Futile Dreams, Foolish Hopes

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Starsky discusses Hutch with a friend.

 

This story was first published in the zine, “Turned to Fire,” produced by Idiots Triplets Press, in 1994. It’s a sequel to the story, Foolish Dreams, Futile Hopes.

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“So I made a decision.”

“You did? Tell me about it.”

Starsky shoves his chair closer to the table. “What is this?”

“Yogurt,” she says. “Go ahead, try it.”

Starsky pushes his spoon around in the frozen dessert.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she pushes the cup toward him. “Not all yogurt is white, tasteless glop. Try it! It’s mocha and cinnamon.”

Starsky takes the tiniest portion on his spoon and brings it to the tip of his tongue. He makes a face, then looks confused. He takes a bigger portion and spoons it into his mouth. “Hey, you’re right! This is okay!” He smiles

She shakes her head, bemused. “For someone who is a master at combining the most disgusting taste sensations this side of peanut butter and mayonnaise, I’d think you’d be a little more open to something this simple.”

Starsky works steadily on his yogurt. “”Hutch only ever had that gross white stuff. I guess it was okay once it was inside something and you couldn’t taste it.” His expression sobers. “Something’s wrong. I’ve got to ask him what’s wrong.”

“That’s what you’ve decided?”

He shrugs. “Remember that party last weekend?

“Yeah. You guys hadn’t had a party in ages. You used to have them all the time.”

Starsky nods. “I thought maybe it would help. We’ve both been so stressed lately. This case, that case, this person, that person–” He stabs at his yogurt. “I thought it might help to get out around people again.”

“He just sat in that chair the whole party and didn’t say anything. I thought there was something wrong with him or something.” She stirs her dessert.

”Yeah. It was weird. He sort of sat there all folded up in himself. He didn’t even have anything to eat or drink. He just sat there for hours.” Starsky looks out the front store window. “I tried to call him after he left, but he didn’t answer. I caught him the next day at work and asked him what’s wrong. He didn’t say anything, so I asked him if he wanted to talk about it.”

“And he said no.”

“And he said yes.” Starsky focuses on a BMW out in the parking lot.

She looks surprised. “He said yes?”

“Yeah.” Starsky rubs his eyes. “So we’ve got a date for brunch at the Cheesecake Factory this Sunday.”

“What are you going to ask him?”

Starsky looks back at his yogurt. He begins to stir it. “He likes me, doesn’t he?”

She frowns. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He continues to slowly stir his yogurt.

She laughs. “I am not walking into this one. You’re going to have to tell me what you mean.”

“I mean–” he pauses, “–I mean . . . I think he likes me.”

She shakes her head. “I think we just regressed back to high school. Has Hutch been hanging around your locker? Has he been passing you notes? Is he staring at you during English class?”

Starsky shifts uncomfortably. “I thought you’d understand.”

“Hey, look.” She raises her hands. “Just because I’m a gay woman doesn’t mean I understand gay men.”

He glares at her. “I’m not asking you to explain a gay man to me.”

“Thanks for your tolerance,” she says tightly.

“I don’t mean–” he lowers his face. “I’m not–I don’t . . . let’s not get into labels.”

“No,” she says. “It’s too hard to get into labels.”

He lets his spoon rest in his cup and puts his hands in his lap. He doesn’t speak.

She sighs, and places her hands in her lap. “Why shouldn’t he like you? You’re friends. You do everything together. You work together. You practically live together.” She hesitates. “You almost die together.”

Starsky stares at his hands.

“But what you really mean is that you think Hutch loves you.”

Starsky looks out the window again.

“And what you really mean by that is, you think Hutch is in love with you.”

Starsky looks around the store.

She continues. “I’ve got a question I’m going to come back to later. But for right now, here’s my take on the whole thing. If I found someone that I could laugh with and work with, that I could be quiet with and have fun with, that I could talk to and be myself with, then I’d probably fall in love, too. So it doesn’t seem so odd to me that Hutch would fall in love with you.”

Starsky looks at her. “I don’t know what I did–”

She is exasperated. “David! You spend all your time with him! You run to him every time he calls! You don’t run from him when he shows you the worst part of his self. What do you expect?”

He speaks quietly. “I didn’t mean to give him the wrong idea.”

“You are the most–” she laughs. “Doesn’t he do the same things for you?”

Starsky shrugs. “Well, sure. He’s my best friend.” He picks up his spoon. “I wouldn’t know what to do without him.”

“So you don’t want to lose him, right?”

“No.”

“And you want to stay friends with him, right?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Huh?” Starsky looks up at her.

“How long do you want the friendship to last?”

“Well I don’t– I mean, you don’t put time limits on friendship. You don’t make a friend and say to yourself it’s only for a certain length of time.”

She smiles. “So basically you’re saying you want to stay friends forever.”

‘Yeah. Of course.” Starsky lays down his spoon.

“And you think he wants the same thing?”

Starsky nods, slowly. He looks puzzled.

“A lifetime commitment.”

Starsky’s brow furrows. “Look. I don’t–”

“Just hang with me here.” She licks her spoon. “You’re best friends. You want to stay best friends. You want to be together. Forever.”

Starsky looks away.

“That, to me, is love.” She takes another bite of yogurt. “Good, old fashioned, romantic love.”

“I think something’s missing there.” Starsky digs into his yogurt.

“I don’t,” she says around a mouthful of vanilla.

Starsky looks at her sharply.

“I don’t,” she repeats, shrugging. “I think it is there. I see it all the time.”

Starsky stabs his spoon into his mocha and folds his arms across his chest. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She stabs her spoon into her vanilla. “Let’s face it, you guys are all over each other. You can’t keep your hands off each other. You’re always touching, fixing, poking, comforting–”

“That’s not that,” he sputters.

“There’s nothing wrong with that!” she says. Starsky avoids her gaze and looks around the room. “It’s okay! It’s natural!” she tries to regain his attention.

Starsky leans forward. “You want to keep your voice down?”

She laughs, loudly. “No one cares! It’s a gay yogurt shop!”

Starsky looks around again, suspiciously.

“You are such a naive ass!” she accuses. “Grow up! Look at life! Be open!” She’s almost pleading. “Enjoy what you want to enjoy. Let yourself be loved.”

Starsky refuses to look at her. He is frowning at his yogurt.

“Okay. Here’s the question I was going to come back to later. Why are we talking about two men who might be in love with each other if they’re not attracted to each other? And I mean sexually.”

Starsky rubs his forehead.

“Let’s start with the easy part. What if Hutch is really in love with you? Sexually and all?”

Starsky closes his eyes.

“Is it that awful? Is it that terrible? Is it terrible because that means Hutch is gay? Or is it terrible because that means someone loves you and that scares the beejeezus out of you?”

Starsky shakes his head.

She continues blithely on. “Or maybe it’s terrible because it means you have to face similar feelings, which means you’re gay, which is even more terrible–”

Starsky rises to leave.

“Oh, sit down.” She pulls him back to his seat. “Just forget the gay stuff. Gay isn’t gay. Gay is whatever you call it. Be whatever you want to be. Be straight. Be bi. Be diagonal. But make a decision.” She stares at him. “Look at me. Look.”

He hesitates, then looks at her. “Decide. Do you want Hutch, or not?”

He swallows, hard.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question. Right out of your heart. Straight from your gut. Yes or no. Answer now.”

“Yes,” he whispers. He doesn’t blink.

“Now how do you want him?”

Starsky looks away.

“Come on. Set the terms.” She grasps his arm. “Decide what you need, and how you need him. And then tell him.”

His eyes cloud in pain.

“It’s only fair to him that you decide how you’re going to be friends. When you have this meeting with him, don’t lead him on. Make it clear. You love him as a friend, but not as a lover. Or you love him as a lover, and as a friend. And then be prepared for the consequences.”

Starsky raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Consequences. Maybe he won’t want to be `just friends’. Or maybe you’ve totally misinterpreted him and all he wants is to be just friends.” She squeezes his arm. “In which case if you want more, then you’ve got another decision to make.”

Starsky pulls away from her grasp.

“I think–” she says gently, “–you really only have one decision to make. And it’s not about being gay, it’s not about having sex, and it’s not about how Hutch feels.” She touches his cheek. “It’s whether or not you’re going to accept being loved by somebody. All the way, unconditionally, right down to your flawed little soul. Deal with that, and then you’ve got nothing left to deal with.”

“You are so full of shit,” he slides sideways in his seat.

“And you are so full of shit for choosing me to talk to about this. I’m not just a sexual orientation, you know. And I resent being treated like one.”

Starsky lowers his face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” she sighs. “You’re just scared and confused and frightened. And you think answers come in black or white, right or wrong.” She picks up a spoonful of melting yogurt and lets it slide back into the cup. “Look. I’m going to give you a dumb piece of advice. But it’s the best advice I know. If you’re lucky enough to find someone to love who loves you back, stick with it, whether it’s a he or a sheep or a battery-driven device.” She gives a quick laugh.

Starsky finally looks at her. “He’s not even Jewish.”

She rolls her eyes. “So he’ll convert. You know what?” she slaps her hands on the table. “Let’s do this again next week. After your brunch date. I want to know what happens.”

Starsky nods. “Yeah. Okay.” He rises.

“See you next week.”

Starsky walks toward the door. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“‘Bye.”