Alternate Universe (AU) – What if Hutch had been talked out of going to the academy and had never escaped Vanessa? What if Starsky had been persuaded not to become a cop? How could they meet and get to where they should be? First of two stories: ‘Not Wounded, Healed’ is the sequel. Written in April 2020 and updated 2024.
It had been a soul destroying day at the end of another long spirit numbing week. With a deep sigh, Ken Hutchinson unlocked the front door to his apartment and hoped his wife was out. The last thing he needed was another lecture or another fight. When he saw the note on the coffee table informing him that she had dinner plans and would be back late, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He entered the kitchen, made himself a sandwich and took it back to the living room. He counted eating whilst standing up and looking out of the window at the city lights a small victory in his war against Vanessa’s regime. Eating in the living room was something Vanessa didn’t allow.
When did I become someone who can’t eat a sandwich in my own living room? he asked himself.
As he looked out at the darkness, he felt the question echo hollowly around his empty soul. Bitterness made him feel like gagging and he rushed back into the kitchen and threw the rest of his sandwich away, grabbing a beer from the fridge instead. For several minutes, he wandered aimlessly around the apartment, sipping from the bottle of beer, unable to settle to anything. There was no cosy sofa to collapse on in front of mindless television programmes; no interesting books to delve into – just piles of fashion and home improvement magazines; no garden to potter around in; no space to sit and strum his guitar.
“What am I doing here?” he wondered, “and why has it taken me so long to realise that I am a stranger in my own home…no, her home, not my home and definitely not our home. Oh God, how did it come to this? I don’t know what to do. Please help me.”
The desperate prayer solidified into hopelessness as he realised with sadness: “I hate my life.”
It was the first time he had ever said it out loud and the fact he had frightened him. Returning to the kitchen, he collected another beer from the fridge and snapped the cap off, throwing it in the sink with some force.
He caught sight of his spider plant on the windowsill – it was the only green thing Vanessa had allowed in the apartment and then only grudgingly. He put the bottle down on the counter and checked the soil around his plant. Lovingly, he held the pot under the tap and gave it a good drink.
“There you are Sylvia, drink up, that’ll help you grow strong and healthy,” he said out loud and then laughed bitterly.
“When was the last time I had a conversation with a real person who cared what I think or feel?”
The fact that he couldn’t remember the answer to his own question hit him with piercing clarity and he felt another wave of despair roll over him.
“I feel like I’ve lost myself. What’s the point of me?…What is the point?…Maybe I’d be better off not…”
He finished the thought by moving through the living room towards the bedroom and then the bathroom. With slow, unsteady movements, he opened the medicine cabinet and looked at the different packets and bottles arranged on the shelves. His eyes were drawn to the sleeping pills that he had been given by his doctor after a period of insomnia last year: insomnia caused by Vanessa’s escalating temper. He hadn’t liked the way they made him feel – groggy and unable to think – so he’d not taken any more of them, deciding instead to put up with the constant lack of sleep. There were plenty left to help him solve his problem now. He took the pills out of the packet and shoved them in his pocket. Then he went back to the kitchen, collected four beers, picked up his car keys and left the apartment to go to the beach.
*****
His Friday night shift had just finished. Starsky thought about going home to bed but the dawn (of what promised to be a fine day) was fast approaching and he suddenly had the urge to try to capture the early morning light as it shone on the beach huts at his favourite location. He drove towards the coast, parking in his usual spot, as the sun slowly rose in the pink and yellow tinged sky. He grabbed his chair, easel and paints from the trunk of his car and headed down the beach to where the huts were situated, revelling in the sight of the glimmers of light reaching the lower half of the wooden buildings.
Finished with setting up his easel, Starsky turned and looked out to sea, surprised to spot a lonely figure walking unsteadily along the shoreline. As the figure drew level with Starsky, he thought he recognised it as a blond fisherman he’d seen around a few times over the past few months. The man was too far away to really be sure.
Starsky didn’t know why he’d particularly noticed the guy on the pier, gazing out to sea as he waited for something to bite the fly he’d carefully chosen. When the weather was wild, the man wore a dark blue beanie pulled down low over his hair and ears and an old green jacket, collar up as high as it could go and zipped up tight. When the weather was fine, his golden hair shone on his head and he would wear a light white jacket to keep out the breeze or, if the weather was really warm, just a long sleeve plaid shirt. Sometimes, he’d arrive after Starsky had set up his easel and would walk past, nodding acknowledgement of his presence, before setting up his rod and reel in his favourite spot.
Starsky’s favourite location for drawing moved around, depending on whether he was trying to sketch the sea, the pier, the wooden beach huts or items of driftwood or shells that he had found along the shoreline. Starsky loved the beach and tried to make it there at least once in the week after work and always on one or both days of the weekend. The creative outlet of drawing and painting helped to keep him sane. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his job as a taxi driver – he usually enjoyed chatting to the many different people he gave rides to and hearing their stories – it was just he felt that there ought to be something more and he was tired of having brief glimpses into people’s lives but never making any meaningful connections of his own.
If painting provided sanity for him, he guessed fishing must provide a similar feeling for the tall blond, who was often there on the same days and times as Starsky. He’d also seen him leave his pole and go for a walk along the stretch of sand several times over the weeks, stopping to pick up stones and throw them into the sea. By the sixth or seven week, they’d graduated from nods to ‘Hi’s. For some reason, Starsky found it comforting to have a familiar face in the same location on days when he was feeling a bit down.
Now as dawn spread out an ever widening arc of light, Starsky sat down and began to sketch out shapes on the canvas in front of him. Occasionally, he looked up and saw the figure walking in the distance. After a while, the figure turned and started heading back down the beach with a weaving, uneven motion. Starsky wondered if the man was inebriated. Every few seconds, he would dart a look to keep an eye on the figure and what he was doing.
When he next looked up, the figure had stopped a few hundred yards away and was staring out to sea. Now he could see him better, Starsky was sure it was the blond fisherman. The man’s shoulders looked dejected in the early morning sunshine and Starsky thought about going to talk to him to see if he was okay.
Without warning, the figure began to stagger in a slow weave towards the waves lapping the shore. Before Starsky had even registered what he was doing, the man was up to his knees in the water and still walking unsteadily forward.
Starsky dropped his pencil and started running down the beach after him, shouting: “Hey, man. What ya doing?”
As he reached the water’s edge, he saw the man had reached chest depth and was still trying to move forward. Starsky didn’t hesitate. He dragged off his tennis shoes and ran into the water, converting to swimming as soon as the sea was deep enough. He saw the blond head disappear beneath a wave and tried to speed up, keeping his eyes as best he could on the spot where the man had dropped from view. When he reached where he thought it was, he dove down, searching around with his hands in the murky waters to see if he could feel the man’s body. With his lungs burning, he headed up to the surface and gasped for air before diving again. This time, his hands found soft flesh and as he felt his way down he realised it was the man’s leg. He scrabbled at the body, trying to get hold of him under his armpits and dragged him back upwards.
Breaking free of the water, he gasped for air and then began swimming for the shore, towing the dead weight beside him. The swim back was much longer than the swim in, laden down as Starsky was with the young man’s limp body. When he reached the sandy shore, he dragged the man out of the water and checked for breathing. No movement of the chest, no breath coming from between the slightly parted lips which were beginning to turn blue. Thanking God for the First Aid course he’d gone on only a few months ago, Starsky began mouth to mouth resuscitation. After what seemed an eternity, the limp figure suddenly coughed and water started spewing from his mouth. Starsky turned him on his side to let the flow of water run away.
When he was breathing again, Starsky struggled to his feet and began moving, dragging the sodden blond further up the beach. The man muttered once but seemed oddly out of it. Starsky wondered whether his earlier thought had been right and the man was drunk or whether he’d taken something else to help himself drown. He sat the semi-conscious man down near the beach huts, leaving him propped in the sunshine while he went to grab a blanket from the back of his car.
Starsky made the decision to leave the man at the beach huts, partly because he needed a break from carrying the man so far and he also figured it would be easier to get some of the guy’s wet clothes off him and wrap him up before he tried to get him into his car. As soon as he returned, he dragged the stranger’s jacket and top off and then wrapped the blanket around him. The man resisted a little, which Starsky took as a good sign that he was coming back to the land of the living. He pulled him upright and shoved his arm under his shoulder and around his body so that he could half guide, half drag the man back to his red and white Torino.
Starsky managed to manhandle him into the back seat then he jogged back down the beach to collect his shoes and his easel, paints and chair. He picked up the wet jacket and top and heard a clanking sound as a set of keys fell out of the jacket pocket. He scooped them up and put them in his pocket. He quickly checked the rest of the jacket for any form of ID but there wasn’t anything there. Either the blond had left his wallet somewhere safe or it was now in the ocean. The sodden brunet hurried up the beach and threw everything into the trunk of the car before settling into the driver’s seat. He turned to look at the figure in the back seat. His head was hanging down but he appeared to be awake.
“You okay, buddy? Want me to take ya home to dry off?”
The head lifted and pale blue eyes stared back at him. The man gave a small shake of the head.
“Well, we need to get you and me both dried off and warmed up. How about we go back to my place?”
Starsky didn’t expect an answer and he didn’t get one. Sighing, he started the car and headed towards his home. He half wondered if he should take the guy to the nearest hospital in case he had taken an overdose of something but his eyes looked clear as far as Starsky could tell so he went with his gut feeling. Fifteen minutes later, he helped the man out of the back seat and guided him up the stairs to his house. Pale blue eyes took in the unusual tree growing into the side of the house and he raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
Starsky just shrugged his shoulders and grinned. He helped the man in and pushed him towards the bathroom.
“Get out of those wet pants and have a warm shower. Here are a couple of towels. I’ll find you some clothes of mine that might fit ya.”
The man did as he was told and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Starsky took the opportunity to go collect the man’s wet clothes from his car and dumped them on the kitchen floor. He could hear the shower still running while he looked out some sweatpants, an old baggy blue t-shirt and a thick knitted blue sweater his Mom had made for him last Christmas, which he left on the bed. Starsky returned to the kitchen and made two mugs of hot chocolate. His teeth were chattering as he took a few cautious sips of the hot liquid.
When Starsky heard the man come out of the bathroom, he went through to the bedroom. The blond was standing there, looking lost. He had one blue towel wrapped around his waist and another white one hugged closely round his chest. Starsky thought he looked much too thin, as if he’d not been eating for quite some while, and then he noticed there were some recent bruises and some small scars on the arm he could see. He tried not to react.
Instead he pointed to the clothes on the bed and said, “Get dressed and then go through to the kitchen. I made some hot chocolate. Help yourself.”
By now, the chattering teeth had worsened and he was shivering all over with the cold as he spoke. Quickly, he headed in to the bathroom to take a warm shower but didn’t make the mistake of having the water too hot. Standing under the comfortingly warm flow of water, he wondered what had happened to the man to lead him to this point. The scars weren’t near the wrists so Starsky didn’t think they were self-inflicted and the bruises…
If the bruises were from an abusive relationship maybe that was what had led to this morning’s desperate act. He wondered what he could say or do to help. He hurried out of the shower and began drying off, anxious in case his guest had slipped away while he had the opportunity.
When the brunet came out, wrapped in a large green towel, he peeked through to the kitchen and was relieved to see that the man was sitting at the table sipping his mug of hot chocolate. Starsky hurriedly put on a fresh pair of jeans, a red t-shirt and his favourite thick knitted cream sweater covered with Aztec patterns. It had a nice high collar and he instantly felt a lot warmer.
He gathered up all the wet clothing from the bedroom, both his and the stranger’s, and carried it through to the kitchen to add it to the pile on the floor. Then he placed the sopping wet items in the washing machine, added washing powder and set it going. Chore done, he sat down at the table and drank some more of his own hot chocolate. It was still just about warm.
“My name’s Dave Starsky,” he offered. “What’s yours?”
The man looked at him silently then reluctantly answered: “K-Ken…Hutchinson.”
Starsky held out his hand and Hutchinson took it. The handshake started off nervous but underneath, Starsky could feel hidden strength and a connection that he couldn’t begin to define.
“Nice to meet you.”
The blond peered at him as if he was trying to put pieces of a mismatched jigsaw together. “Have we met before? You look familiar?”
“Not officially, no. I’ve seen you down at the beach, fishing. I’m the guy who’s usually trying to paint something.”
“Oh. Yes, I remember.”
Starsky decided there was no point ignoring the elephant in the room and asked, “What happened this morning? Wanna talk about it?”
Hutchinson looked away and Starsky decided not to press him for now.
“That’s okay. We can talk about it later. You hungry?…I am…I’ve got some pizza left from yesterday I could reheat.”
The blond nodded. “I could eat.”
“Good. Why don’t you go make yourself at home and I’ll get the pizza going. Won’t take long.”
As Hutchinson walked away from him, Starsky called after him, saying, “Turn the TV on if you want to.”
He busied himself in the kitchen and then when the pizza was ready he put it on one large plate and carried it through. Hutchinson looked quite relaxed as he sat on Starsky’s sofa. He hadn’t turned on the TV but Starsky could see his eyes wandering around the living room: taking in the photographs of family and seascapes; the painting of the sea at sunset (the only one that Starsky had done that he felt was good enough to have framed professionally); and the various art and black and white film posters.
“Nice painting.”
“Thanks.”
“One of yours?”
Starsky nodded.
“It’s good.”
Starsky offered him a slice of pizza then he went and collected a packet of chips and two root beers, which he also offered to the blond.
“Don’t know how hungry you are. Eat as much as you like.”
Hutchinson helped himself to a second slice of pizza and they sat in silence for a while, concentrating on eating.
After some time, Starsky asked, “So what do ya do for a living?”
“I’m an accountant.”
“That’s a good job, I guess. Good pay?”
The blond shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”
“Me, I’m a cabbie so it’s lots of different shifts. At least you keep regular hours.”
“Yeah, they’re regular…monotonous,” Hutchinson muttered.
“Why do you stick with it if you don’t like it?” Starsky enquired.
“Mortgage to p-pay. W-wife with expensive t-tastes,” Ken stammered out.
Starsky considered this information. He glanced up at the living room wall clock, noting the time. It was almost eight.
“You want me to ring her?…Your wife? Let her know, you’re okay.”
“No!”
The vehemence with which this was said had Starsky’s nerves jangling. Seemed he’d hit a raw nerve.
“It’s all right, buddy,” Starsky said soothingly, “I can’t ring her without your permission. I don’t know your number, do I?”
The blond ran a hand over his face and Starsky noticed it was shaking. He went to place a hand on the blond’s shoulder but thought better of it.
“She the reason…you know.”
Hutchinson’s face crumpled. “Why’d you stop me? Now, I have to go back there.”
“Couldn’t let ya do it, buddy,” Starsky said softly. “And you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.”
Pale blue eyes looked at Starsky. The hopelessness in them took Starsky’s breath away.
“I got nowhere else to go. Nobody who gives a damn. What else can I do?”
Starsky found himself saying, “Stay here…as long as you need.”
Starsky should have been surprised at himself because of the rash offer he’d made but he wasn’t. For some reason, it just seemed the logical and right thing to do. He couldn’t bear the thought of Hutchinson trying again to end his life. Maybe it was because he’d saved him and he now felt a sense of responsibility for him or maybe it was just this weird connection he felt with the guy.
A range of emotions played out on Hutchinson’s face: he frowned initially, and then looked unconvinced that the offer was genuine; finally a sliver of hope crossed his face. He bit his lip and twisted it between his teeth.
“You don’t know anything about me? Why do you want to help me?”
Starsky thought about this before answering: “I know your name’s Ken Hutchinson, I know you’re trapped doing a job ya don’t like for a woman ya don’t love anymore, I know ya like the beach as much as I do and I know ya like fishing.” With a touch of humour, he added: “…and you like my painting so that means ya got great taste! That’ll do for now.”
Hutchinson looked like he could easily start crying so Starsky patted his leg reassuringly then he yawned and rubbed his face.
“I’m beat, buddy. I’d just come off night shift when I got to the beach. Mind if I go get a couple of hours sleep?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Ya tired?”
“A bit,” the blond haired man admitted.
“I’ll get you a blanket and pillow so you can crash out on the sofa if you want.” Starsky collected the items and brought them back to Hutchinson. “Oh damn, I forgot I need to hang the washing out,” he said, noticing that the washing machine had stopped spinning.
Hutchinson followed him into the kitchen. “I can hang it out if you like,” he offered. “Where and how?”
“Thanks. Line out back. Pegs in that pot there,” Starsky said as he yawned again. “Sorry, pal, I’m about to crash…Wake me at one if I haven’t already got up. Watch TV if you want: it won’t bother me.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Starsky nodded and staggered off to the bedroom. He pulled the curtains together to cut out the light and pushed the door nearly shut. Then he opened it again.
“If ya need the john, Hut-Ken, just come on through. I sleep like the dead when I come off shift, ya won’t wake me.”
Starsky had found himself tripping over blond’s name. He wasn’t sure why: it was just that Ken sounded wrong somehow. Hutchinson nodded in answer to Starsky’s statement and busied himself with getting the clothes out of the washing machine. Starsky pushed the door closed and got ready for bed. He was asleep within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.
*****
As Starsky headed towards consciousness, he became aware of a man’s voice talking close by. Somewhat confused, he started to get up, feeling anxious: thinking that someone had broken into his home but then he remembered that he had company staying. He listened and realised that Hutchinson was talking on the telephone. He tried not to listen in as he lay back down for a moment.
He wondered why he wasn’t more cautious about a complete stranger being in his home. For some inexplicable reason, he knew that he was getting a good vibe off Hutchinson and didn’t feel he had anything to worry about having the man in his apartment. He got out of bed and pulled back the curtains. It looked like it was still sunny but the breeze coming in through the slightly open window was chilly. The brunet went to use the john and then got dressed.
When he came out of the bedroom, Hutchinson looked slightly anxious as he said, “I-I hope you don’t mind me using your phone. I-I’ll pay for the call.”
Starsky waved his hand. “Nah, don’t worry about it.”
“I-I just rang work…No-one’s there on a Saturday but I left a message. I told them I’m not w-well and won’t be in until the middle of the week,” Hutchinson explained. “That’ll give me a chance to try and figure out what I’m going to do…w-where I’m going to live.”
Starsky poured himself a glass of milk.
“Good idea…So what does your wife usually do on a Saturday afternoon?”
Hutchinson looked flustered. “W-What? Why do you want to know?”
“Just thought if she’s likely to be out maybe I could help you retrieve anything you want from your house and bring it here so ya got your stuff with ya.”
The blond swallowed. “I-I…That’s…I…”
Starsky rescued him. “So will she be out now? Want to do it now? Get it over with?”
“Y-yes, she should be out…Maybe I should ring and check?” Hutchinson suggested nervously.
Starsky waved his hand towards the phone. “Be my guest.”
He watched as the tall blond reached for the phone with a shaking hand and dialled the number. When it connected, he let it ring for a good minute before replacing the receiver with a sigh of relief.
“Looks like she’s out.”
“Good, let’s go now then.”
“Thanks.”
Starsky patted his arm as he walked past. “No problem, pal. Come on, we’ll get your stuff first and then maybe buy some lunch on the way back.”
He walked to the closet near the front door and grabbed his brown leather jacket. He pulled a light windcheater out and offered it to Hutchinson. “You might need this. The wind’s cold out there.”
“Thanks.” Hutchinson took the proffered jacket and put it on. Then he looked worried, “Oh, my keys! I don’t know what happened to them.”
Starsky walked over to a small pot on his bookcase. “These came out of your jacket when we were at the beach. Are they the ones you need?”
“Yes, thanks.” Hutchinson took the keys gratefully and stuffed them in his pocket.
“No problem.”
Starsky locked the front door behind them and the two men walked out and down the steps towards the road and a red and white car parked next to the sidewalk.
“That’s your car?” Hutchinson asked with surprise, as Starsky walked over to the Torino and unlocked the door.
“Yes, she’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Starsky said proudly.
“Yes, very nice,” Hutchinson answered without conviction.
As he climbed in the driver’s seat, Starsky observed: “Ya must have been out of it yesterday if ya didn’t notice her on the way back from the beach.”
Hutchinson walked round and got in the passenger side. “That reminds me: I suppose I’d better go collect my car too…I left it at the beach…If you don’t mind taking me there, Dave.”
“That’s no problem,” Starsky said as he turned the key in the ignition. “Actually, I prefer being called Starsky, if it’s okay with you.”
“S-Sorry,” Hutchinson stammered.
Starsky instantly felt sorry for correcting him. Someone had done a real number on this guy. His ego was about as fragile as a broken eggshell.
“Hey, call me whatever you like. I don’t really mind, buddy.”
Hutchinson looked out of the window as they drove along. Every so often he gave Starsky directions and finally they pulled up outside a glass and steel apartment building.
“Want me to come in with you?”
Hutchinson swallowed nervously. “Y-Yes…if you don’t mind.”
“Nah, that’s fine. I can help ya carry your cases.”
Hutchinson looked at him gratefully then led the way into the building. He nodded politely at the doorman as they entered and walked over to the elevator, pressing the call button. Once they were inside, he pressed the button for floor three. Starsky kept a surreptitious eye on him and noticed a nervous twitch in his cheek. When the elevator door opened, the two men walked down the corridor to door number 303. The blond took his key out of his pocket and then opened the door with a shaking hand.
Once inside, he called out tentatively, “V-Vanessa? Are you here?”
He seemed relieved when there was no answer.
Starsky looked around the place. It was sterile, devoid of any human touches. There were large paintings on the walls, no doubt worth a lot but not to Starsky’s taste. They looked like the sort of thing people collected to make a statement not to give them pleasure. Hutchinson walked across the living room and into the bedroom. He opened the wardrobe doors and dragged two suitcases out from the back. After he placed them on the bed and opened them, he started pulling items of clothing out of a chest of drawers on the right of the room. He took two suits out of the wardrobe and folded them carefully in one suitcase. He left the other five hanging. He found a pair of dark jeans and an old college jacket on a shelf and put those in his case as well. He closed the cases and did the latches up.
“That it for in here?” Starsky asked. “What about the bathroom?”
Hutchinson nodded and went and collected his toothbrush and shaving kit then he placed them in a zip up bag he pulled from another drawer.
“That’s it.”
Starsky picked up one case and Hutchinson picked up the other. They walked through the living room and put the bags down near the front door.
“I just want to get a couple of other things,” Hutchinson said.
“No problem, I’ll wait here.”
Hutchinson opened a narrow cupboard door and pulled out a vacuum cleaner. He reached in behind it and dragged out a battered old guitar case then replaced the cleaning equipment. He placed the guitar lovingly next to his case and headed into the kitchen. He came back carrying a blender and a very healthy looking spider-plant. Starsky couldn’t help smiling at the weird choice of essential items Hutchinson wanted to take with him.
“What?” the blond asked.
“Nothing…That it?”
At that moment, they heard a key turning in the lock and Hutchinson’s face went ashen.
The door opened. A dark haired woman stepped into the room, stopping suddenly with a look of surprise on her face. She was beautiful but in a cold sort of way and Starsky took an instant dislike to her. She looked from one man to the other and at the cases on the floor in front of them.
“What’s going on here?”
Hutchinson was silent, frozen in place, so Starsky answered for him.
“H-Ken’s moving out.”
“What do you mean moving out? And who the hell are you?”
“I’m a friend and Ken doesn’t want to be here anymore.”
Vanessa took a step closer to Ken and laid her hand on his arm.
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. You are not going anywhere. We’re married and you belong here with me.”
She encircled her silent husband’s wrist with her long well-manicured fingers. Starsky could see the grip was tight enough to leave marks.
He stepped physically between the two of them and hissed, “Take your hand off him!”
Vanessa just laughed: “Or what?”
Starsky pulled himself up to his full height and took a step towards her, invading her personal space, forcing her to move backwards and let go of Hutchinson’s wrist.
“We’re leaving,” he said firmly. “Why don’t you go on into the living room and leave us to get out of here without a scene?”
Vanessa thought about side-stepping the dark-haired man in front of her and taking control of the situation and her husband but she could see the brunet was watching her like a hawk and knew he wasn’t going to let her get close to Ken, if he could prevent it. She shrugged.
“Ken, darling, you’re not really going with this person are you? What will I tell my parents? What will your parents think? What will your work think? What about our friends?”
Starsky took another step towards her.
“Lady, he’s going and you need to stop talking and back off.”
Vanessa laughed again, a brittle, piercing sound. “He’ll be back. He hasn’t got the guts to cut himself off from everything he knows.”
Vanessa blew a mock kiss towards her husband and headed towards the kitchen.
Starsky put the cases in the hall and then handed Hutchinson his guitar case, which he managed to take once he’d re-organised his belongings so that he had his arm holding his blender against his chest and his plant by the tip of his fingers. He still seemed frozen to the spot so Starsky patted his shoulder gently.
“Go down to the car, pal. I’ll follow with the cases.”
Once Hutchinson was safely moving towards the elevator, Starsky turned round and saw Vanessa glaring at him from the kitchen doorway.
“He’ll be back,” she stated, sure of herself.
“No, he won’t and you’re never going to lay a hand on him again.”
“We’ll see.”
Starsky turned his back to her, grabbed the cases and headed off to catch up with Hutchinson. He couldn’t wait to get away from Vanessa and her eyes that felt like they were boring into his back..
*****
Both men were silent as Starsky drove them away from the apartment building. Hutchinson was lost somewhere in his own miserable thoughts, still clutching his spider plant in trembling hands, as if it was the only thing he had in the world that he cared about.
Starsky’s thoughts were filled with disgust. He found himself hating Vanessa and he’d only just met her! What would living with her day in day out have been like? Having someone say your name in that venomous tone? She was a bitch with a capital b…and dangerous from even the little Starsky had seen. That she had the power to make a grown man feel that suicide was the only way out of a toxic relationship was frightening.
Starsky blew out a breath of disgust and wondered what on earth he could say to make Hutchinson feel better. He decided he would take Hutchinson to his favourite drinking spot to get something to eat and then see if inspiration stuck.
The place he headed to was called ‘The Pits’ and was owned by a friend of Starsky’s. When the car stopped, Hutchinson looked up.
“Interesting name,” he remarked.
Starsky smiled, pleased to see there was glimmer of humour surfacing in the withdrawn man.
“Don’t let the name bother you. The food’s okay.”
As they walked into the bar, the proprietor called across to them: “Hey, Starsky, my man. What’s happening in the world of personal transportation?”
“This and that, Huggy!” Starsky shouted across the chattering customers. “All right if we sit in the booth at the back?”
“No need to ask my friend. Be my guest. I’ll be right with you,” the smiling man waved a hand in the general direction of the enclosed seating.
Starsky made his way to his favourite booth and sat down. As Hutchinson slipped in beside him, his eyes swept the room, taking in the mixture of clientele. He and Starsky were probably the most worthy looking citizens there. It wasn’t the sort of place he would normally have ever gone to so he was surprised at how right it felt. It felt like a relaxed place to hang out with nothing expected from him. Not the sort of place he was usually dragged to by work colleagues or Vanessa.
Starsky handed him a menu. “What d’ya like the look of?”
Hutchinson cast a brief look over it. “I guess the chicken salad looks okay.”
Starsky wrinkled his nose but refrained from comment. Huggy delivered a tray of food to a table in the middle of the room and then made his way to their booth. Hutchinson blinked slightly at the three-piece flared suit in a garish orange and green that the owner was wearing.
“So who do we have here?”
Starsky made the introductions: “Huggy, this is my new pal, Ken Hutchinson…K-Hutch for short.”
There was no way Starsky was ever going to call him Ken again, after hearing how Vanessa had used the name like a weapon.
Hutchinson blinked in surprise but didn’t correct Starsky.
“H-Hi, nice to meet you Huggy.”
“Glad to meet you too, Hutch. Any friend of my man, Starsky, is a friend of mine. Now what’ll you have to eat, gentlemen?”
Starsky replied, “Hutch here says he’d like the chicken salad and I’ll have the spicy meatball sandwich.”
“And to drink?”
Starsky hesitated: given Hutch’s state earlier in the day it might be a good idea if he stayed clear of alcohol for a bit.
“I’ll have an orange juice. What about you, Hutch? Ya like orange juice?”
“Yeah, that sounds fine,” the blond said quietly.
Huggy looked surprised at the choice of drinks, but didn’t comment when he saw the ‘leave it’ look on Starsky’s face.
As the thin, flamboyantly dressed man walked towards the kitchen to place their order, Starsky turned to the subdued man beside him. “How ya doing, buddy?”
Hutch shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Starsky waited, trying to give his new friend time to open up. Hutch became aware that Starsky was looking at him expectantly and shifted in his seat.
“I-I want to thank you for your h-help back at the apartment.”
“No problem…How long has it been like that?”
Hutch looked down at his hands, which Starsky noticed were still trembling.
When he answered it was in a whisper: “A while…a long while…I don’t remember when it got so bad…I don’t remember when I gave up trying…to defend…”
Starsky risked laying a hand on Hutch’s shoulder as he stated: “Well, you’re out of it now, Hutch. You don’t have to put up with her crap ever again.”
Hutch looked up at him, eyes swimming with grateful tears. “Thanks.”
A waitress appeared with their orange juices, giving both men a chance to pull back from the emotional moment. Hutch’s hands shook slightly as he picked up his glass. Starsky pretended not to notice and started telling Hutch about some of his fares and the crazy stories he’d heard over the last year. By the time their food came, Hutch was looking a lot calmer and his hands were steady.
*****
Later, as they came out of ‘The Pits’, Starsky asked, “Have ya had enough for today, pal? Do ya want to collect your car or leave it till tomorrow?”
“I’d better get it today,” Hutch said. “I think I parked it in one of those ‘free at weekends’ only zones. I don’t remember…I was a bit out of it.”
Starsky unlocked the door of his much loved red and white car and climbed in. He pulled up the lock on Hutch’s side and allowed the blond to settle in the passenger seat with his spider plant carefully placed back on his lap before he started the engine.
“Okay, we’ll collect your car after I stop off at the market for some supplies. Don’t think I’ve got much food in for a guest who likes salad.”
The tone he used was gently teasing but Starsky could instantly feel a defensive wall shoot up around Hutch.
“I-I’m sorry. I-I don’t want to cause any trouble,” he stammered.
“Hey, no trouble at all. Ya just need to tell me what ya like to eat. Me, I’d live on pizza if I could.”
Starsky felt Hutch relax at his words and was secretly pleased when the blond commented, “Pizza and meatball sandwiches are going to shorten your life expectancy, you know.”
Starsky grinned at him. “Hey, life’s short, ya might as well enjoy what ya eat, I say.”
Hutch smiled back. “You are what you eat and if you eat right you’ll live a long life, that’s what I think.”
“Well, buddy, we’d better make a deal: ya can choose what we eat for dinner tonight but I’ll choose dessert. Okay?”
“It’s a deal,” Hutch agreed.
A few minutes later, Starsky pulled the car up into a parking space near the market. He led the way and Hutch followed close behind. Starsky went straight for the meat counter, choosing some pastrami for sandwiches when he was on shift and meatballs for tomorrow night. Hutch chose a chicken and offered to make a roast that evening. He then persuaded Starsky to enter the produce aisle and choose some vegetables for dinner. Hutch also picked up some salad, coleslaw and something he told Starsky was goat’s milk.
Starsky started to get the idea that Hutch was a definitely a healthy eating freak, especially when they split up and met up again at the till. Starsky had gathered apple pie and cream, Hutch was carrying something that purported to be kelp, whatever that was, and a jar of molasses. Suddenly looking very anxious, Hutch looked for his wallet and then remembered he’d left it in the glove compartment of his car. Starsky spotted the panic and realised the reason for it.
“Hey, I’ve got this, buddy. Your turn next time.”
Hutch let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and nodded gratefully at Starsky. Together, they packed the goods into brown paper bags and carried them out to the car, where they slipped them into the trunk next to Hutch’s cases.
Starsky kept up a flow of chatter as they drove the last couple of miles to the beach. He could feel Hutch’s tension rising as they neared their destination. He wondered how being reminded of what he had tried to do this morning was going to affect Hutch, especially so soon after the attempt. As they arrived on the beach road, Hutch silently pointed to his car, a beige Ford that was few years old. Starsky pulled over next to it and got out to walk with Hutch to collect his car.
Hutch unlocked the car and slipped into the driver’s seat and Starsky walked round to the other side. As Hutch recovered his wallet from the glove compartment, Starsky looked through the passenger window and noticed the sleeping pill packets and collection of empty beer bottles on the floor. That explains a lot about this morning, he thought. Without a word, he opened the door and collected all of the items up and dumped them in the nearest bin.
When he returned, Starsky opened the car windows to let out the smell of stale beer. He looked at Hutch, checking he looked okay to drive.
“Okay, Hutch. You remember the way to my place or do ya want to follow me?”
“I’ll follow you,” Hutch said.
Starsky grinned at him as he shut the door and said through the open window, “I’ll try to keep to the speed limit.”
He was pleased to see Hutch shake his head and smile in response. So far he was handling being back at the beach okay. If Starsky could keep his mind from brooding, hopefully they would get through the rest of the day without too much emotional upheaval.
*****
With his spider plant safely placed on Starsky’s kitchen window sill and his blender stowed in the cupboard under the sink, Hutch started peeling potatoes and carrots and preparing the chicken for roasting. Starsky left him to potter in the kitchen and collapsed on the sofa with a comic. He’d done three night shifts in a row followed by only four and a half hours’ sleep and it was starting to catch up with him. It was a good job he’d got tonight and all day tomorrow off to catch up on his rest. He tried to stay awake but his head started to feel heavy and gradually his eyelids drooped down. His head fell sideways against the back of the sofa and he slept.
Hutch got the chicken and potatoes in the oven and walked through to the living room, pausing in mid stride when he saw the gently snoring man. He saw a blanket on an armchair and carefully draped it over the sleeping figure before quietly settling himself down in the chair opposite the sofa.
Hutch contemplated his new friend and the word ‘guardian angel’ came springing to mind. He didn’t know if he believed in a higher power but he sent a quick thank you upward just in case Starsky was the answer to the desperate prayer he’d made.
If Starsky hadn’t been there, if Starsky hadn’t bothered to try to stop him…Hutch’s mind shied away from finishing the thought. He’d been given another chance. Not only that, but his guardian angel had vanquished the gorgon. Hutch tried not to think of her name, but it echoed round his mind like a cancer eating away at his self-confidence. He rubbed a hand over his face in distress.
What am I going to do now? Starsky said I can stay here for as long as I need but I can’t impose for long, it wouldn’t be fair.
If he didn’t find somewhere to rent in the next couple of days, how was he going to look for an apartment and work at the same time? The thought of going back to work made his chest feel like it was being squeezed in a vice. Unconsciously, he moaned. His mind rushed on with unanswerable questions, heading in a deepening spiral: If he didn’t go back to work, how would he ever afford somewhere to live? If he couldn’t find somewhere, would he have to go back to…her? Could he go stay with his parents for a while? The thought of their judging looks and comments made him groan again.
Starsky’s eyes opened slowly as he woke up from his nap and saw Hutch sitting in the gathering gloom. He didn’t know which was darker, the room or the look on Hutch’s face. He struggled to sit up and get Hutch’s attention.
“Hey.”
Hutch’s face went blank and he just stared at the curly haired man sitting opposite him. He might as well have been on the either side of a gorge, the chasm his thoughts had created stretched between them, and Hutch didn’t know how to begin to cross it. He couldn’t find any words.
Starsky got up and turned the lights on. Then he walked across the chasm, as if it wasn’t even there, and sat on the arm of Hutch’s chair.
“Talk to me, buddy. What’s going on in there?” He gently tapped the side of Hutch’s head.
Hutch tried to gather his thoughts together. He shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs, but the thoughts clung on. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to stop the tight feeling that was lingering there. Starsky got up and moved to stand behind him. He began massaging Hutch’s shoulders, feeling the tense knots caused by anxiety.
The touch was like a lifeline to Hutch.
As the knots in his shoulders loosened, he relaxed and the tight feeling in his chest ease as well. After a few minutes, Starsky gradually slowed his movements and then stopped. He moved to Hutch’s side and attempted to get through to him by using distraction.
“Something smells good in the kitchen, Hutch. Do we need to check on anything?”
Hutch’s brain started working again. “Y-Yes…It should be nearly ready…I-I need to put the veg on and make some gravy.”
Starsky pulled him to his feet. “Come on, then, I’ll give you a hand.”
The moment of danger had passed and the two men set about producing dinner in companionable silence.
*****
Later as they sat on the sofa, finishing off their apple pie and ice cream, Starsky felt he should try to ease the anxiety so clearly sitting under the surface of Hutch’s mind.
“Hutch, I ain’t gotta work tomorrow so I can help ya look for somewhere to live if ya want…but I meant what I said: you can stay as long as ya need.”
Hutch swallowed. “Thanks.”
Starsky hesitated then decided in for a penny in for a pound. “How d’ya feel about going back to work?”
Hutch’s whole body folded in on itself and he crossed his arms over his chest again. Starsky put his bowl down and placed a hand on Hutch’s arm.
“Don’t go back.”
“I have to…if I don’t work I can’t afford to rent somewhere.” The desperation was clear in his voice.
Starsky shook his head. “Hutch…You can’t go back there, pal. I can see what it’s doing to you. I think ya need to leave that life behind. Start a new one.”
“I-I can’t…”
“You can. My boss is always looking for new cabbies – you could do that for a while, at least until you decide what ya really want to do…but I think ya need a break from doing anything. I don’t know much about stuff but I think ya hit rock bottom today and ya need to give yourself time to realise that that’s okay…Ya know, when I came back from ‘Nam, I pretty much hit the bottom too. But I finally realised that I could start to head back up…it’s not been easy…but…I’m on my way…I know ya can do it…ya just gotta give yourself some time.”
Hutch’s eyes searched his and then a small smile touched his lips. “Thought you said you didn’t know much about ‘stuff’. Think you’d make a pretty good shrink.”
Starsky grinned. “So can ya stop worrying for a while and just be?”
“I’ll try.”
“When ya feel like yourself again, then ya can decide what job you want to do.”
Hutch shook his head.
“Do you think I’ll ever feel like me?” he asked Starsky. “I mean I don’t remember when I ever was actually just me. I’ve been trying to be what everybody else wants me to be for such a long time.”
Starsky said, “That’s why I think ya should give yourself time. Discover what things are yours by choice…If it helps, I already know three things about you that I think are really you.”
Hutch raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Well, ya like spider plants, ya obviously eat rabbit food quite happily and ya got terrible taste in cars!”
Hutch smiled. “I’ve got terrible taste? Least mine doesn’t look like a striped tomato.”
Starsky shot him a look that could kill then shrugged. “To each his own, I guess…So will you take your time and not rush into anything just cos ya feel ya have to?”
“I’ll try but…but Starsky, I don’t want to cost you money. If I don’t have a job, I can’t pay my way.”
Starsky picked up his bowl and ate his final portion of pie.
“Tell you what: you do the cooking for a while and we’ll call it payment for your board.”
Hutch thought for a moment before he nodded. “I can do that.”
“Good, that’s settled then. Now, you see what’s on the tube and I’ll get the popcorn.”
“Starsky, you just finished eating a huge piece of pie,” Hutch protested. “How can you have room for popcorn?”
Starsky collected the empty bowls and stood up.
“I think I’ve been blessed with multiple stomachs, my friend. At least, that’s what my mother says and she should know.”
Hutch laughed out loud and Starsky thought it was one of the best sounds he’d ever heard.
“Oh well, then, that explains it.”
“Sure does.”
Starsky grinned at him then headed off to the kitchen.
*****
There was a banging on the front door and Hutch heard Starsky’s voice shouting: “Hey, Hutch, open the door, will ya? I got my hands full.”
Hutch hurried over and unlocked the front door to find Starsky precariously clinging on to a couple of brown bags of food and a small potted cactus plant which he thrust towards the blond.
“Got ya something, Blondie. Hope you like it.”
“Thanks.”
Starsky sauntered past him into the kitchen and started unpacking the groceries. Hutch followed him and went to find a space on the kitchen windowsill for his new plant. The simple gift warmed his heart. Starsky was chatting as he put packets away in the cupboard.
“So I saw this guy with a stall next to the market car park and he had lots of plants and I thought Hutch would love these. Then I saw that little cactus fella and I bought him ‘cause he reminded me of you.”
Hutch looked at his friend, a startled expression on his face.
“What are you trying to say? That I’m green and prickly?”
“No, dummy. You’re a survivor like a cactus.”
Starsky brushed Hutch’s back with a gentle hand on his way to the fridge to unload the bottles of Coors that he’d bought. His back still warmed by that fleeting touch, Hutch returned his gaze to the Prickly Pear and listened as Starsky carried on talking: “Yeah, ‘cause they can live in a desert and still flourish. Get it.”
Yeah, I’ve been living in a desert, all right, Hutch thought. I’ve been looking for water for years and just when I thought I was going to die, I stumbled across an oasis.
Hutch felt a hand on his shoulder. Starsky had noticed his silence and responded. At first, Hutch had found his tactile friend a bit unnerving. Brought up in a home where physical affection was sparingly given, followed by a marriage where physical touch was used as a weapon, Hutch had been wary of contact. At the same time, he had realised he was starving for physical affection. Every pat on his back, every squeeze of his shoulder, every ruffle of his hair was bringing him to life.
“You okay, Hutch?”
The blond turned towards his friend.
“Yes, I’m okay, better than okay. Thanks for the plant.”
He reached out a hand to tentatively pat Starsky’s arm, wishing he had the confidence to give him a hug. Starsky must have read his mind because Hutch suddenly found himself being given a quick embrace and then just as suddenly released.
“What we having for dinner? I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Hutch pointed out. “It’s a wonder you can afford your own food bill.”
Starsky gave him a look.
“I know. It’s not your fault. Multiple stomachs and all that,” Hutch said.
Starsky just gave him a dazzlingly bright grin as he went to over to the stove and started lifting lids of saucepans and smelling the contents appreciatively.
*****
Starsky’s next Sunday off turned out to be a day of dark clouds and heavy rain so he and Hutch were hanging out in the living room, watching old movies, chatting and trying to get to know each other a little better.
It was Starsky’s turn to ask a question: “So what did you wanna be when you grew up? Ya know when you were a little kid, what did ya dream of?”
“I don’t know really. Nothing definite. What about you?”
“Oh, train driver, cowboy, baseball player, the usual.”
“I seem to remember one summer where I wanted to be a pirate,” Hutch said. “I drove Hester crazy.”
“Hester?”
Hutch hesitated before he answered: “Our housekeeper.”
“Oh.” Starsky blinked but didn’t comment. After a minute, he asked, “Did you go to college?”
“Yeah.” Hutch’s face darkened. “Yeah, my parents wanted me to be a doctor. I did two years training but it was…too hard.”
“What was too hard? Studying? Or seeing the blood?”
“No, I was okay with dealing with people’s injuries…it was just not being able to always help everyone. It got me down.”
The more Starsky got to know about Hutch the more he realised that the man in front of him had a heart the size of Kansas and it meant that sometimes he cared that little bit too much.
“What about you? Did you go to college?” Hutch asked.
Starsky shook his head. “My dad died when I was little so there wasn’t any spare money around. Anyway I got called up so I couldn’t go to college. Not that they’d have had me anyway,” Starsky observed.
“What makes you say that?” Hutch wondered.
Starsky grinned at him and shrugged. “Blue collar family through and through. I didn’t pay much attention at school. Thought it was a waste of time, I suppose. So not college material, I reckon.”
“Oh…and then I guess you got called up?”
“Yeah.” Starsky’s tone made it clear that this subject was off limits so Hutch didn’t even try asking another question about ‘Nam.
“What made you decide to become an accountant instead of a doctor?” Starsky wanted to know.
Hutch shrugged. “It was a socially acceptable job as far as my parents were concerned and I’m quite good with numbers.”
“Okay so it sounds like ya chose two jobs that made your parents happy but what did you want to do?”
Hutch looked off into space before saying softly, “I did think about being a cop.”
There was silence for a minute. Hutch turned to look at Starsky and saw surprise on his face.
“What?”
Starsky spoke slowly: “I’ve thought about that too…My dad was a cop…that’s how he died.”
“Oh.” Hutch didn’t know what else to say.
“My Mom really didn’t want me to be a cop like pop. She was scared she’d lose me too but…I don’t know…It seems like a job that might fit me. It’s got structure and discipline like the army but more freedom. I like being part of something bigger than me…I think I’d like helping people.”
Hutch nodded. “I was attracted to the idea of being a cop because I thought I might be able to help people…and I like solving puzzles so being a detective crossed my mind at one point but my parents and Vanessa talked me out of it.”
“Well, maybe that’s something ya could look into again if you’re still interested?”
Hutch sighed. “I think it’s too late now, buddy. I’m too old to start over.”
“Never too late to do anything, pal,” Starsky said, “Just think about it over the next few weeks. Give yourself lots of options. Don’t instantly dismiss any idea ‘cause of what someone else thinks, okay?”
“Okay.”
Starsky stood up and went and rummaged in a cupboard, eventually returning with a beat up looking monopoly box.
“Fancy a game?”
“Why not,” Hutch said.
They cleared a space on the coffee table for the board. It only just fit on. Starsky settled himself on the floor and started giving out the money.
“Who ya gonna be?” Starsky asked, as he held the playing pieces out to Hutch.
“Can I be the dog?”
“Sure, knock yourself out. I’m gonna be the racing car.”
Hutch couldn’t help chuckling.
“Figures,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Who’s rolling first?”
*****
Over the next few weeks, it was the little changes in Hutch’s demeanour that Starsky noticed most: like the first time Hutch didn’t wake up looking anxious when Starsky came home after a night shift; or the first time he didn’t stutter once in a conversation; or the first time Hutch left his laundry on the bathroom floor and didn’t wince when Starsky told him off.
The first time Hutch didn’t hold his breath when Starsky, unthinking, grabbed his arm to show him something was a cause for an internal hurrah; and the first time Hutch went shopping alone and came back with a Yucca plant that took up half the living room Starsky did a little jig – mentally, where Hutch couldn’t see and ask what he was doing!
Starsky didn’t mind the new jungle in his living room: he was too delighted at seeing Hutch’s true personality coming back to mind the invasion. He logged Hutch’s firsts away in his memory like he was watching a toddler take its first steps. He wasn’t sure if Hutch was even aware of the transformation: it was like tiny pieces of his chrysalis were cracking open and the creature inside was about to take flight.
After five weeks had gone by, Hutch decided to ask for some shifts at the same taxi company as Starsky. It meant that they didn’t see as much of each other but that was all right. By the time another five weeks had passed, Starsky felt his new friend was well on the way to being the real Hutch and he liked the person he was.
When they each had a day off that finally coincided, they decided they would to go to the coast. Hutch insisted on driving and Starsky gracefully gave in, gathering up his art equipment and placing it in the trunk next to Hutch’s fishing gear. They decided to go to an area up the coast a little way on from their usual haunt, near a picturesque harbour.
Hutch set up his pole on the docks and Starsky set up a little way along from him, where he could get a good view of the boats bobbing up and down on the water. He took a photo with his camera so that he could continue to work from the picture when he got home. Then he started drawing in his sketchbook. After an hour or so, he had a finely detailed pencil sketch of the scene. He stretched and stood up and went to see how Hutch was faring. He hadn’t caught any fish but seemed quite content.
With another stretch to his aching back, he announced, “I’m starving, Hutch.”
Hutch just rolled his eyes at the announcement.
“I’m going to find a hot dog. You want anything?”
“Yeah, I’ll have one, thanks.”
“Onions? Ketchup? Mustard?”
Hutch made a face. “I’ll just have mustard but nothing else okay? No onions, no sauerkraut and definitely no chili!”
“Yeah, yeah. I know by now, Blintz, it’s plain, plain, plain.”
Hutch grinned. “At least I won’t have indigestion later, Gordo!”
Starsky pretended to swipe at Hutch’s head as he walked past. Hutch watched as his friend jogged along the dock then bounced up the wooden steps towards the small café that served meals and sold take out.
Hutch would never get used to Starsky’s boundless energy. It seemed limitless…as long as he wasn’t hungry of course. If he was hungry, he went all grumpy and droopy…just like Droopy. Hutch smiled to himself.
He looked out across the water and realised he felt contented.
It wasn’t that he had everything he wanted – he’d like a more fulfilling job than the one he was temporarily doing – but he felt it was all right to just ‘be’ and to just to be himself. He wasn’t disappointing anyone anymore. Starsky just accepted him as he was and, consequently for the first time in his life, he felt that who he was, was enough.
A hot dog was suddenly thrust in front of his face.
“Thanks.”
Starsky sat down on the wooden dock next to Hutch’s legs. His own limbs stuck through the gap in the wooden balustrade, his feet dangling over the water.
“Whatcha thinking about, Blintz?”
Hutch chewed his mouthful of hot dog and swallowed before he replied: “Just thinking I finally feel like I’ve found me…and it’s enough.”
Hutch felt Starsky’s warm hand squeeze his ankle.
“It’s more than enough, Blintz. You’re t’riffic and don’t you forget it.”
*****
For the next couple of weeks, Starsky spent any spare moments he had turning his pencil drawing into a water colour. The few times Hutch was home at the same time, he got his guitar out and started practising chords and simple songs, trying to get back to a competent level of playing. He hadn’t touched his guitar for so long that his fingers were rusty and kept forgetting where they needed to move to. They felt sore the first few times he played for a little too long. Gradually, as Starsky’s water colour developed into a captured moment in time, Hutch’s playing grew more confident and more competent.
One afternoon, when Starsky came home after an early shift, he walked up the steps to his front door and heard Hutch singing:
For I will not be part of her Cocktail-Generation Partner’s Waltz,
Devoid of all romance
The music plays and everyone must dance
I’m bowing out, I need a second chance.
Save me from all the trouble and the pain
I know I’m weak but I can’t face that girl again
Tell her the reasons why I can’t remain
Perhaps she’ll understand if you tell it to her plain.
And if she asks you why you can tell her that I told you
That I’m tired of Castles in the Air
I’ve got a dream I want the world to share an’ castle walls
Just lead me to despair.
The haunting melody of Don Maclean’s song and the poignancy of the words pulled at Starsky’s heart. He waited until the last chord had died away before he opened the front door. Hutch looked up as he entered and Starsky locked gazes with him.
Without speaking, sapphire coloured eyes transmitted the message: That was beautiful, pal, and I get it.
Soft blue eyes replied: Thanks, buddy, and I know you do.
*****
“So help me Starsky, if you don’t get out of bed right now, I am going without you!”
A very sleepy Starsky struggled to open his eyes and sit up.
“What’s happening? Where are you going in such a hurry, Hutch?”
“We are supposed to be going to the recruitment fair today. Remember? We talked about it last night.”
“Oh yeah. Give me a minute and I’ll be right with ya.”
“Well, hurry up! Oh and there’s a bacon sandwich waiting for you in the kitchen.”
“You’re too good to me,” Starsky said, as he struggled into his best jeans and a not too wrinkled blue shirt.
“I know I am!” Hutch exclaimed, “And I also know you need feeding before doing something important so you’ll show off your best behaviour not your grumpy toddler act.”
“Humph! I’m not that bad.”
Hutch’s look said it all.
“Okay, maybe…Mmm, good sandwich, thanks,” Starsky said munching through a delicious mouthful and shoving his tennis shoes on his feet. “Whose car are we taking?”
“As we’re late and yours goes quicker…yes, I said it…we’d better take yours.”
Starsky grinned in triumph as he grabbed his keys. “Come on then, pal. Let’s get going.”
As they hurried down the steps to the red and white car, Starsky wondered; “You’re sure reps from the Police Academy will be there?”
“Yeah, it said they were one of the contributors on the poster I saw.”
“Terrific!”
As Hutch climbed into the passenger side, he said, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Starsky turned the key in the ignition. “It’s the right time, pal. No looking back now. Time to go forward for both of us.”
Hutch placed his hand on Starsky’s shoulder, drawing strength from the contact to calm his nerves. He voiced his biggest fear: “Starsk, what if they only want one of us?”
“Not gonna happen, buddy. They’re gonna want us both. It’s me and thee all the way from now on. Right?”
Starsky glanced at the blond and Hutch smiled back and nodded.
“Right. Me and thee all the way.”
And really, what else was there they needed to say?
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