.”
There was cynicism on Starsky’s face and in his voice. “Where did you get those facts?” Then held up a hand to prevent Hutch from answering. “No wait, on the computer, right? Hutch, there haven’t been aluminum cans for two hundred years; so how would anyone know that? They’re just making stuff up and putting it on the computer. And neither of us smoke, so what do you care how long it takes a cigarette butt to decompose?”
“Don’t be so particular; that’s not the point I was trying to make.” Hutch brushed aside Starsky’s argument like a cobweb in front of his face. “The point is there are certain items that should be recycled to lessen the problem in the landfills, and that we should all care about what goes into the Earth.”
“If we were back in 1981, we wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“And therein lies the problem,” Hutch pointed out, before turning back to the TV.
Grumbling about his formerly sloppy and lazy partner–who never before cared where he threw something out–Like my car–Starsky walked over to the small garbage can and took out the pop can, discarding it in its proper receptacle, mimicking his partner.
“You have to adapt, Starsky.”
“There’s so much to learn, Starsky.”
“Computers are our friends, Starsky.”
The blond leaned over the back of the couch. “I never said that!”
“Yeah, well apparently that’s how you feel, the way you treat them. Maybe you can ask the Supreme Court to let you marry a computer.”
“So, you have been paying attention when I talk about today’s news.” Hutch’s voice had a smirk in tone.
His partner walked up and smacked Hutch lightly on the back of his head. “Ya dummy. I went to the Pride parade and celebration in West Hollywood. Or did you forget already?”
When Hutch tried to apologize awkwardly, saying he had forgotten, Starsky pounced. “Understandable. After all, you should be seventy. The brain remembers even if the memory doesn’t. That must be why you need to sit in front of a box all day–losing your virility in your old age.”
To prove that he was just as quick as his smaller partner, Hutch used his upper body to launch himself over the couch; tackling his partner to the floor as Starsky tried to scoot away.
Hutch quickly put Starsky in a front headlock wrestling move. But to both men’s surprise, Starsky lifted his head up and planted a lingering kiss on Hutch’s lips before dropping back to the floor.
The two men stared at each other for several minutes, awed and confused at the feelings reflected on the others’ face, before Hutch lowered his head to Starsky’s and repeated the kiss.
Though astonished that Hutch kissed him back, Starsky opened his mouth wide and drew his best friend in. He aggressively pushed back, tipping Hutch so that now they were on their sides, behind the couch.
When they separated for air, both began chuckling, and Hutch tucked his head into Starsky’s shoulder. “Weird.”
“How’s it weird?” Starsky asked. “Because we’re men?”
“No. That it just came up now. With all we’ve been through together and all the times this could’ve, should’ve come up.”
“I think it was there all along, Hutch. These feelings. But now we don’t have to worry about the consequences–like being kicked off the Force or getting assaulted, and that’s why it’s okay for them to come out. Like you said–things are different now. It’s okay to love each other. Even Huggy finally…”
“Even Huggy finally, what? And what are you two doing on the floor imitatin’ a bacon-wrapped calamari?” Huggy’s voice floated from above them.
Startled, the two friends scrambled to get on their feet. Hutch was caught between Starsky and the couch, but also had a hold on the front of Starsky’s shirt.
“Hutch, let go!” Starsky said behind gritted teeth.
Blushing, Hutch released his fistful of cotton. He didn’t realize that he had grabbed onto Starsky’s shirt.
The two hurriedly stood up and ran hands through hair and over clothes, to make themselves somewhat presentable.
Huggy stood before them with a knowing look on his face. “Should I have the spare room professionally cleaned of your DNA?”
Both men blushed.
“Uh, listen, Hug. This just happened. Nothin’ else. We didn’t get far enough.” Starsky rambled on, continuing, “Not for want of trying. At least for me. I didn’t know if Hutch would want it. Sex, I mean.”
“Starsky, it makes no never mind to me if you want to experience lovin’ a man in all his glory–and by the looks of it, Hutch is glorious.” He nodded toward Hutch who had a very visible bulge in his pants. “Don’t let me stand in your way. But beware that goin’ down that path isn’t easy–even today.”
“Maybe we should talk to you first,” Starsky said. “About what it’s like. How do you know who’s on top? Doesn’t it feel submissive and degrading to give a bj? Does it make you less a man? What do tell people? Do you even say anything?” Starsky kept peppering Huggy with questions, all the while his partner’s blush was getting deeper and deeper in the pink spectrum.
“Look, Curly,” Huggy said, “just go with the flow and let it happen naturally. I could tell you all about making love to a man, but you’ve got to experience it yourself. As a suggestion, might you try ‘The Joy of Gay Sex’ if you really think you might need some help in the bedroom.”
“What about all the porn that Hutch keeps seeing on the computer?”
With that, Hutch tried a stuttering explanation, but neither men were paying attention to him.
“You might want to stay away from those for now. You might just shock your heart into age seventy-two. Might be a bit much to see it all up front in vibrant color, with ninety-six dpi.”
“DPI? Should I ask?” Hutch queried, finally able to get his voice, if not lose his color.
“Dots per inch,” Huggy explained.
Hutch didn’t even want to know how the term was coined, especially in this instance.
“Huggy,” Starsky said, “the last few months, I’ve seen men that were so outrageously dressed that it makes Sugar’s Marilyn Monroe more Laura Ingalls Wilder. I’ve seen men in nothing but leather chaps and leather undershorts; in chockfull of color that makes you look tame; in tuxedos with tennis shoes, hell even in dog collars! I’ve heard about bondage, BDSM, cock rings, nipple piercings, Prince Alberts, master/slave games, auto fellatio, auto erotic asphyxiation, and all sorts of ‘autos’, golden showers, and other weird practices. I don’t think you can shock me anymore.”
“Apparently, your partner still can be.”
Starsky turned to look at Hutch, whose face kept getting redder and redder with all the descriptive words the other two men were using.
“Can I talk to you in private?” Hutch asked, intentionally lowering his voice.
“Anything you need to say can be said in front of Huggy,” Starsky told him.
Hutch’s eyes glared a burning hole in Starsky’s psyche. “I’m not used to discussing my personal life in front of others.”
“I’m just gonna head to my room and change into something more comfortable. I’ll let you head off to yours,” and Huggy waved his hand, “to do yours.”
As Hutch and Starsky walked to their bedroom, Huggy overhead the former ask, “What does Princess Grace’s son have to do with it? Is he gay?”
Huggy, overhearing, shook his head. “You really are countrified, Blondie.”
Behind the closed door of their bedroom in Huggy’s apartment, Hutch faced his partner. “Okay, where is the David Starsky I’ve known for the past ten-plus years?”
“Don’t you mean forty-plus?” Starsky’s eyes twinkled with mirth and excitement.
“You’re exasperating, you know that, Starsk?”
“That’s why you love me. I keep you guessing.” He grinned widely.
Hutch ran a rand through his hair. “I think I’ve loved you always; but there’s been so much change in our lives in the past three months. Should we even embark on this change? Is this the answer?”
Starsky came up to his best friend and smooth his hands down Hutch’s arms. “You’re my balance, Hutch. I feel more comfortable knowing we could have a future together–an open future–here in 2013. If we have to stay, let’s go whole hog.”
With those words, Hutch’s eyes softened and he smiled gently at his would-be lover. “What you do to me,” he said, and he shook his head.
“Is it okay, Hutch? It’s gotta be something we both want, and Huggy’s got a point. Even now, it won’t be easy for us. And if we get back to 1981? Well, it’ll be that much harder.”
“I want to love you, Starsk, but…”
Trying to combat the end of that sentence, Starsky broke in. “That’s all we need to at least give it a shot. I love the way you feel next to me. I love your beautiful face and sparkling eyes when you look at me. I’ve always liked touching you, and now I want to touch you in ways that’ll make you feel like you’re at the top of the Empire State building.”
Hutch dropped his head in embarrassment and shyness. “You always know how to get to me.” He raised his face to look into Starsky’s. “But I was going to ask if we can wait until we get our own place? I don’t want to take advantage of Huggy’s generosity.”
With fingers running down Hutch’s face, Starsky agreed. “It’s kinda like having sex in your parents’ house, huh?”
Chuckling, Hutch nodded.
“Okay, we wait until we get our own place.” Then Starsky pulled down the bed covers. “There’s nothing wrong with a little necking in the meantime.”
They leaned in close and kissed lightly.
“Your lips taste like honey. I could probably get off just lying here kissing you and nothin’ else,” Starsky remarked as they drew back.
“Yours taste like bacon.”
Starsky grinned wickedly. “Maybe I should see if they make a cock ring from bacon. You know what they say? Everything tastes better with bacon.”
Six Months Later, February, 2014
Starsky and Hutch had settled down in the last few months–literally. By early fall, they’d moved into their own bungalow in Glendale.
Starsky still harbored a desire to return to 1981. For now, he couldn’t see a way to get back to their own time–as he called it–especially since he didn’t know how they’d arrived in 2013 in the first place.
He continued to volunteer with LGBT and veterans groups, which led to a studio vice president recommending him for a job as a research assistant to several television shows. While Hutch continued his studies in social work, he also began campaigning for environmental issues.
Having a job helped Starsky calm down, but once he did, his burgeoning amorous desires kept Hutch on his toes. They never broke their promise not to make love at Huggy’s, but eventually gave in to their cravings once a week at a local Days Inn.
Starsky also began taking a digital media course, hoping to someday save enough for an expensive digital camera, like the Nikon D7100.
The other big expense he’d been saving for, along with Hutch….
“Okay, that’s the last of the stuff!” Hutch slipped an open box in the backseat of his latest car–a sand-colored 2005 Toyota Prius. He didn’t hear anything, so he turned his head and looked behind him–where his lover should be carrying their pets.
“Starsky!” The blond yelled to the open front door of the framed bungalow. “We need to get moving!”
The two men had plans for a cruise up the coast of California, Oregon, and Washington. It was the first opportunity they had to take some vacation time since settling in their rented home.
“Starsky, we’re gonna miss the boat! It takes off at five o’clock!” Hutch continued to yell. “Without us, unless he makes ever makes it out here!” he grumbled after lowering his voice.
Finally, his partner made an appearance, locking the door behind him. “Hutch, do you have to yell? You’re hurting the kittens’ ears. Not to mention mine.” Starsky was carrying their pet kittens in a gray animal crate. “Did Daddy Hutch’s loud voice bother you? He doesn’t realize how his voice sounds to your tiny ears,” Starsky sing-songed in a softer register.
“Do you have to speak to them like babies?” There was disbelief on the blond’s face.
“They are babies, aren’t you? Yes, you are. You’re just a few months away from your mommy.”
“I can’t believe I let you get away with giving them such cutesy names. But the constant baby talk is just too much. They’re cats.”
“What’s wrong with the names we gave them?”
“It was your idea. Do you honestly think names like ‘Pickles’ and ‘Onions’ sounds like something I’d come up with?”
“You’re right. You’d have given them some esoteric names. And just so you know, I saw you letting them eat on the couch last week.”
Hutch winced in embarrassment. “Okay, I guess we both spoil them. But that doesn’t change the fact that we need to drop them off with Jessie first, and it’s already–” He grabbed his lover’s wrist that wasn’t carrying the cat crate, and turned it to look at the fancy new Movado watch. “–Two-thirty,” he finished.
“Okay, but this is the first time we’ve left them with a sitter. I want to make sure they’re comfortable.”
“Which is why we need to get a move on.” Hutch moved to the driver’s side, settling in behind the wheel.
They drove a few blocks to their friend’s home, where their friend was waiting outside for them. She immediately took the kittens out of their crate to cuddle them. Hutch walked the box holding their belongings and set it down in front of her.
As they got back in their car, after spending a few minutes so each could say good-bye to their pets, Hutch grabbed Starsky’s wrist again to look at his watch, but this time gave it a kiss. He set his lover’s wrist back down, but left his palm on Starsky’s forearm, needing the connection, no matter how light. “I still can’t believe you paid $800 for a watch.”
“Hey, this is a great watch! Titanium, so even you can’t break it. And I wanted to get something nice for myself with my first big paycheck. Besides, look who’s talking. If Bill Gates and Rev. Sally Bingham* had a baby, you’d be it.”
“I take that as a compliment.” Hutch leaned in for a light kiss and they both had big grins on their faces, as Pickles and Onions watched their daddies drive off.
The End
*Environmentalist and Episcopal priest, who is the founder of Interfaith Power & Light Campaign–an organization that focuses on environmental and spiritual issues being interconnected.
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