Keeping Score

A book of poems makes the guys reflect on what they have.

Originally published in the zine Nightlight a slash Starsky and Hutch anthology edited by April Valentine in 1986.

Coming in from the bathroom, Hutch noticed his partner’s occupation. Reading again. Starsky was an omnivorous reader with an almost piranha-like propensity for devouring anything he was offered, rapidly and efficiently. All grist to the mill, Hutch thought, recalling emergencies when Starsky had dredged up some piece of recondite, but relevant, information. If only one of the TV channels would advertise a jackpot prize for prompt and pertinent answers on the subject of—say—crocodiles, Starsky could take it on and they’d be rich at last.

But until this moment, reading in bed had not figured prominently in their lives. Had they reached a point where one just went to sleep while the other just finished the chapter? The idea made Hutch grin. He stretched out a purposeful hand to detach the book. By way of response, Starsky’s grip on it tightened.

“Come on, you don’t need that where we’re going. What is it anyway?” Given Starsky’s eclectic taste, it might be anything from Star Wars to Shakespeare. “Hey, it’s one of Rosie’s,” Hutch discovered.

With her mother, Rosie had put in a brief appearance in the squadroom that afternoon to collect Dobey and then to go out for the treat which had not been possible on the previous day, her birthday. She had brought offerings of birthday cake as well as some of the spoils from her party. The poetry book had somehow been left behind.

“I’m just taking care of it for her,” Starsky said. “She won’t mind if I read it a little. I didn’t have anything better to do anyway. Never knew anyone to take so long brushing their teeth. Maybe you should watch that. I was readin’ somewhere—they say when brushin’ your teeth starts takin’ you that long, it’s really an obsession, sort of—uh syndrome, hidden meaning to it, sign of something nasty… ”

“Yeah. I can see you’ve been reading again. It shows.”

Starsky ignored that, looking at Hutch thoughtfully. He lay back, relaxed his expression changing slowly to something which suggested that what was on his mind was more than the assessment of paramedical symptoms. Warmth and affection lit the dawning smile as he said, “A person has to find something to fill the time. Take their attention off things… ”

He held out the book to Hutch. “Don’t lose my place,” he added as Hutch settled beside him, “and put it somewhere safe—got to get it back to Rosie tomorrow… Hey! You’re not gonna read in bed, are you?” Hutch, in his turn, was scanning the pages. “Look, you’ve read a lot of good books in your time. Ya don’t need another one now.”

Yet Hutch was suddenly as engrossed as Starsky had been a few minutes earlier. “I remember these…” he commented, riffling through the pages. He paused to read aloud the title that had just presented itself. “‘Monday’s Child’… ” and then skimmed the lines below.

“Let’s just try this out,” he suggested. “Born?”

“Yeah… sure.”

“I mean, when were you born… like what day of the week?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You were there for heaven’s sake. You never could keep dates straight.”

“You can work all that out from a long-term calendar. No point in burdening your memory with all that stuff when it’s right there on record. All you gotta do is look it up. So why load your brain with details you’re probably never goin’ to need anyway, when you—”

“Considering the junk your brain has to be loaded with,” Hutch broke in, “one more thing can’t make that much difference. But I get the picture. So which day of the week? If it’s so simple like you said—show me.”

Starsky hesitated, then went on with a resigned sigh. “Okay, let’s humor you,” he conceded, and padded across the room to find the reference book. For his partner’s benefit, Hutch also decided to breathe a long-suffering sigh, thinking that, at this moment, any benefit was all on his own side, with this bonus of watching the way Starsky moved. Starsky was capable at any time of putting on some act and then enjoying the effect he created, but at times like this, the spontaneous and totally unselfconscious movement was something Hutch never failed to find deeply satisfying and always beautiful. The dark head was bent over the page in that complete concentration that was another characteristic quality, as Hutch watched him with love in his eyes.

“Give me a minute… ”

As many as you ever want, love.

A finger moved down the page. “Friday,” Starsky announced finally. “It’s a Friday. So what does that make me? Rich? Successful?” He looked across at Hutch, eyes bright. “Sexy?”

Hutch read aloud. “Friday’s child is loving and giving… ” He stopped suddenly to lie regarding Starsky where he still stood, head on one side, an eyebrow raised, awaiting the verdict.

“Loving and giving… ” Hutch repeated.

Starsky looked back at him, beginning to grin. “Lots of truth in these old rhymes,” he affirmed.

“Yeah. Want to give a demonstration? I could let you buy the coffee all next week.”

Starsky seemed unenthusiastic. “There’re other ways.” He came back to the bed. “Simpler ways.”

“I guess.”

“How about you?” he asked as he settled back down. “What—?”

“Which day for you?”

“Oh. Oh, it’s a Thursday.”

“So, what’s it say?”

Hutch read it out with a touch of complacency. “Thursday’s child has far to go… ” And that’s right, too… could say it’s been quite a distance…but we’re right here now; I’ve covered the territory, made it to where I want to be…

He reached for Starsky’s hand. “Come on, you don’t have that far to go yourself… and you know the route… ”

“No distance at all, babe.”

Hutch set the book down, turned with a soft sigh to enfold his lover in warm arms. For a minute they were quiet, until Hutch asked, “What did you want most? To be rich? A success? You’ve already got the other one anyway.”

Starsky grinned at him. “Yeah—but I’ll share.” He paused. “Guess what I wanted most was to be independent—financially independent, you know? To be sure I could cope by myself… know I didn’t have to depend on anyone else. There wasn’t anybody anyway, so no use lookin’… ”

“You made out…”

“Getting accepted by the Department was one way… steady work. And I liked it. And then you could say I just got lucky… ”

“But not rich?”

“Depends on how you look at it … ”

He turned to rest his head on Hutch’s shoulder, settling more closely. “So how you doin’?” he asked, voicing the question often asked by one of them at this point in the day. In answer, Hutch kissed his forehead, stroking the strength of the back with a hand that also knew its route so well. Starsky sighed with satisfaction, returning kiss for kiss.

“So how about some lovin’?” he inquired. “And maybe a little givin’ to go with it? All the fixin’s… can’t have one without the other. Two-way. Like always.”

Their glances met and held, blue reflecting blue, in the familiar solace of their closeness.

“Loving and giving,” Hutch said the words again. “Listen, Starsk… I guess between us it went beyond thanks a long time ago but thanks all the same—okay?”

“Yeah. You’re welcome. Plus, there’ll never be any need for you to go farther than here—you know that? And as for thanks, well, that’s two-way, too. Lovin’ doesn’t have to add up any points. Who said we need to keep score?” Both arms went around Hutch, holding him close, loving, giving.

… tumbled and tossed, Hutch thought, but now an end to one kind of journeying… sharing… giving… taking… loving… loving is a way of living… me and thee…