I’m Cupid, He’s Psyche

210

Huggy takes matters into his own hands to help his two friends.

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Huggy was trying to pay attention, he really was. But he was beginning to think he’d gotten himself into more than he was really ready for. Hutch didn’t seem to notice, and continued with his non-stop instructions. 

“This bleeding heart is Esmerelda. Starsky brought her to me in the hospital after that car in the canyon incident. He said he liked it because the flowers were red.” Hutch stopped and stared at the petals with a glazed look in his eyes.

Huggy rolled his eyes and prompted him. “And?”

Hutch jolted as if he’d just remembered Huggy was there. “And, what?”

“What special care does Esmeralda need, man? Even though we both know I’m just comin’ every other day and spraying water on everything.”

Hutch was confounded. “Huggy! Haven’t you been paying attention? Have you even taken a single note?”

Before Hutch could go on, his front door banged open and Starsky came barreling in. “Hutch? Hutch! Come on, let’s go! We’re late! Hutch? Where are you?”

Huggy called from the green house. “Me and Mr. Greenjeans are out here, Starsky. Come save me! Quick!”

Starsky came into the greenhouse chuckling. “Hey, Hug. What are you doing here?”

Hutch had nearly dropped Esmerelda at Starsky’s entrance, but Huggy was quick to catch what was clearly a prized possession. Hutch snatched the plant back from Huggy, and after carefully placing her back on the shelf, turned to his boisterous friend.

“Oh my God, Starsky, don’t you ever listen? I told you twice yesterday that Huggy was going to take care of my plants while we’re gone.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! And I told you again this morning when I explained we couldn’t leave before eleven since Huggy was coming at ten.”

“Yeah? Well, at the mere mention of plants I probably tuned you out,” Starsky said while rolling his eyes. He then turned to Huggy. “Jeez, Hug, you been here that long listening to him go on about his babies? Oh look, Ezzie! How’s my girl doing?” Starsky had spied Esmerelda on the shelf and reached for the plant with the droopy, red heart-shaped flowers. Hutch was faster and batted Starsky’s hands away from the shelf.

“Don’t you dare touch Ezz . . . Esmerelda! Last time you touched anything out here it died within a week.”

“No, it didn’t,” Starsky replied petulantly.

“Yes, it did,” Hutch answered just as childishly.

Huggy couldn’t take it any more, and made a move towards the kitchen. “You two sound like an old married couple. Over here, talkin’ about your ‘babies.’ Next thing you know you’ll be finishing each other’s sentences.”

The partners followed, but had to stop when they both tried to go through the doorway at the same time. 

Starsky oofed as he tried to squeeze through. “We do not. . . .”

Hutch turned his body sideways and got through first. “. . . Finish each other’s sentences. Will you get off of me!”

Starsky rolled his eyes again and mimicked his partner, “Will you get off of me!”

Huggy tried to hide his smile. “Uh-huh. Where you two cats goin’ anyway?”

Hutch went through to grab his bag off the bed and Starsky opened the fridge. “You got anything to eat? I’m starving. We’re going up to Big Bear for a few days, Hug. Nanook of the North needs his annual romp in the snow or he gets cranky.”

“I can hear you. And I don’t get cranky!” Hutch shouted from the alcove.

Starsky rolled his eyes yet again, shrugged his shoulders at Huggy and gave him a face that said, “See what I mean,” then handed him a root beer. 

Huggy grabbed the bottle and leaned back on the counter. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re going. You hate snow. And cold.”

Starsky closed the fridge and popped the cap off his own drink. “I may hate snow but I love snow bunnies,” he said with a huge grin. “Plus, Hutch said there’s a great new disco. I can dance to my heart’s content with all the lovelies.”

“And the blondies,” Huggy said under his breath.

Hutch came back into the kitchen carrying his bag. “What’s that, Hug? Starsky, grab the skis and let’s go.”

“Where are my skis?”

“They’re in the ski bag by the door with mine, Gordo. Now come on.”

Huggy shoved off the counter. “Starsky, when did you get skis? Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Starsky bent down to grab all the equipment. “Hutch gave them to me for Christmas last year. He didn’t want to be lonely on the slopes.” 

“I can still hear you!” Hutch shouted from the stairway. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave, Huggy. And stop by EVERY day, not every other day.”

Starsky gave Huggy one last eye roll and a wink before heading out the door. “Remember, Huggy. Every day. Not every other day. He’ll know. Ezzie will tell him.” Then he followed Hutch down the stairs with the long bag.

Huggy walked to the doorway and leaned his head out. “Bought you skis for Christmas, did he? You two love birds have fun!” 

Without looking back, Starsky raised his arm over his head and shot him the bird, and just before the door closed, Huggy could make out Hutch once again shouting from the street, “I heard that!”

Huggy plopped down on the couch to finish his root beer and ponder his moronic friends. He wondered, not for the first time, why they couldn’t see what everyone else could? He’d spent years watching them date everything in a skirt, and pick up the pieces of each other’s love lives when it went south, as it always did. He’d hinted every way he could think of to both of them that maybe they were looking for love in all the wrong places.

He was so tired of watching this unconsummated dance of love between his two nutball friends. As he took the last swallow of the root beer, his eyes peered down the end of the bottle landing on the statue on Hutch’s coffee table.

What is that ugly ass thing, anyway? I think Hutch was a hippie in a past life. He’s got all kindsa crazy shit in this place. As he moved the bottle away from his face, he became mesmerized by the cherubs. After a few minutes, he realized the answer was literally staring him in the face. It had come to him so clearly and so quickly he wondered why he’d never thought of it before. 

Without wasting another second, Huggy grabbed Hutch’s Cupid and Psyche statue off the coffee table, tucked it carefully under his arm, and left the apartment. Halfway down the steps, he had to turn around to go back and lock the door. Then he was off to put his plan into action before the two numbnuts got back home.

 

 

Uncle Codell was letting Huggy borrow his worse-for-wear 1961 Cadillac Coup Deville that was overall the color of Bondo putty. Why? That would be because the entire body of the Caddie was currently made of Bondo. And though it was a fugly car–even uglier than Hutch’s–it nevertheless made Huggy’s life a lot easier because Redondo Boulevard was way out on the Westside of Bay City and Hutch’s statue was as heavy as the guilt Huggy felt at stealing his friend’s stonework whatnot. 

Well, not exactly stealing, Huggy reapprised. Just borrowing for a couple of days. Afterall, I am taking it back before the guys get home from their ski trip. 

He spied a parking space that would fit his land-yacht just down the block from the Wi Jammin’ Caribbean Market, a busy store that attracted both Afro-Americans and island expats, a broad segment of the Hispanic community, and the more enlightened white folks in the area. But he wasn’t here today to get a batch of banana fritters. He was here to visit his Great-Great-Great-Aunt Jamila Sakina Zola Brown (whom all the family just called Auntie Jamila, for short), whose apartment was directly above the market.

Cutting through the alley, Huggy climbed the rickrack back stairs that led up to his Auntie’s two-bedroom place. He reached the top landing, just a bit out of breath because, once again, the heavy-ass statue in his hands. Then he knocked loudly on the peeling, bright teal door decorated with a wreath made of driftwood, chicken feathers, shells, and brightly colored red and black jumbie seeds, which Huggy knew to be insanely poisonous. But he wasn’t worried: His Auntie was a good Myal-woman–a trained magical healer from a long line of healers–one who wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’d shellacked the powerful warding seeds to keep birds, children, and people safe. But Lord protect anyone who might break in and steal the cache of jumbie seeds stored in her herbal healing room. 

Having announced his presence, Huggy carefully leaned on the rickety railing; his Auntie was turning eighty-eight this October and he knew from experience that it took her a long time to answer the door, and that was assuming she wasn’t consulting with a patient. People came from far and wide to buy her healing teas, protective charms, and blue-bottled tinctures. That was why Huggy was here today–he wanted to get some advice from his wise relative.

Perhaps five minutes passed before the lean, elderly, but still-lovely woman answered the door. She was dressed in a bright quadrille dress topped with a traditional yellow tigon headwrap. Jamila was still gorgeous, even on the slippery slope of ninety. But Huggy expected no less of a Myal-healer whose name meant “beautiful.” 

“Well, look who be comin’ callin’,” Jamila exclaimed. “My nephew Horatio Gideon! Don’t stand on de doorstep, boy. Get your han’some self in de front room.”

Huggy bristled slightly at the use of his given name. He almost didn’t recognize it as belonging to him, as so much time had passed since he’d last heard it. Even his own mother had given in gracefully and started calling him Huggy at an early age after one of his cousins came up with the nickname. But Auntie Jamila always used the name he shared with his maternal great-great-great grandfather.

The “front room” of Auntie Jamila’s apartment was filled with a lifetime of photos and tchotchkes from her Caribbean island home. There were family reunion photos, wedding photos, and not a few pictures of folks in their coffins–those who had not had the good fortune to be photographed in life. But the largest group of photos by far were the over four dozen baby pictures that dotted the walls–ranging from sepia-toned metal-plate daguerreotypes, black and white tintypes, those printed on silver-gelatin paper, the faded early Polaroids, on to more modern color pictures printed on shiny Kodak paper. 

Auntie was the keeper of the family history and Huggy knew the provenance of each of the photos on her wall, including the one of him taken by an Olan Mills Studio back on August 14th, 1954–his birthday. He’d never forget that day: He, his mother, and Auntie Jamila had taken three buses to get Huggy’s skinny little eight-year-old self down to the photo studio located inside the Kmart in the white part of town, only to find the photographer refused to take his picture because he was “colored.”

His Auntie put paid to that nonsense when she took the man aside and quietly whispered in his ear for a few moments. The man turned an even whiter shade of pale and promptly apologized to Huggy’s mother and had taken a great series of photos of his younger self, as evidenced by his little bow-tied portrait on Jamila’s wall.

Interspersed amongst the pictures of their vast family were mirrors decorated with cowrie shells, lamps covered with a rainbow of diaphanous scarves, and white wicker furniture piled high with colorful cushions. To the left of the front door was a small kitchen with a simmering pot on the stove that smelled like goat water–a traditional spicy brown stew made with herbs, vegetables, and the aforementioned goat. 

Huggy peered down the long hallway straight ahead, but the bathroom and both bedroom doors were closed. He knew the last door on the left was Auntie’s sacred space, where she performed her healing rituals and created her herbal potions. He’d just never had call to go in there before. 

Until today. 

“Can I get you a glass o’ pineapple juice, sweet child o’ mine?” Jamila asked. “Or maybe you’d like a piece o’ bake,” she inquired, referring to the dense, flat bread native to the islands. “I make it fresh dis mornin’.” 

“Thank you, Auntie,” Huggy replied with a smile, to show he appreciated her hospitality. “But I didn’t come just to visit.”

“What be botherin’ my boy today?” Jamila asked, indicating they should sit on the couch together. “You need a sacred money candle for that business o’ yours?”

“No, Auntie,” Huggy said. “Business is good. I’m doing way fewer side hustles since you gave me that money candle to burn for seven days and nights at The Pits.”

“See,” exclaimed the old woman. “I told you it would work.”

“I never doubted it,” Huggy said sincerely. He hadn’t doubted anything his Auntie said since that day at Olan Mills. 

“What you got in your hands, Horatio Gideon?” Jamila asked, giving the statue a shrewd onceover. “Somebody tryin’ to put a bad juju on you?” 

“No, Auntie,” Huggy quickly assured. “Just the opposite. I’m here in a, well, official capacity. I need to get your advice about two friends of mine.”

“Sounds like der be a story here, my beautiful child,” Jamila stated, rather than asked. “You bes’ tell me all about it. But first, we got to go to my healing room. I’m t’inkin’ dis be a matter for sacred space.”

Despite her age, the old healer got up gracefully, but due to her age, she carefully shuffled along at a snail’s pace, leading Huggy down the hallway to the last door on the left. 

Huggy had made some guesses over the years on what he might find in Auntie Jamilia’s sacred space where she ground her teas, distilled her tinctures, and made her red juju bags that did everything from calm angry neighbors, improve fertility, help one stop smoking, on down to crafting potent protection potions. 

When the old woman produced a skeleton key and unlocked the door, she indicated by gestures that he should precede her into the room. Huggy stepped over the threshold carefully. For one insane moment, he imagined a trapdoor opening beneath his feet, like the ones you see in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, taking him to some place of punishment for stealing Hutch’s statue. But nothing of the sort happened. He simply stepped on a red and black rag rug, before making his way into the room. 

“You always was a curious boy,” Jamila said, coming up behind him. “I will instruct you today, since dis be de first time you enterin’ my sacred space.” She pointed to the rag rug. “Red and black be de colors of Eleguá. He de spirit over all de doorways, roads, and paths in de world. He de messenger between humans and de spirits.”

“Thank you, Auntie,” Huggy said respectfully, suppressing a bout of the willies. There was something about this room that was different. He felt it in his bones. Like, the room was alive and had a character of its own–one that could be very good if your intentions were likewise good. But Huggy also sensed that this room could call down some seriously bad juju if you brought a bad attitude with you or did anything that threatened old Jamila. I’m here to help my friends, Huggy silently told the spirits. That’s all. 

Despite feeling like he was in a human-sized fishbowl, and he was the guppy on display, Huggy took a deep breath and did his best to project good vibes. Afterall, his errand really was well intentioned. 

“Lie down on de pallet, Horatio Gideon,” Jamila instructed. “Get comfortable, my boy, and tell Auntie what be troublin’ you.” 

Against the far wall, just under the window, was a low cot piled deep with quilts, and a pillow for your head, as well as a long skinny pillow that went under your knees, as he learned when Auntie placed it there. From his position on his back, Huggy could see hundreds–maybe thousands–of bundled dried twigs, flowers, and herbs hung from the ceiling. The room was fragrant with the melody of their scents. 

Crystals sat on the windowsill, catching the early afternoon sun and casting their colorful rays about the room. Innumerable candles stood on nearly every flat surface, each one carved with cryptic symbols that Huggy almost, but not quite, recognized. And hung on the opposite wall was an ancient embroidered hanging, depicting the Orishas as black saints, dressed in robes that represented his or her symbolic color. He could identify ol’ Eleguá, as he was the only one wearing red and black. The rest were a mystery.

On the opposite wall was what Huggy could only describe as an alter. It held a clear glass of some golden liquid, decorative plates that held flowers, fruits, food, and candles. Lined up in a semicircle were small statues of the seven Catholic Saints that had stood in for the Orishas during the bad slavery years. 

“So, why you be here in a ‘professional capacity’?” Jamila asked with a shrewd look, as she seated herself on the stool next to the cot.

Huggy settled into the soft quilts, Hutch’s statue still clutched in his hands. Having nowhere else to put it, he rested the cherubs on his belly. Then he paused long enough to organize his thoughts, before taking a deep breath. 

“Auntie, I got these two friends. Even though they drive me crazy, I love ‘em like brothers.”

“Uhm-hum,” Jamila encouraged. 

“These guys do everything together–work, play, double-date, vacation, you name it, they’ve done it. Together.”

“Uhm-hum,” Jamila encouraged again.

“I’ve never seen two guys so tight before, Auntie. There was this one time that Hutch–he’s the big blond half of the duo–was shot by a couple of kinky kidnappers, and Starsky–he’s tough, and wiry, and topped with a big bush of dark curls–shot the gas tank of their car and took those sleaze bags out.”

“Oh my!” Jamila sighed. “What else?”

“Well, there was this other time that Starsky was snatched by this crazy killer cult. Hutch worked day and night to track down his partner, and then Hutch fought off four dudes as they tried to torture Starsk to death.”

“What do these men do for a livin’?” Jamila asked suspiciously.

“They’re cops, but they’re cool, Auntie,” Huggy answered with alacrity. “They’re righteous.”

“Tell me more,” Jamila said, shutting her eyes.

“Another time,” Huggy recollected, “this hitman ran Hutch’s car off the road, trapping him under the wreck for days. Then it was Starsky’s turn to work night and day to find his partner at the bottom of a canyon and save him from the mobster who ordered the hit.”

“Dey sound very brave,” Jamila murmured. “Tell me one more story.”

Only one more? Hummmmm. He thought about sharing the time he and Starsky had helped Hutch kick heroin, but that wasn’t his secret to share. Huggy thought for a moment and came up with a perfect example of the lengths these two fools were willing to go for each other. 

“Well, this nutjob chemistry professor hired a guy to inject poison into Starsky. This poison, it really put a hurtin’ on my man. Can you dig it? He had less than a day, then it was gonna be lights out forever. But Hutch, Hutch stood by him. Every step of the way. And when they finally cornered the needle man, Hutch wouldn’t shoot him, ‘cause if he killed him, they’d never find the antidote and that would be the end for Starsky. Let me tell you, the bad guy was drawing down on Hutch, ready to execute him, when Starsky took out the poisoner, even though it meant he would die.”

“But he didn’t die,” murmured Jamila.

“No. Hutch stayed on the case, nabbed the professor, and the doctors concocted a cure. But it was close, Auntie. Very close.”

Jamila, eyes still shut, started to sway gently. “You say dey like brothers to you. Are dey like brothers to each other?”

Huggy thought a long time before he spoke again. His Auntie was born in 1890, a whole different century. How would she react to what he would say next? Nothin’ for it. Afterall, this is why I came here in the first place.

“They’re tight, Auntie,” Huggy entoned. “Close. Closer than brothers.” He took another deep breath. “Truth be told, I think they’re in love with each other, and have been from the day they met.”

“Dey ever act on dat love?”

“A hundred different ways–every day–except one,” Huggy finished discreetly. 

Jamila laughed gaily, opening her eyes at last. “You t’ink dese men are meant for each other, in and out o’ de marriage bed, but you afraid to tell ol’ Auntie Jamila, ‘cause she gonna be shocked an’ throw Horatio Gideon out de window along wit’ his ugly statue. Dat right, boy?”

“Uhm,” Huggy said sheepishly, “maybe not out the window. But the door? Well, that’s another story.”

“Ain’t nothin’ new on dis good Earth, my child,” Jamila chided with a smile. “You remember Uncle Caspian and his good friend Evander?”

“Yeah, I do,” Huggy exclaimed. “I mean, I barely remember them, ‘cause they retired out east when I was little. I haven’t seen them in–What?–thirty years?”

“In life, Caspian and Evander closer den brothers,” Jaimila said with so much circumspection that it took Huggy a moment to catch on.

“Those two old dudes were gay? Damn,” Huggy said, not bothering to hide his astonishment. 

“Those ‘two ol’ dudes’ used to be two young dudes, very much in love. Was me, a young woman then, who held the broom for them to jump over and start dey life together.” Jamila’s deeply veined hand patted Huggy’s shoulder. “So, what you want Auntie to do for you? Or should I say, for your friends?”

Now that he’d arrived at  the proverbial place where the rubber met the road, Huggy wasn’t quite sure how to phrase his request. Did he really want his Auntie to put a love spell on his friends?

Well, maybe not a full-blown spell, Huggy considered. Just a nudge in the right direction.

“Auntie,” Huggy said at last, “could you do something to–I don’t know–to. . . .” He couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“Who own dat statue,” Jamila inquired suddenly. “Wiry or Blondie?”

“Blondie,” said Huggy.

“Why you bring it here?”

“I thought, since it was a statue of Cupid–you know, the Valentine’s Day guy–and Psyche, who started out human but became immortal to stay with Cupid, I kinda thought. . . .” Again, Huggy trailed off. 

“Auntie knows what you want,” said Jamila softly. “You not wantin’ to interfere wit’ dere freewill, but you wantin’ a blessing if they meant to be together. That ‘bout right, my good boy?”

“That’s exactly it!”

Huggy could feel not only Auntie Jamila’s eyes on him, but those that belonged to this ‘living’ room. 

“Dere ain’t no goin’ back, once de deed be done,” said Jamila. “You sure dey be meant for each other?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Huggy answered. “It would be, well, a crime if two folks who love each other as much as they love each other don’t get together.”

Jamilia nodded solemnly. “I agree to intervene wit’ de Spirits. Leave dat statue o’ the white god and his mate wit’ me. You got no business seeing de ways o’ de Spirits. You pick it up tomorrow–and don’t forget to bring de Spirits a gift, you hear me?”

“Yes, Auntie,” Huggy intoned, already imagining the big fruit basket and the case of rum he would bring for “de Spirits.” He knew she would do her best work.

 

 

Deal done, Huggy and Jamila both rose at the same time. He bent and placed the statue on the cot, before embracing his favorite Auntie, projecting all the love he felt for her, Starsky, and Hutch together–hoping the “Sacred Space” would soak up some of his good vibes and help her with her magic.

All that confabbing with Auntie Jamila had taken longer than he had anticipated, and by the time Huggy retraced his path down the rickety stairs, he needed to go straight to The Pits; the place didn’t run itself. 

The next morning was his weekly delivery day, so it was well after lunch before he was able to drive back out to Redondo Boulevard, deliver his “gifts,” pick up the statue that sat on his Auntie’s coffee table in a brown paper sack, and then head back to Venice Place. As he opened the door, Huggy worried that he might not get the hunk of stone back in the exact same location on the coffee table. Afterall, Hutch was a pretty good detective and he was likely to notice something even marginally out of place in his own home. 

Huggy needn’t have worried. The dust perfectly outlined the clean area where he needed to replace the cherubs. He opened the paper bag that held the statue and was immediately enveloped by the scent of vanilla mixed with a hint of banana. 

Damn! That smells good enough to eat, Huggy thought appreciatively. Hope Hutch doesn’t notice his cherubs smell like they’ve been coated in banana bread! Huggy carefully returned the statue to its place.

Task done, he decided he might as well check on the forest in the greenhouse and was just taking off his red-white-and-blue checkered jacket when he heard the street-side door at the bottom of the steps open, a clambering on the stairs, and two unmistakable voices.

“I can do it. I can do it.”

“I know you can, I just don’t want you to lose your balance and fall. Again.”

What are those turkeys doing home? They’re not supposed to be back until the end of the week, Huggy thought to himself. He frantically looked around, trying to come up with an explanation of why he was there. The clattering on the steps was getting louder. 

Oh, right! Plants!

He dashed into the greenhouse, grabbed the watering can, and made it back to the kitchen sink just as the door opened.

Huggy turned the tap and glanced over his shoulder. “Well, if it’s not Lucy and Ethel! Did you two clowns break the ski lift and get banned from the resort?” He started to turn his head back to the sink, but did a quick double-take. 

Starsky was coming through the door sideways, leading Hutch in, with one hand firmly on Hutch’s upper right arm. Even with Starsky’s help, Huggy could tell Hutch was limping. As he made his way fully into the apartment, it was becoming clear why the vacation had ended early. 

Huggy dropped the watering can in the sink, turned off the tap, wiped his wet hands on his bright blue cords, and hurried into the living area to help Starsky. “Hutchie, my man, what happened?”

The left side of Hutch’s face was a combination of scrapes, scratches, and black, blue, and yellow bruises. His eye was nearly swollen shut. Huggy went to grasp Hutch’s other arm but came up with an empty sleeve. It was then he could see a sling, which held a cast-clad forearm close to Hutch’s body under the coat.

Starsky was still guiding Hutch towards the couch when he spoke. “Hey, Hug, I’m glad you’re here. Can you help me get his coat off and get him on the couch?”

“Sure, man, but what happened? He looks awful.”

Hutch tried to shrug his coat off but found four other hands helping him. “I’m right here, Huggy. You can ask me, ya know. Will you two stop mauling me–I can take my own coat off!”

Starsky ignored Hutch, gingerly slid the jacket off his one good arm, and eased his friend onto the couch before answering Huggy. “Mr. Olympic thought it’d be fun to enter the Big Bear Slalom Race. The course was set up late yesterday for practice, and because the first four practice runs weren’t enough, ol’ Jean-Claude Killy here thought he could squeeze in one last run before the sun went down. He hit an icy patch and crashed into a gate. Ski patrol had to bundle him up in a stretcher to get him off the mountain. We spent all night at the hospital.”

Huggy let out a whistle. “Jeez, is he gonna be okay?”

“I’m right here!” Hutch protested at being left out of the conversation.

Starsky was bending over, trying to wrap the afghan from the back of the couch around Hutch’s legs; Hutch was batting Starsky’s hands away with his one good hand. 

“He’s got a mild concussion and a hairline fracture in his wrist. Oh. And a face that looks like hell. The doc said he’d be in the cast about a month, but should be alright to be behind a desk starting next week.”

Starsky stood up straight and finally looked at Huggy. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Plants, remember?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. It was a long night.”

Huggy was anxious about leaving his two friends alone, as he felt like Starsky might need a little help. “Listen, I gotta split for work, but I’ll try to get away and bring some dinner over about 7:00. That be okay?

Hutch tried one last time to insert himself into the conversation. “That sounds great, Huggy. Can you bring me a grilled chicken salad?”

“That’d be great, Hug. I’ll take a Starsky special and how about a grilled chicken salad for Hutch?”

Hutch sighed and resignedly said to himself, “I’m right here.”

As Huggy closed the door, he glanced back at his two friends. Starsky was now sitting on the couch, pressed against Hutch, eyes closed, his head resting on the cushions, and his left hand resting on Hutch’s thigh. The exhaustion and worry Huggy could see on Starsky’s face was the final confirmation he needed: He’d done the right thing by taking Cupid and Psyche to Auntie Jamila. With any luck, by the time Hutch went back to work, they’d both realize their love for each other was meant to be. 

 

 

Several nights later, Hutch was up late, puttering about his apartment. He wasn’t as stiff, and the swelling on his face had gone down, but the bruising had morphed into the yellow and purple stage. He was still having a hard time sleeping due to the cast, so rather than stare at the ceiling, he’d gotten up to try to tidy the place a bit. 

Hutch was sitting on the couch, leaning over the coffee table with a feather duster, when he got a whiff of something sweet. And it wasn’t the first time. It was a faint smell of roses. And though he didn’t grow roses, he’d nevertheless searched the greenhouse but had been unable to find anything blooming with that smell. 

He reached beside him to grab the Cupid and Psyche statue to put back on the coffee table, but stopped with his good arm suspended midair. He sat back on the couch and brought the two cherubs to eye level. He hadn’t given the knick-knack a second thought in months; like so many things, it had just become a part of the landscape of his apartment. He had no idea why he was propelled to study it now. But study it, he did. And a wave of feelings he could not easily identify nor explain entered his head. Was that melancholy? For what? Lost loves? And jealousy? Because Starsky was out on a date and he wasn’t? And yet there was also a feeling of giddiness, the kind you only get during new love. 

Much like the statue itself, he’d not given dating a thought in months, so how could he possibly be in love? He shook his head in confusion, chalked it up to his concussion, and was just about to return the chubby cherubs back to the table when he heard a familiar knock, followed by his partner coming through the doorway.

“Hey, I saw your lights on. What are you doing still up? And why isn’t your door locked? It’s after one.” Starsky threw his keys on the top of the piano, then plopped down on the couch beside Hutch.

“Hey, yourself. The real question is why were you driving by this late? I thought you were out with Cindi, with an “eye.”

Starsky snorted. “Yeah, Cindi, with an “eye.” You got any beer?”

“Yeah, help yourself. But only if you’re staying tonight.” 

“Hutch, it’s one beer. I think I’ll be okay to drive.”

“One here, but how many did you have earlier with Cindi, with an “eye”?

Starsky got up and went into the kitchen, and called over his shoulder. “You’re right. I’ll stay. You want one?”

“No, I took a pain pill a little while ago.” Hutch leaned back on the couch, still clutching the statue, and closed his eyes. He could hear Starsky in the kitchen, and was overcome with an immense sense of peace that had taken over his entire being as soon as his partner walked in. He attributed it to just knowing where his friend was and that he was safe. He was so relaxed, Hutch easily fell into a light doze–only to be woken a short time later when he felt Starsky sit next to him. He had a hard time opening his eyes. He was so comforted by the warmth of his friend. But the soft timbre of Starsky’s voice brought him out of his slumber.

“Here. I made you some cocoa.”

Hutch opened his eyes and allowed his head to loll in the direction of his partner. Starsky was holding a mug out to him, and holding one of his own. He let go of Cupid and Psyche, still in his lap, and took the offered drink, letting his fingers linger on Starsky’s fingers, which cupped the mug. “I thought you were having a beer?”

Starsky took a sip of his cocoa, then wiped the whipped cream off his lip with the back of his hand, before turning to look at Hutch. “I think that concussion must have been worse than we thought. Have you forgotten one of our primary Me and Thee rules? If you don’t drink, I don’t drink.”

Hutch smiled as he took a sip of the warm, creamy beverage; Starsky had found his stash of premium Mexican hot chocolate and it was delightful. It immediately warmed him on the inside as much as he felt the warmth of the person beside him. “So, what happened tonight? I thought things were going well with you and Cindi.”

“Don’t forget, ‘with an eye.’”

“How could I possibly forget? She reminds you every time she says her name.” Hutch felt and heard Starsky’s chuckle. Then he felt a deep sigh.

“I don’t know, Hutch. I thought it was going well, but. . . .” Starsky trailed off.

“Did you get the, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ talk?”

“Nope, but that’s what she got. I just wasn’t feeling it. And to be honest, I haven’t felt it in a long time with anyone,” Starsky confessed.

It was Hutch’s turn to sigh. “I know what you mean, pal. I was thinking the very same thing just before you came in.”

 

 

They sat silently, sipping their drinks, both lost in thoughts of their own. Starsky was first to break the long silence. 

“Hutch, what is that ugly thing in your lap?”

Starsky smiled at the sound of Hutch’s snirk. “It’s my Cupid and Psyche statuette.” 

Reaching over with his free hand, Starsky lifted it out of Hutch’s lap. The thing was heavier than he expected. “I know that! I mean, what is it, really? You’ve had that hunk o’ rock since the Canal house. Where did it come from and why do you still have it?” While he waited for an answer, he turned it around and looked at it from all angles.

“It represents the story of true love and the ultimate sacrifices lovers make for each other. My grandmother gave it to me as a divorce present.”

Starsky laughed and nearly dropped the statue. “A divorce present? Who gives a divorce present?”

“My grandmother was never a fan of Vanessa. I think it was her way of telling me there was somebody out there, somewhere, who was the person for me. I guess there’s a part of me that wants to believe it’s true, and that I eventually will find them.”

Starsky was still holding the statue at eye level and turning it around. “Hutch? What’s that smell? It’s kinda sweet? I know–it’s apple pie!”

“That’s odd. I’ve been smelling a strong scent of roses since we got back from skiing. Will you stop waving that thing around,” Hutch warned. “You’re going to drop it.” 

Hutch reached out with his good arm to grab the cherubs from Starsky. At the moment his fingers overlapped Starsky’s around the stone figurine, a sudden spark ran through the partners–sort of like a jolt of static electricity, Starsky thought, but instead of stinging and a little painful, this feeling was warm and comforting. Starsky noted that Hutch’s hand, the one holding the statue, was trembling. For that matter, his own hand was trembling, too. Unspoken, as so often between them, together they lowered Cupid and Psyche to the coffee table. 

“I-I d-don’t know why,” Hutch stuttered, “but, suddenly, I’m exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

 Starsky gave a jaw cracking yawn. Funny, me too, he thought. “Well, what can we  expect? It’s after two in the morning. You take the bed; I’ll take the couch,” Starsky said around another huge yawn. 

The answer Starsky got was Hutch slumping sideways in slow motion. His big blond partner didn’t stop until his head rested in Starsky’s lap. 

“Hutch,” Starsky mumbled around another yawn. “You’ll wake up stiff as a board. You gotta go to bed.”

“Too tired,” Hutch husked out, and then he was sound asleep. The human blanket with a light snore warmed Starsky to the core. Too bad I can’t keep my eyes open and watch my golden Hutch sleep like an angel. . . .

 

 

The morning light filtering through the blinds woke Starsky. He was scrunched down in the corner of the couch, and his feet were propped up on the coffee table. Hutch was curled on his side, his head still comfortably resting in Starsky’s lap, with his cast draped over Starsky’s legs and his other arm curled underneath them, hugging his legs like a kid’s teddy bear. Despite the cramped and crooked position, Starsky was not at all uncomfortable and felt like he’d had the best night’s sleep of his life. 

Without hesitation, he began carding his fingers through Hutch’s platinum hair and thought he’d never felt anything so soft. Watching Hutch in that relaxed state of slumber reminded Starsky what a beautiful man Hutch was. 

His fingers stilled. I wonder why I just thought that? But more importantly, why haven’t I ever thought it before? This beautiful man, lying here in my lap, and he’s all mine for the taking.

Starsky still gazed at the sleep-softened features when Hutch began to stir, then Starsky stared into those baby blue eyes he’d stared into thousands of times before. With their eyes locked, Starsky started running his fingers through the fine strands again.

“Hutch, you ever think we’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places?”

His partner didn’t seem phased by the early morning question. “Since we slept on my couch together with my head on top of your family jewels, I think it’s safe to assume that’s the case, yes.” Hutch turned his head back to its good side and snuggled his cheek against the aforementioned cojones.

Fuck me, he’s not making this easy. Or is he? Starsky bit the inside of his mouth enough to draw blood, hoping Hutch didn’t hear the hiss that escaped his lips. 

Hutch let out a deep, throaty chuckle. He’d heard.

“I’m serious, Hutch. I think maybe your grandmother was onto something when she gave you that divorce present.” Starsky waved vaguely at the coffee table where Cupid and Psyche were back where they always were, facing them.

“She was right about most everything.”

“And maybe that person who we’re meant to be with has been right in front of us all along.”

Hutch sat up, tucking one long leg under his other leg on the couch, and resting his broken wrist in his lap. “What are you trying to say, Starsk?”

Starsky had never felt so sure of anything in his life. “I’m trying to say that, maybe, it’s Me and Thee. Just like always, Hutch. It’s always been Me and Thee.” 

And with that, Starsky lifted his hands and put them behind Hutch’s head, being mindful of the cuts and bruises still visible. He leaned in, pulling Hutch towards him, until their lips met, softly, yet firmly.

At first contact, Starsky felt the world’s most comforting lightning bolt jolt through his entire body. He suddenly remembered a similar feeling from the night before, but was so consumed with desire for the man currently trying to suck his tongue out of his head, he decided it didn’t matter. 

The kiss continued with their tongues thoroughly mapping the other’s mouth. Soon, hands were added to the mix. Before too much longer, they had become a tangled jumble of arms and legs–a randy game of Twister, but without the spinner–when Hutch’s cast accidently womped Starsky on the back of his head.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay, but if it happens again, I’m gonna rip that fucking thing off.”

“Using your teeth?”

“Whatever it takes!”

They both laughed through the rejoining of their lips, and so Hutch wouldn’t get carried away again, Starsky entwined what he could of Hutch’s casted fingers with his own.

When they finally broke apart, they were both out of breath. Starsky was pretty sure he knew the answer based on the last ten minutes, but he needed to hear Hutch say the words. 

“So, what do you think, Hutch?”

Hutch took a few seconds to straighten his hair and his shirt. “Me and Thee, huh?”

Starsky nodded with raised eyebrows and hopeful eyes as he studied Hutch’s glowing face.

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” Hutch said, a big smile painting his handsome features. “You lucky devil!”

 

 

Epilogue 

Huggy knocked on the teal door, then shifted the cake box back to both hands so he wouldn’t drop it while he waited.

When the door finally opened, he was greeted with a huge smile from his beloved Auntie.

“Oh, my sweet Horatio Gideon, back so soon. Come in, come in, sweet boy.” Jamila wiped her hands on her apron and ushered Huggy into the front room.

Huggy followed his Auntie’s lead and sat across from her in a high-backed chair. The forced perfect posture added to the feeling that he was again eight-years-old and needing to be on his best behavior. 

Jamila made herself comfortable in an ancient wing-backed chair that was so threadbare Huggy could not discern its original color. “So, Horatio Gideon, what brings you out my way? And what you got in dat dere box?”

“I made something for you.” Huggy stood up and made a great fuss of taking the cake out of the box and presenting it to his Auntie.

“Oh my, is dis your mama’s rum cake?” 

“The one and only!” Huggy answered proudly. His mother had been well known as the family baker, and generally unwilling to share her secrets. “Mamami left me her recipe box when she passed. I remembered this one was your favorite.”

“Oh, de times we baked dis togeder. All de laughing! I t’ink we’d finish de whole bottle of rum while it was a bakin’. Dis make me so happy, my boy. But why you really here?”

Huggy sat back down, shaking his head. “I swear, Auntie, nothing gets by you, does it?” He looked around conspiratorially, then leaned in close and whispered, “I wanted to tell you the Spirits worked!”

Jamila laughed so heartily it scared Huggy into sitting even straighter. “Of course dey did, boy! You not tellin’ me nothin’ I don’ already know!” Her laughter was knowing and earthy, and Huggy couldn’t help but join in.

“Now, you go into de kitchen cupboard. Get two plates, two cups, a knife, and two forks,” Jamila directed. “And be sure to bring one o’ de bottles o’ rum I got hidden under de sink. I want to hear why my boy t’ink his friends doin’ de dance o’ love. . . !”

 

The End? Nah! It’s the Beginning!

---

Author’s Notes:

“I’m Cupid, He’s Psyche” was originally written for the 2026 Valentine’s Day Challenge on the Starsky/Hutch Original bRomance Facebook Group

Lilibet: Many, many thanks to Kath Moonshine for joining me in writing this little ditty. When I casually suggested we work on it together, I had no idea how much fun it would be. (Although, I should have suspected based on previous collaborations!) She truly made this better with her unique spin on the bits that I would have easily glossed over! Thank you, dear friend!!!!

Kath Moonshine: Thank you, dearest Lilibet, for allowing me to play in your sandbox. You are a blast to work with, and while I suspected our writing styles would mesh well together, I didn’t expect the synergy of ideas to flow so delightfully, or that our combined efforts would be greater than our individual inputs. You were a kind and masterful concept editor, letting me know what needed to be cut and what needed to be further fleshed out. I enjoyed performing our line edit. (Though it happened way too late at night; who knows what I’ve missed?) But we hit our deadline–and in just five short days! I can’t wait to do it again. Somebody post another challenge!

Illustrations:

1. “Hutch with Esmerelda” was created using Paint™ to add the bleeding heart plant and to erase and add a new background to a screen capture of Hutch from Starsky and Hutch
2. “Moody Starsky” was created using Paint™ to erase and add a new background to a screen capture of Starsky from Starsky and Hutch
3. “Huggy with Cupid and Psyche” is a screen capture of Huggy from Starsky and Hutch
4. “Hutch’s Cupid and Psyche Statuette” from Mortmere’s Blog Property of Starsky and Hutch; Paint™ was used to erase the background
5. “Auntie Jamila” ethically sourced from FreePik.com
6. “Young Horatio Gideon” was recolored and de-aged using open-source software from a screen capture of Huggy from Starsky and Hutch 
7. “Partners on the Ski Slopes” was assembled from ethically-source pictures and “framed” using Paint™
8. “Two Hearts with Wings and Torino Stripes” was purchased from ShutterStock.com