First meeting…first sparks. Is there more?
This story originally appeared in the wonderful 2008 SH zine Boys in Blue, edited by Enednovial.
“What’ll it be, friend?” the bartender asked.
Without looking at him, Ken answered automatically, “Vodka on the rocks with a twist and a splash of tonic.” His mind was elsewhere.
He didn’t know how long he’d been walking. He didn’t even know where he was. It wasn’t a neighborhood he was familiar with-but then he hadn’t lived here that long, so there was still a lot of this city he had yet to discover. He’d been searching for a bit of beach, and since this was Bay City there had to be a beach somewhere. He didn’t care that he was still dressed like the med student he’d been only this morning in a no-longer-crisp grey business suit, plain tie, white shirt, and brown wing-tip shoes. He needed a heavy dose of nature, wind and sky and water. Once he found it, he’d followed it for a long time. A really long time. Until the last vestiges of the summer sun had faded from the sky and the ocean turned black. Eventually, the wind picked up and urged him back to the streets. That’s when he’d realized he was way out of his neighborhood, and even further out of his element.
He didn’t care. He could still smell and hear the water, and that, at least, was soothing. The walking had tempered his rage, and the ocean had eased his soul, at least a little. But the side of his face still burned where Vanessa had slapped him in a cold fury, her hard nails raking his cheek, and even though he kept moving, the argument was still running around his head bringing all the bitterness back. So, he stopped for a drink. He wasn’t kidding himself. Not even alcohol could dull the almost continuous pain and confusion his life had become.
“You’re quitting school again? You said you wanted to be a doctor to help people.”
Her sarcastic tone had been more painful than the heavy-handed slap that had sent him into the street before his anger could get the better of him. Vanessa couldn’t understand how isolated he felt from his classmates. All they ever talked about was their future specialties and how much money they’d be worth. The intense grade competition, new concerns about malpractice rates, and the depersonalization of medicine in general had soon cooled his latest passion. His latest, he had to admit, in a chain of failures. The truth was he always felt isolated, adrift, disconnected, even as a kid. He was tired of feeling that way, but had no idea what to do about it.
“You quit law school because you hated the hypocrisy of a system that favored the wealthy, and now you’re leaving medical school because your classmates want to make money? This, after you refused to work for your father because, according to you, all he cared about is the ‘all mighty dollar’…”
His father. Ken groaned just thinking about that future conversation. The old man had been pleased when Ken had pursued a law degree because, “Having a lawyer in the firm will give us a helluva advantage.” One of the many reasons Ken had left the law was the thought of being trapped in his father’s firm-and under his thumb-for the rest of his life. The senior Hutchinson had been angry then and angrier yet when Ken insisted on moving halfway across the country to go to a different university. But Ken’s interest in a medical degree finally ameliorated his father’s anger. A doctor was, at least, a professional, respectable, and lucrative career.
Once he learned Ken wasn’t going to have “M.D.” after the highly regarded Hutchinson name, the old man would blow a gasket. It could mean the end of his support. Without that… it would likely mean the end of Ken’s marriage. He touched the side of his face-
“You think Daddy’s just going to keep signing the checks? For what? So you can keep socializing with the right people? Make sure the Hutchinson connections are working on the coast?”
He almost laughed. The socializing had all been at her insistence, as had the apartment few students could afford, the clothes, the jewelry, the endless parties where she had conversations he couldn’t follow with people he didn’t like, while he usually found himself hanging around the band, vodka in hand, adrift… disconnected-
Where was his damned drink anyway?
“Sweetheart, you are playin’ my song!” said a high tenor voice to his right, startling him. “Vodka with a twist and a splash of tonic-a civilized drink for a civilized man.”
Ken found a slender young man draped decorously over the bar and leaning precariously into his personal space. A waft of flowery aftershave gusted over him, only slightly less pungent than the bar’s more familiar scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke.
“How ’bout buying me one, tall, blond, and beautiful?” the young man purred. His tight purple silk shirt clung to him like a second skin, the open vee of the unbuttoned neckline offering glittering gold chains and not a single body hair on the slender chest. “I’ll be your new best friend.” To ensure Ken understood exactly the kind of friendship he was marketing, the young hustler licked his lower lip.
Ken was speechless. What the hell kind of bar was this?
“The night is young, and so am I,” the young fey man assured him. “And no one walks into this bar unless he’s looking for something.”
The all-too-accurate statement was the second slap of the night. Ken had spent his life searching for something and still had no idea what it was.
As if determined to run over any and all of Ken’s objections, the boy continued, “And I just knew when you walked in here that you were looking for me!”
Ken figured it was time to explain reality to the young man in terms he could not misunderstand. Then it occurred to him that he had never paid any attention to his surroundings. Had he accidentally wandered into a gay bar? If so, the wrong attitude could end up as a bar fight he really couldn’t afford. Hello, Dad, it’s Ken. I’ve been arrested… for a bar fight… in a gay bar- Can you bail me out? Oh, yeah. Sure. That would be just great.
Ken glanced around as unobtrusively as he could. Besides this over-the-top kid, there were several other men he suspected were gay hanging around the far right end of the bar and in some of the booths near the front of the place. To the left, there were a few women he assumed by dress and behavior to be lesbians clustered around a corner table near the back door, past the row of a half dozen pool tables that trailed off the left side of the bar, while four other gay women played pool at the last table in the row.
But the rest of the patrons seemed to be straight, everyday folk, blue collar, most likely. Like the dark-haired guy about Ken’s age sitting two empty stools away from him on his left, and the handful of older men clustered at the far left end of the long bar, arguing about the ballgame currently playing on the television. A few middle-aged women chatting at a nearby table were probably their wives. And two leggy young girls in a booth looked like hookers taking a break.
Some of the patrons were black, some white, and there were a couple of Hispanics in the crowd. Everyone seemed to get along. It looked like an interesting place with a mixed clientele both racially and sexually. Not the kind of thing you’d see in Minnesota. But exactly the kind of thing he’d hoped to find in California. A place full of real people, not Vanessa’s phony “social contacts.”
And, as usual, he was on the outside looking in.
“Back off, Tony,” the bartender drawled laconically in a tone that indicated it was a familiar warning. There was the muted sound of masculine snickers from the area around the busy pool tables, just barely audible over the click and clack of billiard balls.
Tony ignored the bartender.
Turning to the man behind the bar, Ken saw a reed thin guy who could be any where from 25 to 45, with a sharply angular face, large almond shaped eyes, a wide slash of a mouth, and a nose that indicated he’d either done some boxing or had seen his share of street fights. His skin was a rich red-brown, and between his color and his cheekbones Ken wondered if there were some Indian in his family. He was dressed in jeans with a yellow tee shirt that advertised, “Joe’s Bar,” and wore a loose-fitting unbuttoned denim work shirt over that. Was he “Joe”?
“That’s Anthony to you,” Tony informed the barkeep with a haughty shrug. “And you can just keep your place, garçon! I know a man of taste and culture when I see one, and this Nordic god is both. He’s going to buy me a vodka with a twist and a splash of tonic. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Why should he-” the bartender drawled, without even looking at Ken, as he drew a cold draft into a tall Pilsner glass, “-when he’s drinkin’ beer?” He placed the amber brew in front of Ken as if he’d actually asked for it.
It was suddenly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The sparkling color and dancing bubbles creating a perfect foamy head brought back summers in Minnesota, and some of the happiest times of Ken’s life. Working on his grandfather’s farm had been hard and dirty and sweaty and so totally real. He’d loved all of it, but he especially loved his granddad-who was as different from Ken’s father as two people could be and still share genetics. Granddad had no pretensions; he worked side-by-side with the men on the farm, and when the day was over, drank with them, too. Ken used to watch his grandfather share beers with his men and ache to be old enough to drink with them, to be truly one of them-a real man. He had been a big, strong kid and worked as hard as they did, but Granddad wouldn’t bend on drinking. No beer until the law allowed… but by then the old man was dead, and a part of Ken dead with him.
For the first time since he’d entered the bar, Ken really looked at the man who’d handed him the beer he hadn’t asked for. The slender guy was giving the bar an unnecessary polish, but was aware of Ken’s scrutiny. He had to be aware, too, that Ken was a stranger. That he didn’t belong here.
“He didn’t order that!” Tony protested.
The bartender cast a sideways glance at Ken, as if to see which way this was going to play out.
“Sure I did,” Ken said quietly, and lifted the glass to his mouth. It was the coldest beer he’d ever had, the bubbles popping and snapping against his tongue, the bitter, delicious brew refreshing him like no cocktail ever had. Why did he even order them? Oh, yeah-Vanessa hated the smell of beer on his breath. “Thanks-uh-sir…” If the man’s name wasn’t “Joe” he’d look like a jerk calling him that. He reached into his pocket and drew out a ten.
The bartender didn’t offer his name, but raised his eyebrows in surprise at the honorific. Taking the bill with a nod, he made change, but Ken noticed the offhand glance and nod in Ken’s direction he gave the dark-haired man to Ken’s left. As if to say, Did you hear that? Dude called me ‘sir’!
The other man smiled slightly but didn’t look at Ken. He and the bartender seemed to be communicating with telepathy, because clearly they were sharing something. Ken wondered what that would be like, to be able to know what someone was thinking, or convey something to someone with just a look.
“Oh, fine!” Tony huffed. “This dump even drags down quality to its level!”
“Like you would know anything about quality,” said the man to his left.
Ken took another look at him. He had dark, short wavy hair, a swarthy complexion, a sturdy build, and a strong jaw. He was about Ken’s age, and had on very well-worn jeans and a shabby blue tee shirt.
“Don’t you start on me, Dave!” Tony protested, exasperated.
The man laughed, looking past Ken in Tony’s direction, and quipped, “You only wish.”
Ken suddenly noticed “Dave’s” surprising blue eyes, much darker than his own.
Now, the bartender huffed a short laugh and they shared that, too.
Tony leaned closer to Ken, brazenly draping an arm over his shoulders. “Come on, stud. I can tell we’re not appreciated in this common atmosphere. Let’s go somewhere and make beautiful music together.”
It took an effort for Ken to hold his ground in the face of overwhelming masculine musk and a gardenia-based aftershave. Not wanting to come off like a complete rube who’d never been accosted by a gay man before-even if he hadn’t-Ken struggled to appear nonchalant and find something pithy to say to deflect the boy’s interest. But before he could come up with any kind of reasonable response, Dave was suddenly behind them, gripping both of Tony’s shoulders. The young hustler was forced to release Ken.
“Anthony, what have we told you about scaring the tourists?” Dave said, moving the boy none-too-gently away from Ken. “Now, behave yourself, drink your Shirley Temple-” the bartender placed a red concoction in a highball glass in front of Tony-“and leave the grown-ups alone-”
“-Before we have to take away your privileges,” the bartender added, “and your narrow ass ends up back on the street where we found you.”
Tony pouted dramatically but obeyed, plopping down on the nearest barstool and sulking over his drink. “You guys take all the fun out of being gay,” he complained. Then he rallied for a moment, long enough to bat his eyelashes at Dave and coo, “But I do so love it when you’re mean to me.”
“Down, junior,” Dave growled, then surprised Ken by turning to him. “That’ll only hold him for about five minutes. How about a game of pool?”
Trying to figure out if this was a genuine offer or a different kind of come on, Ken bought some time by taking another swallow of beer.
Apparently confident that he’d just made an offer that couldn’t be refused, Dave strolled over to the nearest available table and racked the balls in the center, then picked two cue sticks off the wall.
When he walked back to hand one to Ken, Ken said, “I’m not a tourist. I live here.” Since the semester started, anyway.
Dave was obviously amused. His eyes skipped past Ken to the bartender. Ken glanced back and caught the same expression on the barkeep’s face.
“Brother,” the bartender said, “it don’t matter where you’re really from. In this neighborhood, you are definitely a tourist.”
That remark hit a little too close to home. Ken had always felt like a tourist in his own life. To hide his reaction, he took the cue from Dave’s hand, and slid off the stool to follow him to the table. When Dave put a dollar on the edge of the pool table, Ken put one on top of it.
“You got a name?” Dave asked, circling the table. “You already know mine.”
He nodded. “Ken.” Then, impulsively, he added, “Ken Hutchinson.”
Dave’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a mouthful! Hutch-in-son. From somewhere in the Midwest.”
It was Ken’s turn to look surprised.
“Come on!” Dave chided him, as he bent over and aimed his cue to break the rack. “This is California. Everyone’s from somewhere else. They come to get famous or make their fortune. Which, you obviously haven’t achieved yet, or you wouldn’t have ended up here.”
Ken laid his stick crossways against Dave’s before he could execute the shot. With a smirk, he said, “In Minnesota, where I come from, the guest shoots first.”
Dave stood and backed away from the table, and sketching a bow, waved a hand toward Ken. “By all means, Mr. Hutch-in-son. Be my guest.”
Pausing for just a moment to consider how vulnerable a man could be bending over a pool table in a gay bar-mixed bar, he reminded himself-Ken broke the rack cleanly, pocketing several balls, and followed through on them until he finally missed the third shot.
Dave never stopped watching him, his expression part bemusement, part curiosity, and something else Ken couldn’t put his finger on. Is he flirting with me? Ken wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A subtle come on could be a lot harder to deal with than a boldfaced one.
Ken waited until Dave bent over to take the shot he’d missed, and just as he lined up the stick said, “You’re right about the Midwest, but wrong about getting famous or making a fortune. So, what brings a New York boy all the way out to the other coast?”
“The bus, blue eyes. Greyhound all the way,” Dave said, hesitating just long enough to recover from the distraction then made the shot cleanly, taking the pocket and moving to line up his next. But the look he gave Ken clearly showed surprise at his strategy.
Ken laughed out loud. “What interfered with your career plans? Which were-let me guess-male model.” He made a show of looking Dave up and down, then frowning. “No, that wouldn’t work out-leading man on the daytime soaps-” That one made the bartender laugh out loud. Dave looked insulted. “-Part time gigolo-?”
“Just part time?” Dave asked in an aggrieved tone.
“-Or full time hustler?”
“Depends on what you mean by hustler.” Dave made the next complicated shot look easy. “If you’re talking pool hustler, like Minnesota Fats, this would be the wrong neighborhood for that. Could get a guy hurt pretty bad. If you’re talking-” He glanced over his shoulder to indicate Tony, who’d quickly lost interest in the game and had gone over to cluster with the group of gay men at the far end of the bar. “-Not enough money in it.”
For you? To make it worth your while? Ken wasn’t sure how to interpret that, or if they were just playing word games.
Dave made another shot.
Needing to change the subject, Ken asked, “Does the bartender have a name?”
“Why don’t you ask him? Your beer’s getting warm.” He indicated his own brew perched within reach on a bench near the wall rack. Then he casually leaned over and made yet another shot.
Going back to the bar, Ken laid a bill on it and, indicating Dave, said, “I’ll cover the next round.” The bartender nodded, but when he tried to pick up the bill, Ken held it down with a hand. “And one for you, too. But I’d feel pretty awkward calling you ‘sir’ all night. I’m Ken.”
The bartender’s mouth turned up at one corner in a slanted grin. “Nice to meet you, Ken. You can call me Huggy Bear.”
This time Ken couldn’t hide his dismay. Huggy Bear? Maybe the bar wasn’t as mixed as he thought.
“Don’ even worry ’bout it, Ken,” Huggy said, clearly amused by his reaction. “Looks like Starsky finally missed a shot. It’s your turn.”
Ken brought his beer back to bench and perched it near his competitor’s. He was still mulling over the bartender’s name when Dave got his attention.
“Hey, don’t they know how to keep track of whose turn it is in Michigan?”
Ken pulled his attention back with an effort. “Minnesota, not Michigan.” He walked around the table judging the layout of the remaining balls. “That what they usually call you? Starsky?” He liked the sound of it; it didn’t have the soft edge of “Dave.” He wasn’t about to speculate as to whether Starsky was gay or straight; right now that didn’t matter.
Dave hesitated before responding. “Some do.” Another pause. “Some friends.”
Ken heard what wasn’t said. But you’re just a tourist here, a stranger- In a strange land. He indicated the shot he’d take, then missed it spectacularly. Pay attention! It’s bad enough they see you as a tourist. You don’t need to be a mark as well.
Dave snorted in amusement and sauntered-that was the only word for his strut-around the table. Glancing around the bar, he realized Dave was the object of significant attention from gay guys and straight women both. Letting himself see the man with their viewpoint, Ken could appreciate the lean form, the confident swagger, the slightly bowed legs and-Dave moved in front of him and bent over to take his shot-a rear end that was clearly the major draw of the bar. Understandably so. Ken jerked his eyes away before he got caught staring.
Moving with a practiced grace, Dave finished the round, winning easily, and pocketed the two bills. “Care for another opportunity to get your dollar back?”
Ken smiled. “I’m always game for opportunity.” He laid another bill on the table edge and waited until Dave put one on top of it.
“So, Hutch-in-son,” Dave said, as he moved to break the rack, “what was so bad about Massachusetts that you ended up all the way out here?”
“Minnesota,” Ken said automatically. He knew damned well Dave was doing it to pull his chain, so he stated his correction as casually as Dave’s error.
Dave ignored him as if he couldn’t be bothered with the facts, and dropped another ball in the pocket.
Ken didn’t want to get into the whole fleeing-law-school-only-to-end-up-fleeing-med-school saga, so he just shrugged and said, “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Dave dropped another ball in the pocket, then paused as he circled the table, and cast a long look in Ken’s direction, blatantly eyeing his utterly out-of-place business suit. “Musta been. You’re looking pretty prosperous. At least until you started playing pool with me.” He leaned over and dropped in another ball.
Realizing that no one else was dressed as he was, Ken shrugged out of the suit jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. The tie followed. Opening the top buttons of his shirt made him realize how unaccustomed he was to feeling comfortable.
He was startled out of his reverie by the lesbians at the end table who must’ve started paying attention to their game because suddenly they started cat-calling in a sing-song chorus, “Hey, Dave, is that your new boyfriend?” then whistling and laughing out loud.
The unexpected distraction made Dave miss his shot.
Ken had to cover his mouth to hide his smile. Razzing Dave was obviously a favorite sport of theirs.
From the front of the bar, Tony complained loudly, “He was going to be my new boyfriend, until Davey stole him away!”
Dave pointed his cue stick at the boy in warning.
“Hey, Dave, maybe you’ll get lucky tonight,” one of the lesbians shouted, indicating Ken, “unlike most nights.”
Dave turned back to the girls, who where clearly amused at catching him in a vulnerable place. “At least I won’t have to check behind his zipper to make sure he’s male,” he shot back, looking directly at the most masculine of the women. The other girls all turned and nudged her, laughing at the comeback. She wagged a finger at him in warning, but she was laughing, too.
But the zipper remark caught Ken off guard, and he felt his face flush, and damned his fair skin.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Dave told the girls, pointing at Ken. “You’ve embarrassed him. Y’know, he’s not from ’round here, and they probably don’t talk about such shocking behavior in Monongahela.”
“Minnesota,” the girls all said in unison, proving that they’d overheard most of the previous repartee.
Dave waved his hand as if he couldn’t bother himself with the details. “Am I right, Ken? They don’t allow unnatural behavior where you come from, do they?”
Struggling to recapture his aplomb, Ken lined up his next shot, and said, “That’s right. We don’t allow such things in Minnesota. We gather up all the people who do those kinds of things and ship them-” he released the poised cue stick, and sent balls flying all over the table, dropping four into pockets at one time-“to New York.”
The girls howled, and even Huggy started to laugh. Dave tried to hide his surprise.
“Though I’ve been told that a few of them figure out how to take the bus to California,” Ken said with the most casual tone he could muster, and dropped in two more balls.
But Dave was not a man easily bested, that was obvious. “So, that’s how you got here, too, huh?”
Ken laughed, but finished the round, winning handily. He picked up the two bills.
“Hey, Huggy,” Dave said, never taking his eyes off Ken, “maybe you’d better give this guy his vodka with a twist. I might need a handicap.”
“Looks like our Midwestern brother sure knows his way around a stick,” Huggy agreed, but put a definite intonation on the word “stick” that made the gay guys at the other end of the bar howl and send wolf whistles in his direction.
Ken granted them a gracious bow.
But in spite of his comment about the handicap, Dave immediately laid another bill on the table, and waited for Ken to add his.
Ken turned to rack up the balls for the next game. “Actually, I flew here,” he said, referring to Dave’s crack about taking the bus to Bay City.
“I wouldn’t waste any time splitting either, if I was stuck in Minnehaha,” Dave said.
At this point almost everyone in the bar yelled out, “MINNESOTA!”
Dave shrugged. “I hear the winters are brutal, and that’s in the summer time.” He grinned at his own witticism.
“Helps keep out the tourists,” Ken said, but missed his shot. Dave smirked at him and prowled the table. “Of course, if you’re talking about Minnehaha, that’s in South Dakota, and the winters are a lot rougher there than in Minnesota. But if you’re talking about the Monongahela, that’s near Pittsburg, and I hear the winters aren’t much worse than New York’s. Minnesota, on the other hand is-”
“By the shores of Gitche Gumee, by the shining Big-Sea-Water, strode the mighty Hiawatha,” Dave said, and sank the next two balls.
Ken was momentarily speechless. The last thing he’d expected to hear from this brash New Yorker was Longfellow’s Hiawatha. And clearly, Dave wanted him to know he knew exactly where Minnesota was.
“Who coulda guessed Hiawatha was a blond?” said Dave, and another ball found a pocket.
Realizing most of the bar was watching their byplay and enjoying it, Ken wondered how often Dave put on a show like this for the natives. He leaned on his stick as Dave swaggered around the table making fancy shots just to show off and make people laugh, yet playing impeccably.
“Hey, Dave,” one of the gay guys yelled out as he sank a totally improbable shot, “forget the dollar bets. It’s time to crank up the stakes. Next guy who wins gets to top.”
Ken blinked, unsure of what that meant, though he realized it was a gay reference.
“I don’t think his wife would like that,” Dave said, sinking another ball. He gave Ken a sideways glance at where Ken’s left hand rested against the stick.
My wedding band, he realized.
“I think we’ll both bet something we can afford,” Dave told the heckler.
“I’ll play Ken next,” Tony pipped up, “and you can watch me set the world record for losing a pool game.” Everyone laughed.
Ken was really lost now, and tried to keep the confusion off his face, but Dave must’ve seen it. Ken tensed, waiting for him to take advantage of the rube.
Instead, Dave said quietly, “Hey, it’s a rough room. Don’t let them rattle you. It’s your turn Hutch-in-son.”
He hadn’t even noticed that Dave had missed that last shot, and the unexpected courtesy touched him. To cover his slip-up, he leaned the stick against the table and pulled the shirttails out of his pants so he could move more freely. Dave just stood patiently and watched him. He wondered if Dave was ever troubled by having to wear a suit to work, or if he was already dressed for work. Somehow, he suspected he was looking at a man who made sure he was never uncomfortable.
Ken won that game, and Dave took the next, and before long, the two of them had stopped trying to haze each other and were talking comfortably, in spite of their ever more serious competition. After awhile, Ken realized he didn’t care if Dave was gay, and Dave didn’t seem to care too much that he was playing the night away with a tourist.
Somewhere around midnight, Ken began to realize he actually felt comfortable here, in this bar, so unlike his usual social environments. His suit jacket and tie, long ago tossed over a nearby chair, were forgotten, his shirt tails hung free, and his sleeves were rolled up to his biceps. He couldn’t blame the beer, either, since neither of them had had that many, so intent were they on the game. He certainly felt more comfortable than at any of Vanessa’s social events.
The unwanted intrusion of his wife’s name immediately brought her image to mind. He tried to picture her long-legged elegant beauty here, and couldn’t. She’d be appalled. The place was old and shabby; the unrecognizable color of the floor might have once been brown or maybe green, which might have matched the walls, also a nondescript muddy shade. A pall of smoke in the air hung like storm clouds over shaded lamps that hadn’t been cleaned in years, and the furniture was from the last war. But the bar gleamed, the glasses sparkled, the pool felt was fresh, and the people were all too real. She would hate everything about it. There wasn’t a person in this place that would be charmed by her artifice.
The way I was. The way I still am.
With an effort he pushed her out of his mind. He didn’t want her here, anymore than he would’ve wanted her on his grandfather’s farm.
If Granddad had lived, would I have even married her? He imagined the old man taking stock of her and giving Ken a look of dismay and disappointment. Granddad would’ve seen right through Vanessa.
The way Dave can see right through me.
He blinked out of his internal monologue and realized Dave was practically toe-to-toe with him, watching his face. Startled, he took a step back, and nearly collided with the wall rack of cue sticks. Dave grabbed his elbow and pulled him forward out of danger, then stepped back himself, as if recognizing that Ken needed more room than he was giving him.
Quietly, privately, Dave murmured, “Where do you go when you slip away like that?”
Remarkably, Ken felt his throat tighten. His immediate response was to snap, “None of your damned business.” But something stopped him. Maybe it was the look on Dave’s face, an expression in his eyes that implied maybe he really cared, if only a little. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d stopped him from performing one of his classic klutz moves and bringing down the entire stick rack. Or maybe it was because he was still hanging onto Ken’s elbow. The heat of his hand against Ken’s skin was personal, it spoke of concern, even momentary, and that was something that Ken knew so little of it was like being tossed a life preserver. Without consciously being aware of it, Ken gestured with his left hand since Dave was hanging onto his right arm. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a wimp, or a jerk, or the total loser he felt like. For some reason, he desperately didn’t want to appear like any of those things to this man, in this place.
Dave waited patiently, then something caught his eye as Ken gestured. He let go of Ken’s right arm, and took hold of his left hand, pointedly turning it over. He looked at Ken’s expensive wedding ring, then got a knowing look on his face.
“Ah-ha,” he said, still privately. “Shoulda known. Lady trouble.” He let Ken’s hand go and oddly, he regretted that. Reaching up, Dave touched Ken’s cheek for a second, and Ken felt a sting. “The lady’s a wildcat. She scratches.” He shook his head. “Trouble like that sends a lotta guys to the pool hall.” He laughed as if with personal knowledge. “Sends a lotta guys outside with Tony, for that matter, or with Margie, or Tina.” He indicated the hookers in the back booth. He moved away from Ken preparing to line up his shot. “I gotta tell ya, goin’ home smellin’ like a barroom isn’t the best way to work your way back into her bed.”
Is that where I want to end up? Back in her bed? It wasn’t the warmest place in the world, especially whenever Ken did something she objected to, like quitting school.
He looked for a ring on Dave and didn’t find one. Not that it meant anything; not every married man wore one. Assuming Dave was even straight for that matter. “You sound like an expert on marriage. Ever been?”
“Nope,” Dave said with a grin. “That’s what makes me an expert. I’ve been expertly avoiding it for years.”
Ken had to laugh.
“She must be pretty mad to make you go storming off without even getting out of your work clothes,” Dave said, and missed the shot badly.
He must really be curious to blow such an easy shot. The cautious side of his nature told him not to tell this stranger anything about his personal life. But the part of him that had always felt estranged from life yearned to reveal everything, all the loneliness, the isolation, the pain-
“I-uh-I don’t work-” was all he managed to mutter. Dave waited, glancing at the discarded suit jacket and tie. “I’m a… that is… I was- I’m a student. UCLA… medical school.”
Dave whistled low. “Man, you really are outta your neighborhood!”
“Maybe not,” Ken said. “I quit today. It just- it just wasn’t right for me.” He wanted to bite his tongue. When was the last time he’d revealed that much to anyone, never mind a stranger. A stranger in a strange bar. A stranger who could very well be trying to hustle him.
“No wonder she’s mad,” Dave said matter-of-factly. “You can probably talk them into taking you back-”
He felt a bubble of anger swell up, the same anger he’d had during Vanessa’s tirade. “I’m not going back! I wanted to become a doctor to help people, but all they care about in that place is how much money they’re gonna make and what it’s gonna be like when they set up practice as plastic surgeons to the stars and-” Dave and Huggy Bear were watching him intently and he realized he was giving the same rant, complete with expansive arm gestures and heartfelt anger, that got him slapped. He was pretty sure no one was thinking of slapping him right now, but he wasn’t really sure what they were thinking. Maybe that he was crazy, or some over-privileged spoiled kid who couldn’t figure out what he wanted to be when he grew up-
“Looks like our blond brother’s got some principles,” Huggy Bear drawled. “Too bad you had to quit, bro. Lord knows the medical profession could use some real doctors in it. But I can dig where you’re coming from.” Huggy pulled up a fresh draft for Dave and Ken, and nodding at Ken said, “This one’s on the house.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with making money,” Dave said.
“As if you’d know anything about that,” Huggy chided him.
“Says the man in charge of this luxurious establishment,” Dave told the room.
“Like I been tellin’ you, this be just a steppin’ stone.” Huggy handed the beers over to Dave who had brought the empty glasses back. “Some day, I’ll have my own place, not just workin’ it for someone else.” He held up his hands as if spelling out the name in overhead lights. “‘Huggy Bear’s Elite Emporium!’ Fine food, fine spirits-”
“And fine atmosphere,” Ken added, hoisting his drink in a silent toast.
“You got that right,” Huggy agreed, grinning.
Ken felt a flush of warmth that had nothing to do with the beer. How was it possible to feel so comfortable in the company of strangers, strangers as different from him in background and culture as they could be? He lined up his next shot and tried to just appreciate it.
“Last call!” Huggy’s voice rang out through the bar, as the remaining patrons complained loudly.
Last call? Ken thought in dismay. The thought of leaving the bar was like hearing the stroke of midnight and realizing you were missing a shoe.
As if Dave had picked up that thought from his expression, he said casually, “Will you go back to school, Hutch-in-son?”
Ken shook his head. “No. I’m serious about that.”
“Then what will you do?”
I have no idea, Ken thought.
“Back to…” Dave hesitated, “Minnesota?”
“No. That’s not home anymore.” Uncomfortable with the probing in spite of how gentle it was, Ken decided to ask a few questions of his own.
“What about you? What are your big money-making plans for the future?”
Dave leaned on the pool cue, his expression serious. “Bet you think I don’t have any. Well, actually, I’ve signed up for-”
Before he could finish the sentence, there was a loud bang as the front and back doors of the bar slammed open at the same time. Before anyone could react, four men in ski masks stormed into the place, shouting. “NOBODY MOVE! NOBODY!” Two of them were armed.
The dozen or so remaining customers froze in place. The entire bar seemed to stop breathing as the two gunmen moved around, making sure everyone could see their pistols and recognized them as a serious threat. The unarmed accomplices moved around the bar, manhandling customers, herding some of them into a group.
Dave and Ken moved closer together near the stick rack, but since one of the armed men had walked to the bar near Huggy and had them directly in his gun sight, they were allowed to remain where they were. Ken’s heart pounded with a shocking surge of adrenaline. The surprise assault shattered the peaceful atmosphere of the bar as his brain struggled with the new reality. The bar was being robbed? The place looked like it was barely making enough money to get by. But the guns the men wielded testified to the seriousness of their intent. The stark reality hit him-his life was in danger. Everyone in the bar was in life-threatening danger. Ken struggled to appear calm even though inwardly he was anything but. His mouth was dry, and he could feel the adrenaline rush make his entire frame vibrate. He forced himself to breathe slowly to keep his anxiety under control. He’d need a clear head to get through this.
One of the unarmed men threw a cloth bag at Huggy, who was standing behind the bar with his hands in the air. “Fill it! Everything in the register. And everything in the bank behind the bar. Now!”
Huggy threw an anxious glance at Dave, but did as he was told.
The other armed thug was busy going from patron to patron, demanding whatever small valuables they had on them, money, jewelry, everything. His accomplice was tossing it all into another bag. When the one gunman man got to Tony, he reached for the gold chain around the boy’s neck, but Tony shrieked and pulled away, covering it with his hands. The gunman pistol-whipped him hard, knocking him down, then pulled the chain off him roughly. Collapsed, bleeding from the head, Tony moaned in pain, but the thieves wouldn’t allow his friends to help him.
Ken, outraged by the brutal attack against the harmless young man, started to move forward, but felt Dave’s hand grip his shirt where it couldn’t be seen. Turning, he found Dave staring at him intently, his brows knit together. And as clearly as if he’d said it, Ken somehow knew Dave was telling him, “Wait! Not yet!” He could feel the tension in the hand connected to his shirt, the same tension coursing through him, and could read the coiled power in Dave’s body that wanted, needed an outlet. Surprised to realize Dave was sharing a lot of the same feelings he was, he waited.
Huggy was behind the bar, probably opening a small safe to get the big bills out for the thieves, as one of the unarmed men watched his every move. The thug who’d pistol-whipped Tony approached Ken and Dave. Dave had let go of Ken’s shirt and was holding his hands up in surrender. Reluctantly, Ken followed his lead. The gunman saw Ken’s wedding ring.
“That looks expensive,” he said, waving the weapon in Ken’s direction. “Let’s have it.”
Ken felt Dave nudge him with an elbow. Glancing at him, he still read, not yet, in his eyes. He hoped Dave could read his own expression which clearly demanded, then when? Reluctantly, he pulled off the ring and held it in his fist as he prepared to hand it over. As he did, he felt an imperceptible change in Dave’s stance. When he glanced again at his pool partner, Dave gave him the slightest of nods.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Ken threw the wedding ring high into the air, and yelled, “Catch!”
All four of the thieves were taken by surprise, looking up at the spinning gold band.
That’s when Dave and Ken swung their pool cues, hitting the gunman nearest them with the heavy butts of the sticks. When he hit the ground, Dave whacked his gun hand and the man screamed and released the weapon. As Ken realized Dave was getting control of the weapon he swung at the head of unarmed man nearest him. The man ducked, avoiding the blow, but was felled when Ken kicked his knee out hard. As he rolled around on the floor gripping his knee in pain, Dave yelled, “GUN!”
Presuming that meant the other gunman was about to fire on them, and acting on sheer instinct, Ken bolted as far away from Dave as he could, hoping they would make two separate targets. Rolling over the surface of the last pool table and dropping off the farthest side, Ken saw Dave performing the same move over the first table. As Ken hit the floor a shot rang out, hitting Ken’s table and ricocheting off the top. Pieces of slate and felt rained over him on the floor. Scrambling toward the back of the room, his heart pounding wildly, Ken peeked around the backend of the table and made eye contact with Dave, who was also crouched low near the rear. Dave showed Ken the gun he’d apprehended.
Does he know how to use that thing? Ken wondered, just as Dave broke the gun open expertly and checked the cartridge and the barrel.
Dave signaled that he was going to circle around the row of pool tables, and Ken nodded, moving in the opposite direction.
The standing gunman charged toward the area where they’d last been, but by the time he got to the back of the pool tables, they’d already crept around to the front. Peeking cautiously, Ken saw just enough of Dave to realize they were again parallel to each other, as close to the bar as they could get while still being shielded by the bulk of the tables.
The unarmed robber that was supposed to be keeping watch over Huggy Bear was scanning the row of pool tables, looking for them instead. If they moved any farther in front, he would spot them and tip off the gunman. He was scanning for them so intently he never saw Huggy stand up from behind the bar with baseball bat in hand and score a home run off his temple. He went down like a tree, the bills and change in the bag he was holding scattering over the floor.
The gunman spun on Huggy, who disappeared from sight behind the bar again. That’s three out of four down, Ken realized, as the remaining gunman gave up looking for them and ran toward the front of the bar. Grabbing the sobbing Tony by the hair, he yanked him to his feet and shoved the gun in his ear.
“Okay, heroes, that’s enough!” he roared. “You’ve got one minute to get out from behind those pool tables, collect the money and valuables, put ’em in that bag and hand ’em over, or this kid’s brains will be all over the wall. And after him, another one unless you give up now.”
Ken nearly jumped out of his skin when Dave moved up beside him and gripped his shoulder. Where did he come from?
“He’s cornered,” Dave whispered. “That makes him dangerous.”
“Even someone from Minnesota could figure that out. How well can you shoot that thing?” Ken hissed, indicating the gun Dave clutched in his left hand.
“Well enough, but not while he’s got Tony for a shield.”
Ken looked toward the front of the bar. Tony was crying, clearly terrified. “Okay. I’ll distract him. Collect the money like he wants. Stall for time while you-”
“This isn’t the movies!” Dave snapped. “You’re the cause of all his problems. He’ll shoot you in cold blood as soon as he sees you. He has nothing to lose.”
No, Ken thought, I’m the one with nothing to lose. “Sure he does,” Ken said. “He wants the money bad enough to kill for it. He’ll wait till I get it for him.”
“But-”
He put a hand on Dave’s arm. “Cover me, Starsky. It’s our only move.”
Dave swallowed hard. He did not look happy about it. As though accepting the fact that he had no better idea, he growled, “Be careful!”
Ken had to smile. “Careful. Right. I’ll make a note.” He stepped out from behind the bar, his hands up, and called to the gunman, “Okay! Don’t shoot the kid! I’ll do what you want.”
The gunman’s eyes narrowed and Ken felt ice coil in his stomach. He could hear Dave’s warning-He’ll shoot you in cold blood-
“Where’s your damned partner?” the gunman demanded.
My partner-? … Starsky? Using the most sincere voice he could muster, Ken said, “He ran. He went out through the back door when everything got crazy. He’s long gone.”
“You’re lying-”
“You think I’d be standing here with my hands up if I had any alternatives?” Ken snapped irritably. “The bastard split, I tell you, and left me here holding the bag.” He wondered where the glib lies were coming from, and how it was they came so easily to his mouth. He’d never been any good at lying, as Vanessa loved telling him.
“You got that right about holding the bag,” the gunman agreed, sounding more confident. “Pick it up, blondie, and get all the bills back inside it. Then you can finish collecting every last penny from these patsies. And make it quick.”
Ken moved to the money bag where it lay next to the robber with the broken knee, still moaning on the floor. He scooped up the scattered bills and coins. With a start, he found his wedding band where it had rolled under one of the barstools. Without a second thought, he dropped the ring in the bag, and continued to collect more strewn objects.
“Hurry it up, hurry it up!” the gunman barked, jerking Tony around like a puppet, making him screech in pain. “Shut the fuck up, you little faggot!”
Ken knew he was running out of time; he had to think of someway of getting this bastard to release Tony so Dave could get a clean shot. “Let the poor kid go, will ya? He looks like he’s about to pass out.”
He wouldn’t have thought Tony was clear headed enough to think that fast, but the suggestion was apparently all he needed. He swooned dramatically; his eyes rolled up in his head, and he dropped to the ground.
Cursing, the gunman reluctantly released his dead weight. He looked like he was going to shoot the boy out of sheer malice when Ken shouted, “Here! This is all of it. Every penny! Come and get it.”
Spinning toward him in rage, the gunman ordered, “You bring it here! Now! I want you on your knees when I plug you.”
That’s when Starsky jumped up from behind the nearest pool table and yelled, “HUTCH!”
Grabbing the money bag by its bottom, Ken flung it hard towards the gunman so that the coins, jewelry, and dollar bills rained out of it. The dollars spun and floated in the air, while the heavier objects pelted the gunman in the face. The distraction allowed Ken to dive and roll behind one of the pool tables for cover. As he hit the floor, five shots boomed out in rapid succession. His gun or Starsky’s? Ken was afraid to look.
“Hutch? Hutch where are you? Hutch, you okay?” Suddenly, Dave-no, Starsky-was on the floor beside him, running his hands over him roughly as though checking for wounds.
Ken startled to giggle as he rolled onto his back. “Quit that, I’m ticklish!” Then he caught sight of Starsky’s anguished expression. “I’m fine. Honest, I’m fine.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position.
“I thought for sure he’d hit you,” Starsky said, sagging onto the floor in relief. “The first two shots were his. I only had three bullets in that gun.”
“And he’s-?” Ken peered around the end of the table. He could see a sprawled body on the floor.
“He’s dead. Three shots to the chest. I’ve got his gun.”
“Huggy?”
“He’s okay. He’s got the cops on the phone now. They’ll be here soon.”
Ken thought for a moment that his earlier fantasy was right all along. He’d be calling his father to bail him out from a bar fight in a gay bar.
Starsky took him by both elbows. “Can you stand up?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. The adrenaline rush was subsiding, and his knees were suddenly weak. He gave Starsky a long look. “You okay?”
“Me? Yeah, sure. Hutch, that was one of the craziest, bravest things I’ve ever seen.”
He snorted a laugh. “Nothing left to lose…” He could hear sirens in the distance. “What about Tony?”
“We told them we’d need an ambulance, both for him and the guy with the busted knee. Tony’s banged up pretty good, but he’ll get to milk it for the next year. He’ll survive.”
“You… uh… you were pretty amazing yourself. I don’t know that I could just… shoot a man like that.”
Starsky met his eyes. His expression was totally open. “I was in the army. Marksman. I served overseas. This… wasn’t the first time for me.”
“I doubt if that makes it easier. I’m sorry, Starsky,” Ken said sincerely.
He shrugged. “We can talk about that later.” Hanging onto Ken’s arm and slipping a supporting arm around his waist, he urged him toward a bar stool. As he sat and gave his shaky legs a rest, Ken finally thought to ask, “Where did ‘Hutch’ come from?”
Starsky laughed. “Hutch-in-son is just too damned long to say in a tight situation. You sure as hell knew who I was talking to, didn’t you, Hutch?”
He returned the laughter, though both of them sounded just this side of manic.
He wasn’t surprised by his immediate response to the name “Hutch.” That’s what the farm hands had always called his granddad. He was never “Mr. Hutchinson,” always “Hutch,” a nickname said with both respect and affection. Considering the regard Ken had for his grandfather, he would’ve never felt comfortable bestowing that name upon himself. But apparently, tonight, he’d managed to earn it.
A moment later he realized Dave hadn’t objected when he’d called him ‘Starsky.’ He tried not to read too much into it.
Suddenly, a steaming cup of coffee appeared at his elbow. He stared at it in dismay.
“You okay, brother?” Huggy asked solicitously, patting his shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Then, deciding to be honest, he admitted, “A little shaky, truth be told.”
“That was some fast thinkin’, Hutch,” Huggy said. “Most people go out of their way to stay out of the line of fire. You went above and beyond. Your money’s no good here anymore.”
“What about me?” Starsky asked in a hurt tone.
“There, there, Starsky,” Huggy consoled him, handing him a cup. “I expect craziness from your reckless ass. But, you gotta admit, it ain’t every day a… tourist comes through that turns out to be a white knight.”
Taking a gulp of the strong brew, Hutch felt the caffeine jolt shore him up. He tried not to look over at the man-shaped lump on the floor that someone had covered with a table cloth. “Think we’ll be arrested?” he asked Starsky.
Starsky and Huggy exchanged one of those looks. “Gee,” Starsky said, “I hope not.”
The unmistakable sound of police sirens cut off any remaining conversation. Soon the bar was full of uniforms, paramedics, and the medical examiner. A big man moved easily through the crowd and made a beeline for the cluster of Starsky, Huggy, and Hutch. Seeing the foreboding expression on the man’s face, Hutch expected the worst. He just knew they’d get busted. How was he going to explain this to his father or his wife?
“Looks like a war zone in here,” the man complained. He looked right at the three of them. “Why am I not surprised to find you at the bottom of this, Starsky?” he growled.
Hutch was shocked when Starsky broke into a huge grin. “Big John Blaine! Am I glad to see you!”
***
“You could’ve told me your uncle was a detective on the police force,” Hutch griped as he climbed the stairs to Starsky’s apartment.
“That would’ve taken all the fun out of it. You should’ve seen your face when he walked in. You looked like you were staring down the gallows. Besides, he’s not my uncle. He lived next door to my uncle, where I grew up. He’s actually more like a surrogate father.”
Hutch rolled his eyes as he shifted the grocery bag he was carrying. “It was really nice of Huggy to send all this food with us.”
“We’ve been friends a long time. He knew after all that action I’d be ravenous.”
Hutch hesitated then admitted, “I felt guilty leaving him there.” Huggy had handed them the food and shooed them out while still dealing with the aftermath. Starsky and Hutch had left the bar together, and Hutch found himself in Starsky’s car without ever asking where they were going or why.
“Me, too, but he’ll be stuck for hours,” Starsky told him. “He’s got to contact the owner, and as the manager on the scene, he’ll have tons of paper work to fill out, insurance forms, police reports, all that stuff. I mean, we’ll have to give a statement tomorrow down at the station, but he’s got the biggest hassle.” Once at the top of the staircase, Starsky fumbled in the dark over the lintel, finally snagging the key to his front door.
He keeps the key over the lintel here in the city? In this neighborhood? This guy must have some reputation. Then he thought about what they’d just gone through and stopped wondering about the key.
“Here we are,” Starsky announced, as he entered the darkened apartment and switched on some lights. “Home sweet apartment.” He put down the bag he was holding, pulled out the two six packs and stowed them in the fridge in the small kitchen. Then he turned and took the bag from Hutch’s arms and set it on the compact table.
The apartment was a small, neat one-bedroom apartment, simple, and homey with a warmth Hutch had never felt in his own more expansive place, which had been professionally decorated at Vanessa’s insistence. Starsky had a small collection of Indian pottery scattered about, some brightly colored Mexican blankets, and an odd clutter of other objects. Yet, the place was surprisingly tidy. In the corner of a writing desk perched a small menorah.
Jewish? The more he discovered about this man, the more there was to learn.
“Make yourself at home, Hutch,” Starsky bid as he moved over to the cabinets in the small kitchenette and pulled down some plates.
Hutch stared at the grocery bag. “Funny… I’m starving, too.”
“When was the last time you ate?” Starsky asked as he quickly set the table with some mixed dishware and plain-looking flatware. He pulled two beers from the fridge and set them by the plates with the aplomb of a dinner party host decanting a fine wine.
“Around lunch, I guess,” Hutch said as he moved to one of the kitchen chairs. Starsky was pulling out hot carryout boxes and splitting them between the plates. Barbequed pork ribs with sides of carrots, potatoes, cornbread, and greens with bacon filled the kitchen with aroma. “Right before I dropped the bomb on my wife, about quitting med school.”
Starsky pulled a chunk of rib meat into his mouth and started chewing lustily. “C’n still change ‘er min’,” he mumbled around the mouthful.
“About quitting?” Hutch thought about that for a moment. It would sure take the pressure off his marriage. “I feel like I’ve been in school all my life. Four years of college right out of high school, then almost two years in law school, and another year in med school… Starsky… it’s time for me to start living. Going back to school would be putting my life on hold again.”
Starsky nodded sympathetically. “I know what you mean. I felt that way in the Army. After that, I spent some time in New York, then bummed around from job to job. Couldn’t seem to settle-” He dug into the food again.
When Hutch put one of the ribs in his mouth he was startled by the complicated array of tastes and textures in the meat and sauce. “Man, Huggy Bear sure can cook!”
“Mmmm,” Starsky agreed, eating like a man who hadn’t seen food in week.
Hutch was right behind him. As they finished the meal in short order, Hutch considered asking how Huggy got his name, then thought better of it. Maybe it was something personal between them. He wondered again about the bar, especially about the clientele and where Starsky and Huggy fit in. Now, his wondering was simple curiosity. He trusted those men, especially the one slurping down soul food across the table from him. That man had saved his life. And, more importantly, had earned his trust by treating Hutch as someone worthy of being trusted. By treating him as a friend. He just couldn’t worry right now about trivialities like who Starsky or Huggy might sleep with.
Finally, Starsky pushed back from the table as though it were the hardest thing he’d ever done. There wasn’t a scrap of food remaining, just a pile of discarded bones. “Damn, that was good.” He slugged back a healthy swallow of his beer.
Hutch nodded. “I needed that.”
Starsky didn’t say anything for a few minutes, so Hutch looked up to see if he’d fallen asleep. He found those penetrating blue eyes fastened on his face, as if searching for something. “What else do you need, Hutch?”
The question, and the way it was voiced, took him totally off guard. “What?”
Starsky took another swallow, but his eyes never left Hutch’s face. “How’d a guy like you end up at Joe’s Bar at the bottom of Venice? You no sooner belong in that place than I belong in Beverly Hills. What were you looking for? What do you need?”
After all they’d been through that night, Hutch couldn’t make himself obfuscate or stall or deflect. That’s what he’d been doing all his life. “I don’t know, Starsky. I’m lost.” He felt a knot form in his throat, felt his eyes burn. It’s so late. I’ve had too much too drink, followed by too much adrenaline. I shouldn’t be telling him-
“I hate my life. The life my father’s planned for me. The life my wife’s planned for me. It’s like no one will let me find my own way. It’s all so fucking meaningless-“ He couldn’t believe how raw he felt inside. Couldn’t believe how much of himself he was exposing.
Starsky never blinked. He was totally focused on Hutch. Hutch couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever listened to him this intently. “If you could do anything you wanted,” Starsky said, “anything at all, sky’s the limit-what would you do?”
“I-I-I don’t kn-”
“Sure you do,” Starsky said. “Inside here, you know.” He thumped his own chest. “Spit it out. From the heart. What do you wanna do?”
Hutch let the words just fall out. “I want to help people. What else is worth doing?”
Starsky’s face broke into an openhearted grin. “Well, shit, why didn’t you say so? That’s easy then!”
Hutch stared at him in consternation. What was easy about it? He’d gone from curriculum to curriculum without finding-
“I’m the same way,” Starsky said. “Took me awhile to figure it out, just like you. I just took a different path to get there, is all. But I finally did figure it out. I want to help people. Sounds so simple when you say it like that.”
“Yeah?”
Starsky nodded. “I signed up last week. Passed my physical yesterday.” He grinned. “There’s still time. Johnny told me there are still a few slots-”
Hutch was baffled. “What are you talking about?”
Starsky frowned, as if only now realizing he’d skipped a critical part of his explanation. “The police academy. Next semester starts in a few weeks. I signed up. You wanna help people, that’s the best job in the world for it. Who do people call when they need help? They call the police.”
Hutch frowned. The police? From his family’s perspective that was a blue-collar job, totally beneath any member of the Hutchinson dynasty-his father would blow more than a gasket.
“It’s not like other jobs,” Starsky continued. “It’s so much more. You’re part of a brotherhood. In a way, it’s like being in a good fighting unit in the army, but it’s for your whole career not just a short tour of duty. You work with guys you’ll put your life on the line for, guys who’ll watch your back, take a bullet for you.”
Like we did tonight. Hutch thought about the rush of adrenaline he felt when confronting the gunman, risking his life so Starsky could get a good shot, so they could save the other people. He thought about how he felt trusting Starsky to cover him, how it felt to work with someone so intensely, to communicate with a look, to sense when your partner- With a jolt, he suddenly remembered the bad guy saying, “Where’s your partner?”
My partner… Starsky.
Not once had Starsky mentioned how much money they would make.
“I never… ever thought about the police force,” he admitted.
Starsky grinned, his smile lighting up the room and Hutch’s heart. He couldn’t remember anyone ever smiling at him like that, like anything he might say could be so important. “So, think about it.” He got up and wandered into his bedroom then came out again. He plopped an envelope down next to Hutch’s plate. “My handwriting’s not the best so Johnny brought me a stack of applications. I’ve still got some blank ones. While you’re thinking about it, you may as well fill one out. It’ll save time later.”
As Starsky took the dirty plates and dumped the bones in the trash then piled the dishes in the sink, Hutch pulled the form out of the envelope. It was a blank application to the police academy. This is crazy. I haven’t even thought this through. Haven’t discussed it with Vanessa. I ought to at least sleep on it… He clicked the pen, exposing the ballpoint.
It wasn’t nearly as hard to fill out as a med school application. And he’d had a recent physical that would be still be valid. He’d get his transcripts sent over, though that was optional-
As he worked on the form, he could hear Starsky humming a tune while washing the dishes and straightening up. It occurred to Hutch he hadn’t experienced this much hassle-free domesticity since he got married.
I’ve had way too much to drink to be filling out this form, he thought as he signed it. I really need to go home. That thought depressed him so much he couldn’t dwell on it any further. He folded the form and put it in the envelope. Realizing the apartment had gone quiet, he looked up to find Starsky watching him again. The dishes were done. The application was finished. He stood up, even though he wasn’t sure why.
“It’s too late for you to go home,” Starsky said matter-of-factly, and Hutch again had the eerie feeling that the man had been reading his mind. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. “You want to call her?”
No, he thought, surprising himself. I don’t want to hear her voice in this place. I don’t want her to get a foothold in here.
“Up to you,” Starsky said quietly. “It’s your marriage.”
Hutch shook his head. “Not really. Oh, I agreed to it, but it’s always been run by her rules. Rules I keep breaking.” Starsky was still looking at him without judgment. “Does it surprise you to find out I’m totally whipped?”
“If you were totally whipped, Hutch, you wouldn’t have walked out tonight. You would’ve stayed home, signed back up for med school, and kept on trying to make the lady happy.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever made the lady happy,” he muttered. Except maybe in bed… unless that was a farce, too.
As much as he didn’t want to hear Vanessa’s voice in Starsky’s place, he recalled the tail end of their last argument as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. It was right after he told her he would not under any circumstances go back to med school. She’d railed at his chain of failures: his refusal to work for his father, his dropping out of law school, and now his leaving medical school.
“So, what’s next, Ken, since you’re so opposed to making money? The seminary? Oh, no, that wouldn’t work for you, would it? They don’t let you have sex there. Well, let me assure you, husband of mine, I’m not cut out to be the wife of a pauper, so if you don’t make some progress on a sensible career move, you may as well join the seminary, because you won’t be having any sex here, either!”
“You’re doing it again.” Starsky’s quiet voice startled him. Starsky had moved into his personal space without Hutch even being aware. “You’re slipping away somewhere. Where do you go when you do that?”
He shook his head. “No place good.”
“Hutch-focus on the here and now. Know where you are, who you’re with. Like you did in the bar.”
He felt confused, and it must’ve shown on his face.
“Your reaction time in the bar was perfect. You’re a man of action. Quit thinking so much. Do you know how rare that is, to be able to think on your feet like that? In the army, guys like you were the ones who came home alive. You can’t train that into someone. You can only hone it if it’s there. You’ve got it.”
Needing to deflect some of Starsky’s intense scrutiny, Hutch met his steady gaze. Swallowing to find his voice, he murmured, “And what is it you need, Starsky?”
For the first time since they met, Starsky looked away.
So, you’re not the only one who can hit a nerve, huh? Hutch thought. When Starsky tried to step away from him, Hutch gripped his arm gently to hold him in place. “I answered you honestly.” He didn’t want it to be a demand. He wanted whatever Starsky might say to be offered freely, without pressure. In the two seconds before Starsky responded, he wondered: What other appetite does a man like you need to satisfy after ‘action like that’? Is it an appetite only Huggy Bear can feed?
Starsky turned back to him, his eyes searching for something in Hutch, looking into him, through him.
What do you see, Starsky? A man who doesn’t know who he is, or where he’s going? A hollow man full of yearning, without any idea what he’s yearning for? He needed to know, but all he could do was whisper, “What do you see when you look inside me?”
Starsky tilted his head, and dredged up another smile. “I see you, Hutch.”
It was not the answer he expected, but it must’ve been the answer he needed. Had anyone ever really seen him? His father saw an heir and a disappointment; his wife saw a future and a disappointment. But they had only ever seen Ken. They hadn’t met Hutch yet. He barely knew that man himself.
Then Starsky reached for his face, touching the scratch on his cheek gently. “I see you, Hutch. You’re beautiful. Don’t you know that?”
The kiss that happened next was mutual, and the minute it happened, Hutch knew with complete clarity that it was what he’d been waiting for all night. It was warm and wet, thoroughly male, and completely unique in his limited repertoire of sexual experience. He was kissing a man, him, Kenneth R. Hutchinson, son of one of the most respected and prominent business men in Duluth, and the complexity of that made him as hard as he had ever been.
No, not just kissing a man. Kissing this man. This one. This Starsky.
No, no, this wasn’t Kenneth R. Hutchinson doing this, not Ken almost-a-lawyer, or Ken almost-a-doctor. No, that man belonged to Vanessa. The man kissing Starsky, that man was Hutch, born new this night. He was Hutch, a man with a purpose, a man with a future. A man to be trusted in a firefight, a crazy, brave man. A man who knew where he was going. And he was kissing this Starsky with all that he had.
Starsky kissed him back. He started to make soft noises in the back of his throat as their lips parted and their tongues met and danced and tasted, sliding slippery and sleek one against the other. And those male sounds made Hutch harder yet, if that were possible. I’m queer for you, Dave Starsky, he thought, and it made his heart pound wild.
They were breathing hard but controlled, like they both wanted to drag it out, make it last. Hutch knew in his heart of hearts that they were in sync, the way he’d never been with any other human being, in bed or out. Like those moments behind the pool tables, meeting Starsky’s eyes, speaking without words. They wouldn’t need words now, either. Their mouths would be too busy anyway.
Then, still kissing slow and deep, Hutch felt Starsky’s rigid erection rub against his hip. It felt shocking, something he’d never experienced before, another man’s hard-on touching him, even through cloth. Hard for me. You’re so damned hard for me. Just like I am for you. All that crazy courage that Starsky admired bubbled up through him, making him drunk with lust. He suddenly wanted to see Starsky’s cock, touch it. His mouth watered just thinking about it.
Starsky must’ve sensed it, and moaned again, nearly making Hutch’s knees buckle.
Starsky nodded, as if he could hear everything going through Hutch’s head. Hutch suddenly loved that idea. Starsky pulled away, just a bit, and planted closed-mouth kisses against the corner of Hutch’s mouth, against his cheeks, the side of his nose, his chin.
Cooling it down, Hutch realized, wanting to protest, wanting to scoop Starsky up in his arms and carry him off to bed. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t want it to go that far…?
Starsky planted a last kiss against Hutch’s lips, then stepped back. Hutch almost felt a moment of panic as they disengaged, then thought, Trust your partner. Reaching up, Starsky grabbed hold of Hutch’s shirt and used it to tow him into the compact bathroom. Hutch looked at the open glass door of the shower stall, thinking Starsky had to be some kind of genius. They’d been rolling around the floor of a bar, they smelled like a cigarette factory and a brewery combined. The battle had left them filthy. They were perfectly capable of having great sex in spite of that. But the opportunity to get clean and make love at the same time was too good to pass up.
His brain was nearly overwhelmed at the thought of seeing Starsky not just naked, but wet. Starsky laughed, seeing the play of emotions on his face. He patted Hutch’s unmarked cheek. “Slow down, big boy.”
Then he turned around to adjust the shower spray and get it just the right temperature.
As if Hutch were just going to stand there and wait.
He moved up behind Starsky as he leaned over the faucet and pressed full length against him, needing that body contact the way he’d needed Huggy’s food, the way he needed air. “Don’t expect me to stay away from you. Not for a minute.”
Starsky hesitated, glancing over his shoulder, a smoky look in his eyes.
Taking that as approval, Hutch slid his hands under Starsky’s worn t-shirt, rubbing his fingers over the surprising pelt of body hair, searching for the smallest nipples he’d ever teased, finding them, then discovering how sensitive they could be. Beneath him, Starsky shuddered and bucked at every new assault, but Hutch kept him pinned tight against him. Starsky never complained. He moaned beautifully, and rubbed his lush ass against Hutch’s swollen cock like a brazen hussy, and god, did Hutch love that.
This isn’t the first time for you, Hutch realized, and felt absurdly grateful. Teach me everything. Everything. He put his mouth on the back of Starsky’s neck and bit down. The sound Starsky made was pure sex. For me. You sound that way for me.
With a sudden show of strength, Starsky shoved him back. The water was running; the shower was ready. Hutch looked at it in a daze as if forgetting what they came in here for. How do you do that to me?
Reading his mind again, Starsky laughed, and said, “I’m just getting’ started, baby blue.”
He unbuttoned Hutch’s filthy shirt with quick efficiency and slid it off his shoulders, letting it fall. Starsky looked at his chest and palmed his skin, then flicked his small nipples, which were already rock hard. The sensation was overwhelming and Hutch had to bite his lip to keep still. It was late, and Starsky had neighbors. He had a feeling Johnny Blaine wouldn’t want to answer a disturbing-the-peace call and find his favorite nephew was the cause.
Starsky slid the belt out of Hutch’s pants, and it made a bubble of precome erupt from his cock. It was like being hit by a cattle prod, and he couldn’t help but lurch in reaction. Starsky chuckled. He stopped laughing though when he pulled down the zipper of Hutch’s slacks and they pooled around his ankles. His cock had already snaked through the slit of his boxers.
Starsky’s eyes widened at the sight of it. “Holy shit! Talk about armed and dangerous.”
“I don’t wanna talk,” Hutch growled, yanking off the annoying boxers. Losing all patience, he dug his fingers into a hole in Starsky’s tee shirt and tore it into jagged strips.
“Easy, easy, babe,” Starsky murmured, pulling the remnants over his head. Hutch was way ahead of him, battling with the zipper of his amazingly tight jeans. Was he going to have to tear them too?
“Slow down, tiger,” Starsky protested, “before you do me bodily harm!” Dancing away from him in the tight space, Starsky worked his own zipper down, then started struggling out of the jeans. When Hutch realized Starsky wasn’t wearing any underwear, he had to grab his own cock in a death grip just to control himself. Toeing off his sneakers, Starsky shucked his jeans and socks in one practiced move.
When he stood up to face Hutch, all Hutch could do was stare at the lean, muscular body. Bare, Starsky’s bowed legs seemed so much more erotic. “You look incredible.”
Starsky seemed startled. “Me? Tony wasn’t wrong. You’re a fucking Viking god.”
Hutch reached for him, but Starsky sidestepped him, then gripped his wrist. “In here. Come on.” He pulled him into the shower.
Hutch barely got the door shut before they were under the warm spray with their mouths joined again, their tongues reuniting as if the separation had been agony. The sensation of a completely bare Starsky wet and naked in his arms was short-circuiting Hutch’s brain. His hands moved everywhere, gripping, stroking, exploring Starsky’s smooth skin and soft pelt. Starsky writhed under his handling like the sleekest eel. He could feel the rasp of Starsky’s body hair against his own nearly hairless skin, feel their rigid nipples rubbing together, the flat muscular plates of their chests colliding, pushing against each other, while their strong male thighs meshed. The feel of Starsky’s testicles bumping against his thigh was a sensation so unique he could barely deal with it, but worse than that were the electric moments when cock would glide against cock. The reality of it kept slamming into his brain.
He had risked his life tonight, had found focus and purpose in a place he had no business being in. He had tapped into a well of courage he didn’t even know he had. He had found a partner he could trust and who trusted him. A man worthy of risking his life for. And now he was kissing that man, touching and being touched by him, enjoying the most forbidden lust any man could engage in. He had never felt more powerful.
They broke apart to breathe, and Starsky took advantage of the pause. Grabbing the wash cloth he’d tossed in there, he lathered it up. “Hold still, Hutch,” he ordered, his voice stronger than it had any right to be. “Just hold still for a minute.”
He could do that he told himself. He could hold still for a whole minute.
Then Starsky started to wash him and he was lost. Starsky rubbed the soapy cloth over his neck then his chest, lingering teasingly over his hypersensitive nipples. Starsky’s dark blue eyes glittered dangerously, and the wash cloth traveled lower, over his abdomen and hips, while Starsky took his own sweet time about it. Starsky’s minute ran out long ago, but Hutch didn’t dare move for fear of what he’d be compelled to do if he did.
“Need you clean, Hutch,” Starsky muttered over the sound of the shower. “Nice and clean. So I can eat you all up. Every inch.”
Hutch nearly strangled on his moan as his cock slapped his belly hard, demanding its fair share of attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Starsky said, “looks like we have a volunteer.” He wrapped the soapy cloth around Hutch’s cock and the texture of the soap and terry cloth was like torture, a wonderful terrible torture.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the sensations of pleasure swept over him. “Starsk! I’m gonna come.”
“I just bet you are,” Starsky muttered, then rubbed the cloth deliberately over Hutch’s balls while his soapy hand stroked his rigid column.
The surprise of it made him go off like a rocket, stars spangling behind his eyes, his whole body shaking with the force of it.
Starsky’s soapy hand kept stroking him, milking the last of it out. “There ya go,” he said, clearly pleased. “Y’know, in New York, we always let the guest come first.”
Hutch blinked at him through slitted eyes. “And they say New Yorkers aren’t polite.”
“Now turn around, ya big lug, if ya can still stand.”
“You’re gonna pay for that,” Hutch threatened, but did as he was told.
“Countin’ on it,” Starsky said smugly.
As Starsky washed Hutch’s back with particular care, Hutch wallowed in the pampering, but realized there was trust involved here as well. He was offering Starsky his back, trusting him the way he never had another man. The cloth soaped and cleansed and teased at the same time. It was pure pleasure. And when the cloth slipped between the cheeks of his ass, Hutch never protested. Because he trusted Starsky. The truth was he would give him anything at this moment.
Starsky left not an inch unwashed, right down to Hutch’s feet, joking that it had to be true what they said about a man’s feet being an indicator of his size. Hutch could only laugh. Finally, he was clean. After rinsing, he turned and held out his hand for the washcloth, eager to discover the length and breadth of this Starsky. After Starsky handed it over, Hutch’s big hands covered a lot of territory on the lithe figure, very sensitive territory at that, and before long he had Starsky shaking. But finally, he couldn’t stand having anything between them, and dropped the cloth, using the soap and his bare hands to stroke and scrub and clean and marvel over every single masculine inch. Then, he got down to the business of serious pleasure, wrapping his soapy right hand securely around Starsky’s swollen cock, while his left traveled over the globes and down the crack of that much-envied ass, and boldly explored an area he had never even imagined himself wanting to touch. The center of Starsky. The very center.
“Jesus, Hutch, Jesus!” Starsky gasped, dancing on his tiptoes as Hutch manipulated him with slick fingers. He gripped Starsky’s cock tight, amazed at the feel of it, hot steel and velvet skin, and stroked as slow as he could, while his left hand alternated between kneading that incredibly sweet ass, then going back over the crack and lower, until he settled his middle finger in place to gently rim the most forbidden spot on any man’s body.
Starsky gripped Hutch’s arms, his body bowstring tight, testicles drawn up hard, pressing against Hutch’s hip. It excited Hutch like no woman ever had, to have this kind of power over this strong a man. His middle finger pressed just a bit harder. He wanted to feel that spot yield, wanting suddenly to enter it and was shocked by his own desire.
“Hutch, wait, wait!” Starsky was nearly senseless under his hands and that felt so good, so right, Hutch was rock hard again, as if he’d never come at all.
“Maybe I don’t want to wait,” he whispered against Starsky’s ear. “What does it take to make you come, Starsky? Huh? What does it take?”
“Oh my god,” Starsky groaned.
Hutch stroked him hard and pressed in carefully until just the very tip of his broad finger slipped past the sphincter.
“You bastard!” Starsky swore, throwing his head back. He came so hard his ass clamped down around Hutch’s finger, trapping it. Hutch stared in stunned amazement at what he’d done as Starsky’s cock pulsed against him, spattering him.
Hutch felt dizzy with power at being able to pull that kind of reaction from Starsky. He found his partner’s mouth and took it, craving it, knowing he might never get enough of this man, tonight or any night. Starsky kissed him back, burying his hands in Hutch’s short wet hair, pulling their mouths together, kissing in an open-mouthed frenzy.
And then the shower turned cold, shocking them breathless.
“Shit!” Starsky swore and started laughing, since they were still covered in soap and had to rinse off.
By the time they got out of the stall, they were freezing. They tried to dry each other off but that was too haphazard, so they finally dried themselves. Still shivering, they dashed to Starsky’s bed, laughing like kids, nearly diving under the covers. Horizontal at last, they wrapped around one another, needing the body heat. It didn’t take long before they’d generated enough that they had to shove the covers to the floor.
“Now, you’re clean,” Starsky said, rolling on top of Hutch. “Every inch of you. And I’m gonna eat you alive.”
Hutch grinned like the happiest man on earth.
Starsky’s mouth was hot, his teeth sharp, his tongue slick and tireless as he kept his promise. But intense as all that was, the hottest thing were dark blue eyes that never left Hutch’s face, gauging Hutch’s every reaction so Starsky could adjust his torment to drive Hutch insane. It only took him seconds to realize Hutch’s nipples were incredibly sensitive. Starsky’s lips and tongue and teeth played a concert there until Hutch was thrashing. Starsky clearly enjoyed his work way too much. By the time he finished with the other nipple, Hutch was begging for relief, the blood throbbing in the swollen tips. So Starsky gave him relief, by running his tongue over his abdomen, nipping around his navel, then finally, pushing Hutch’s legs apart and settling between them.
Hutch stopped being able to think. Starsky’s beautiful face hovered over his groin. He looked like Pan about to make some terrible mischief. His lips were swollen from their kissing and glistening wet, his tongue peeking out in anticipation. Hutch’s cock slapped his belly in eager anticipation. Starsky grinned, as if knowing what it meant. I want you, Starsky. Like I’ve never wanted anyone. God help me, I want you.
Starsky nodded, hearing him loud and clear, and bent down to take the head of Hutch’s cock in his mouth. The sensation was so intense, Hutch thought for a moment he might actually faint. Starsky chuckled and pulled off, staring at him. “A man like you loves getting sucked, don’t you? You never get enough of it. And no woman can ever take as much cock as you’d like. Not a cock this size.”
Way beyond speech, Hutch could only control his anticipation, as Starsky once again went down on him. Mesmerized, Hutch stared in helpless wonder as his cock slid deep inside Starsky-Don’t think about that or you’ll come-slowly and steadily disappearing inch by inch down Starsky’s throat. To distract himself, he kept his gaze focused on Starsky’s eyes. The depth of their blueness pulled him in. He got lost in those bottomless eyes as his body got lost in Starsky’s bottomless, tireless throat. Sweat bloomed all over his body with the effort to control his response. It was shocking, sweet, intense, painful, the most wonderful sexual experience he could remember. All from the mouth of a man he’d only met this night.
I would’ve died for you in that bar, he thought in the brief seconds his brain could function well enough to think. And if you keep doing that, maybe now I will.
Finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He writhed, moaned low, called Starsky’s name, tried to tell him how good it was, but was reduced to senseless mutterings. Then between one second and the next he was gripping Starsky’s shoulders, arching his back and coming hard. He felt the vibration of Starsky’s groan, felt him swallowing around him, taking all he had to give, and that set him off again.
He sagged back in the bed, every muscle limp, gasping for air, as he watched his cock slip free of Starsky’s mouth. He slid a hand around the back of Starsky’s head, and urged him higher in the bed so he could hold him. He needed that close contact, needed to feel their hearts beating together. Needed to be sure all of this was real, not some fantasy he’d created to escape his other life.
Starsky settled against his side lightly, as if he weighed nothing, and the two of them rested in each other’s arms. After a few minutes, Starsky said hoarsely, “Jeezus, you got a lot more of those in there? You’re a powerful man, Hutch.”
It was a power he’d always had to rein in for fear of hurting his female partners. They always seemed so delicate to him, so easy to bruise, to hurt. Even his six foot plus frame was a problem for them, never mind his organ. “It’s you…” he muttered, giving Starsky a weak hug. Embarrassed by the flood of emotion welling up in him, he buried his face against Starsky’s neck.
As if he understood, Starsky stroked Hutch’s hair tenderly. “Easy, big boy. It’s okay. It’s just fine.”
Hutch knew he meant that, too. He trusted him that much. “Where’d you learn how to do that?” he asked, then immediately worried he’d gone too far. It felt like they’d known each other forever, but the intimacy of the bed could lull you into a fall sense of security.
“You’d be surprised what you can pick up in the army,” Starsky said simply.
“The army?” Hutch said incredulously.
Starsky propped himself up on one elbow. “Put a platoon of guys out in the field for weeks on end, with the threat of death hanging over you every day-shit happens. John Wayne would be really upset about it, but trust me, Hutch, no one wants to die with a hard-on. I’m guessing that must be what brought this on.” He indicated the two of them together. “You know, heat of battle, adrenaline-fighting side-by-side with a brother soldier-” He grinned.
Hutch couldn’t get over his surprise at Starsky’s answer.
“Where did you think I’d-?” Starsky started to ask.
“Look, it’s none of my business. I had no right to even ask. But I guess I-I probably thought-”
“Just spit it out, Hutch. We’re in bed together. You can ask me anything.”
He blurted it out before he’d even thought it through. “I guess… I thought-you and Huggy-” He wanted to bite his tongue when it slipped out.
“Me and Huggy?” Now it was Starsky’s turn to look startled.
“I don’t have any problem with that,” Hutch added quickly. “I mean, the two of you obviously go back a long ways, and he’s a really good guy-”
Starsky pressed his fingers over Hutch’s mouth. “Stop. You’re taking this train down the wrong track.” He pulled his hand away. “Huggy and I do go back a long ways. I met him right after I moved out here when we were kids. We got in a lot of trouble together.” He smiled, remembering. “If it weren’t for John Blaine, it would’ve led to a lot worse trouble. He kept Huggy out of some serious shit just because he was my friend. John taught me how to take care of myself in general, but Huggy taught me how to survive on the street. It wasn’t the kind of education you could get anywhere else. He’s one of my best friends and I owe him a hundred times over. Huggy’s not a hundred percent straight, but-he and I never connected like that. I-” Starsky looked around the room as if weighing what he was about to say.
“Starsky,” Hutch said quietly. “We’re in bed together. You can tell me anything. I’d never judge you.”
“Yeah,” Starsky said, turning back to him. “I figured that out about you when Tony draped himself over you and you didn’t deck him like a lotta guys would’ve. Look, Hutch, this here,” he indicated the two of them together, “this isn’t my everyday thing. I-I like women just fine. In fact, I haven’t done anything like this since the army, and that was years ago.” His eyes softened. “It’s you. Something about you, something vulnerable, something painful-an emptiness I want to fill, a mystery I want to explore- I can’t explain it.”
Starsky’s honesty and openness disarmed him. He rubbed the back of Starsky’s neck, wanting to reassure him that his trust wouldn’t be misused. He decided that nothing less than total honesty would do. “Starsk… I’ve never done this before with any man.”
Starsky’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?” He drew back a little.
Hutch smiled. “I’m not kidding. That bother you?”
“I don’t know.” He looked perplexed. “You sure jumped in with both feet. You really okay with this?”
“Making love to a man? Honestly-I don’t know. I can’t see me making a habit of it. I can’t remember ever having the slightest interest in any other man. Making love to you? That’s in a class by itself. I’m better than okay about that.”
Starsky looked like there was something else he wanted to ask. Hutch waited, giving him the time to mull it over. Finally, he turned Hutch’s hand over so they could both see the pale skin where the wedding band once rested and said simply, “And-your wife?”
As much as Hutch didn’t want her in this bed, he owed Starsky an answer. “She’s not going to be okay about it, that’s for sure. We’ve been married for three years-and I’ve never cheated on her-before. I never even cheated on her when we were dating. I didn’t think I could. What happened with Vanessa and me today, what’s been happening for months now-something’s broken between us, something I don’t think we can fix. I hate the thought of ending my marriage-but I hate the thought of going back to that life even more.” He gripped Starsky’s shoulder. “I’m not Hutch there. I’m Ken. I never liked Ken very much and even less now. You found Hutch somewhere inside me, and pulled him out. I like him. I want to be him, all the time. But I don’t think Vanessa or my family are going to be happy to meet him.”
Starsky smiled easily. “They’re not going to be able to ‘whip’ Hutch, that’s for sure.” He started to slide out of bed.
Suddenly insecure, Hutch grabbed his wrist. “Where you off to?”
Starsky leaned over him and kissed his mouth lightly. “Don’t know about you, but all that man-gargling left me parched. I’m getting us something to drink. Be right back.”
Hutch was definitely dehydrated.
“Hey, we’re in luck!” Starsky announced a few minutes later, climbing back into bed with bottles and bags. “There were a couple of cold Cokes in the back of the fridge, and I found a bag of oatmeal cookies I’d forgotten about.” He clambered back in the bed and sat up cross-legged, totally unselfconscious about his nudity.
“Forgotten about… for how long?” Hutch asked, as he hoisted himself up into a seated position, resting his back against the headboard and one of the pillows.
Starsky shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. They’re full of preservatives so they’ll be okay.” He handed Hutch a frosty bottle and an opener.
Hutch wasn’t crazy about super sweet pop, but after coming twice, he needed the energy jolt. He had a feeling life with Starsky could require a lot more energy than he was used to expending. Life with Starsky-what are you thinking?
“Cookies ‘r good,” Starsky mumbled around a mouthful as he crunched away.
Amused, Hutch shared the stash, consoling himself that they at least they had oatmeal in them. If they spent more time together, maybe he could steer Starsky into eating healthier.
“You filled out the application,” Starsky said after a slug of soda cleared his mouth. “To the police academy.”
Hutch nodded.
“Are you serious about it?”
More serious than you were about law school or medical school? hung unsaid between them.
Hutch thought about what they’d been through this evening, thought about working with men like Starsky, thought about what it really meant to help people.
“I mean,” Starsky continued, picking up another cookie, “you’ve gotta make a commitment to this if you’re gonna do it. The academy’s tough. Lotta guys drop out, others flunk out. Guys that are really committed.”
“Like you are.”
Starsky nodded. “I’m not gonna flunk out or drop out. Veterans usually do pretty well in the academy.”
Hutch watched the man he was in bed with sit cross leg and devour stale cookies and swill Coke. “What are the chances we could end up working together?”
Starsky stopped in mid-chew. Hutch could almost see the wheels grinding together as he canted his head to one side, as though giving the thought serious deliberation. “Depends… I want to become a detective eventually. You usually have to spend a couple of years in uniform first.”
“A detective… like John Blaine.”
Starsky smiled. “Yeah. But different. Police work is changing. They’re looking for guys to do more undercover stuff, plain clothes work. It’s not as structured, more free-form, make-it-up-as-you-go-along. Y’know-the kinda stuff you’re good at.”
Hutch smiled. “Detective, huh?”
“But it takes awhile…”
Hutch shrugged. “So does medical school. So does a law degree. So, three years in uniform?”
“Yeah, but we’d probably be in separate precincts. They send you where the need is. Your college years would help you with the detective’s exam… But once we become detectives we could put in for transfers… if we wanted to become partners.”
Hutch smiled. “That sounds like a future worth investing in.”
Starsky’s face grew serious. “Don’t get me wrong, Hutch. I really like the idea. The thought of being able to work with a guy like you, someone so quick-thinking, smart, tough-Someone I could trust to watch my back-”
“But-” Now it was Hutch’s turn to feel anxious.
“There’s one thing about bein’ a cop that’s not so great. And it’s not gonna get any better.”
“And that is-”
“They hate gays. If there was even a hint, a suggestion that we even occasionally tripped the light fantastic-we could get killed out there. There are stories of cops failing to answer calls for back up, stuff like that.”
Hutch sighed. He knew reality had to intrude sooner or later. “Look, Starsky, gay people aren’t tolerated well anywhere. And my wedding ring might be in an evidence locker somewhere, but I am still married. I’m not a good candidate for a double life. I owe it to Vanessa to try to make our marriage work for as long as I can.” He rubbed the back of his hand against Starsky’s cheek. “I love being with you like this, but we’d be crazy to think we could keep doing it without serious repercussions. The thought of working with you, experiencing the kind of thing we did tonight, using it to help people in need, stopping the people who cause pain and suffering-I can make that commitment. And I can stick to it.”
Starsky’s eyes sparkled with complex emotions. “I believe you.” He grinned. “We’re gonna have a ball in the academy! I’ll call Johnny tomorrow. He’ll give you a recommendation, and you’ll be a shoe-in.” As if to seal the deal, he leaned over and gave Hutch a syrupy Coke kiss.
That quickly led to another.
“Hey,” murmured Hutch huskily, feeling his blood pressure rising, “I believe I owe you something.”
“Yeah,” Starsky agreed, with the kind of taunting expression he’d worn when razzing Hutch around the pool table. “Like the dollar for that last game. I was winning.”
“The hell you were.”
“I was three points ahead.”
“We’d just started!”
Starsky laughed.
Then Hutch remembered something one of the gay guys had called out. “Forget the dollar bets… Next guy who wins gets to top.”
“Okay, you were winning, hot shot. So-since we lost our dollar bets to the evidence locker… you wanna top me?” What better way for me to find out what it means.
Starsky stopped laughing. “What?”
Hutch felt his face growing red and wished he could cut his tongue out.
“I thought you said you’d never done this with a man before,” Starsky said.
“Yeah-so?”
Starsky stared at him. “You have no idea what topping means, do you?”
He considered trying to bluff his way through it for about two seconds before saying honestly, “No. I told you. We don’t allow that kind of stuff in Minnesota.”
Starsky rolled his eyes. “I bet you don’t. Hutch… when you top someone… usually it means… you’re fucking them.”
Hutch’s whole body blushed as he struggled to look nonchalant about the whole thing and failed miserably. He wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t understand what would be involved if Starsky fucked him. He just never in his life considered doing such a thing with a man. In a desperate attempt to recover some of his dignity, he managed to say with as steady a voice as he could manage, “Okay. So… ya wanna?”
Starsky was giving him that intent I-can-see-right-through-you gaze, and said bluntly, “Of course I want to. But we’re not going to.”
Hutch didn’t know how to take that. While the practical part of him thought: A really smart man would be grateful for the reprieve, you idiot. The passionate part of him wondered: Doesn’t he want me?
“Oh, I want you all right,” Starsky reassured him. “Just the suggestion has got my motor in third gear. But… it’s too big a step for two people who want to find some way to get out of this bed and develop a career together. Making love to you, Hutch, has been… unforgettable. And you are the craziest, bravest man I know to be willing to offer me-that. I’ll always remember it. But I’d be taking advantage of something very special and fragile if I did. And I’m hoping… I see a future with you. I want us to last.”
“I think that’s… the most ego-building rejection I’ve ever gotten!” Hutch said battling relief and disappointment at the same time.
“Doesn’t mean I still don’t want’cha, ya big lug.” He glanced out the window. Light was coloring the sky. “Sooner or later, Cinderella, you’re gonna have to go back to the wicked queen of the Midwest and try to explain how you left home a doctor, met the wizard, got a brain, and came home a cop.”
“You left out the pumpkin coach, the flying monkeys, and-”
“-The kiss of the handsome prince that woke the sleeping beauty.”
Hutch grinned with pleasure. “You really think I’m handsome?”
Dave blinked in dismay. “I’m the handsome prince! I would’a thought that was obvious. You’re the helpless sleeping beauty waiting for Prince Charming to come and-hey!”
Hutch lurched forward and tackled Starsky with a classic wrestling hold and flattened him onto his back. Empty soda bottles went bouncing onto the floor with a clatter and he had a feeling they’d be rolling around on the oatmeal cookies, but it was worth it just to take the smug motor mouth by surprise.
“Sleeping beauty?” Hutch demanded, pinning Starsky to the mattress.
“Well, the second part’s right… but I wasn’t plannin’ on letting you get any sleep this night, Hiawatha,” Dave told him, grinning shamelessly.
Hutch stopped that taunting expression the best way he knew how. He kissed Starsky deeply and felt the man melt under him.
“Okay,” Starsky said breathlessly when they parted. “You passed the audition. You can be Prince Charming.”
Hutch chuckled and they kissed again, then suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. Like a flash fire, his passion overwhelmed him again. Within seconds he went from Starsky’s joking buddy to a man lost in his need.
How does he do this to me? Hutch wondered in dismay. And then, How am I ever going to give this up?
“What are you doing to me?” Starsky gasped without a trace of humor.
“Returning kind for kind,” Hutch told him, grappling them over onto their sides, so they could embrace chest to chest. While they kissed, he started running his hands up and down Starsky’s back and sides, his arms, then, inevitably, his ass.
Starsky started making those sounds again, while his hands did some serious traveling on their own.
“You drive me crazy when you do that,” Hutch complained.
“In your case, that’s a pretty short trip, crazy man,” Starsky told him. “Jeezus, Hutch, you’re leaking all over. You never did tell me how many of those you’ve got in there.”
“When it comes to you, an endless supply.”
Starsky chuckled. “Told ya I was the handsome prince.” Then he reached down and tried to collect both their rigid cocks in his hand, but he just couldn’t get a good enough grip.
“Let me,” Hutch gasped, and took hold of them both.
“Big feet,” Starsky mumbled, “big hands, big-”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Hutch growled, as he used his slippery precome to lubricate his hand as he stroked them.
“Okay,” Starsky gasped, as Hutch got into a rhythm.
It was the oddest sensation, jerking himself off at the same times as he did Starsky. The sensation of Starsky’s velvet skin rubbing against Hutch’s cock was electrifying. At the same time, Hutch was trying to grasp the reality of holding another man’s cock and liking it. Hell, he was way past liking it. Handling Starsky this way was right, it was fine, it was everything passion was supposed to be.
“Something you don’t know…” Starsky was struggling to be articulate. “How ’bout this-”
Hutch’s own blood was thrumming so loud in his ears, he could barely keep track of what Starsky was saying.
“-Hutch, no one’s ever made me feel this way, in bed or out,” Starsky gasped.
The statement rattled Hutch so bad, he almost released them and lost his rhythm for a stroke or two. “Oh, god, babe…”
Starsky moaned, and Hutch pulled him in tight with his free arm. Starsky gripped his ass as if trying to meld them together with sweat and semen. He started humping into Hutch’s hand, losing himself in the rhythm. “Hutch… Hutch… Hutch-” Starsky’s eyes rolled up as he lost himself in passion. Panting, he bucked against Hutch, driving his cock into his hand, rubbing it frantically against Hutch’s own.
No one’s ever made you feel this way? Hutch thought, not trusting his mouth. Good. I hope no one ever will. Just me. Just me- The words slipped away from him anyway. “My Starsk… babe… mine-”
“Hutch! Hutch! Hutch!” His name was on every gasping exhalation as Starsky clawed him, struggling to hold on to their frantic ride. Starsky wrapped his bowed legs around Hutch’s to pull him in even closer.
Hutch’s mouth ran away with him in spite of his efforts. “Mine-Starsk-are you mine?”
To his dismay Starsky heard and answered him. “Hutch-yours-Hutch!”
Then somehow their mouths found each other’s and as Hutch gripped them even tighter, he felt Starsky’s body go absolutely rigid as he erupted. The flow of liquid over his hand devastated Hutch and he shouted Starsky’s name and came, stunned that he still had some ejaculate left in him.
The shock waves seemed to last a long time, then suddenly everything was way too sensitive and he released them as Starsky tried to pull away.
Once freed, though, Starsky returned to his arms, fitting against him as though he were a puzzle piece made to match Hutch’s body.
They were both trembling, and it took a while before they could catch their breaths and the shock waves subsided. It took another minute or two before Hutch had the energy to start worrying about what he’d said in the throes of passion.
Apparently, Starsky could still read his mind. Snuggling against Hutch, he said softly, “It’s okay, Hutch. We don’t have to say anything more… We said it all, babe.”
Hutch rubbed his cheek against Starsky’s wavy hair and blinked his stinging eyes. How could he ever get out of this bed?
About five minutes later, his eyes began to close, and he was only vaguely aware of Starsky getting up and finding the covers they had flung onto the floor. Dimly, he heard Starsky crunching on a cookie as he put the bag on the floor as he covered Hutch carefully, then snuggled back up against him under the covers. Five minutes after that, Hutch was spooned around Starsky’s back listening to his soft snores and resenting the fact that he’d have to sleep.
***
“Have you figured out what you’re going to tell her?” Starsky asked as he put another spoon of sugar into the diner’s strong coffee.
Hutch was enjoying it black. He needed the caffeine kick desperately. They’d gotten less than five hours sleep, which wasn’t nearly enough, especially since he woke up with his cock in Starsky’s mouth, which almost gave him an orgasm and a heart attack at the same time. It took them awhile to get out of bed, and of course they had to shower again, which was another delay. Starsky managed to find a semi-decent pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt for Hutch to wear. They looked pretty weird with his wingtip shoes, but there was no way he could get into Starsky’s footwear. His own clothes were a complete write-off, and he suspected his jacket and tie were still in Joe’s Bar somewhere.
He resented having to think about Starsky’s question, especially while demolishing a massive stack of pancakes, three scrambled eggs and a mound of bacon. He had no idea how many calories he’d burned last night, but right now he felt like he had a hollow leg. Starsky wasn’t having any trouble keeping up with him.
They’d finally left the apartment for food before going to Parker Center to give statements about the shooting. Starsky had casually picked up Hutch’s application to the police academy and brought it along. They’d be talking to John Blaine when they went to give their statements, and Starsky was hoping to get Blaine to give Hutch a recommendation.
Hutch suspected if Blaine picked up even a hint of what they’d been up to last night, he’d get a hell of a lot more than a recommendation. He’d probably get shot.
Starsky was waiting patiently for Hutch to answer, and he knew he couldn’t stall forever.
“I’m going to tell her the truth-”
Starsky nearly choked on his coffee, but managed to avoid spraying it over Hutch.
“I mean-a selective truth. I’ll tell her about the bar, and the robbery, and meeting you- It’s not the first time I’ve drowned my sorrows in a bottle after one of our fights. And it’s not the first time I haven’t come home until the next day. However… it is the first time I haven’t come home in my own clothes. At least I’ll have a police report to show her.” Which I hope will explain away the marks Starsky left all over me. Van always said Ken was never any good at lying. He wondered if Hutch would be any better at it.
“You’re not going to tell her about-”
“Do you want me to?” he asked, concerned. “If you do, Starsk, I will. She’ll make our lives living hell, but if you want me to-”
Starsky looked dismayed. “You are crazy. No, I don’t want you to tell her!” Then he looked contrite. “Not that I’m ashamed, Hutch, I’m just being practical. I mean… if I could I’d take out an ad in the Times. I just… wanted to know.”
“Look, Starsky, you’re the only person that I’ve ever been able to be totally honest with. I don’t want to jeopardize that. Not for her. Not for anyone.”
Starsky nodded. Hutch realized they both seemed to be having trouble letting their eyes meet. Hutch knew they had to back off the intense passion bubbling between them or risk drowning in it.
“Now it’s your turn to tell me something,” Hutch said. “Are you okay about my going back to her?”
Starsky looked surprised. “She’s your wife, Hutch. I expected you to. I knew going into this what the score was. Like you said last night, we need to build something that will last, and we can’t do that in bed-as great as that was.” Starsky hesitated and wolfed down another piece of bacon. Hutch could tell he was holding something back, so he just waited. “One thing though,” he said, after swallowing. “If she marks your face again, I may not be responsible for my actions.”
Hutch felt his face warming, but it wasn’t embarrassment. It was a flood of emotion he could barely put a name to. He couldn’t remember when anyone had cared about his pain on such a visceral level. Not since his grandfather died. “I won’t let it get to that point again. I’ve changed. She’s either going to have to change or-”
He didn’t need to say anything else.
“Hutch… about the application…”
He waited expectantly.
“We were both seriously under the influence when you filled that thing out last night. Are you really sure about this? I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you really don’t want to do. Enough people have done that to you.”
Hutch smiled. This one was easy to answer. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have any problem backing out. I’m an expert at quitting things. I’m ready for this. I feel great about it. But, Starsk… I think it would be better if we weren’t roommates in the academy.”
To his surprise, Starsky broke into a huge grin. “No shit, Sherlock. We’d never get out of the shower!”
Hutch burst out laughing at his response.
Starsky glanced at his watch. “You about done? John was hoping we’d get there around one-”
“I’m ready,” Hutch said, wiping his mouth.
Starsky looked up at him, still grinning, his blue eyes dancing with mischief and promise. “Okay, let’s hit the road, partner.”
Partner. That word-first uttered by a low-life criminal-sounded so right coming from Starsky. Just like Hutch did. He was so much Hutch now he couldn’t remember what it had been like to be Ken.
Hutch. Starsky’s partner. Those were words with a promise of things to come.
He got up from the booth and followed Starsky out to their future.
~~~the beginning~~~
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