Silk Wall

1.5K

Starsky is dealing with recovery and a secret he is struggling with.

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‘Really brilliant idea, Hutchinson ,’ I berated myself the whole length of the huge complex filled with people. Dozens of distraught, neurotic, insane individuals all congregated in one building, and he insists on coming here, of all places. ‘You had absolutely no business bringing him here and you know it!’

I’d begun talking to myself weeks ago. There seemed to be no alternative. Starsky had gone monosyllabic lately and everyone else I knew was so busy that I couldn’t get them to listen to me. Even Huggy dismissed me with a curt, “It’s Starsky, man. You know whatever’s botherin’ him, he’ll work it out in his own way.” I’d tried everything I knew to get the man to open up, but no dice. So I took to playing devil’s advocate, arguments and rebuttals doing their verbal voodoo dance in my head in an effort to ward off whatever evil had to be headed in our direction.

A wild-eyed woman veered into our path and I just barely avoided running her down. I tightly gripped the handles of the wheelchair I was pushing and strengthened my resolve.

“How in hell did you let him talk you into this, anyway?” I continued to scold myself, not realizing that I’d spoken out loud.

“What’d you say, Hutch?” The man in the chair craned his neck to look up at me, dark eyes shining as brightly as a crystal ornament. So far he’d been too quiet, eyes greedily drinking in the sights and sounds of a mall so filled with Christmas decorations and crazed shoppers that it was difficult to maneuver a wheelchair through the narrow paths left for navigation. He wasn’t happy to be back in the chair, but I’d insisted on that one concession for this trip.

“I said, ‘bah, humbug,’ Starsk,” smiling to take the sting out of the words. He knew me well enough to be sure that I didn’t really feel that way, especially this year.

Starsky’s eyes twinkled as we shared the memory of a Christmas eons ago when my idealism overwhelmed my common sense. I could see the reflection of the lights on a nearby tree mirrored in the smoky depths. I felt the now familiar tug. My heart responding to those expressive eyes….the beat increasing….racing….yearning for something that it knew well enough was a lost cause.

I quickly shoved down that thought. “How’re you holding up, buddy?” I asked him. “I’m beginning to think this wasn’t the best plan. This place reminds me of Cabrillo during a full moon.”

“Aw, c’mon, Hutch….don’t be a grinch.” The kind of grin that used to come so easily to Starsk transformed his gaunt features. “I’m lovin’ every minute of this.”

Knowing from experience how useless it was, the appropriate caregiver-type phrase rolled off my tongue. “You will let me know if you’re getting tired, won’t you?” As if that would ever happen.

Ever since the shooting in May, Starsky and I had been locked into a constant struggle…. my mind in turmoil most of the time, wondering whether I was letting him have enough rope….then worrying whether I’d given him too much and he’d hang himself.

A mother with two young children vacated a bench near the center of the mall and I grabbed it, positioning the chair opposite me so that I could study his body language. I thought he was so involved in all the activity around him; he wouldn’t notice the scrutiny.

“Take it down a notch or two, Blintz. I’m doin’ fine.” He reached over and touched my hand. “How tired do you think I can get in this chair? You’re the one pushin’ it.”

Caught again, I grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, guess I’ll never learn.”

He gave me a long, speculative look and after holding his gaze for a short time, I had to look away. He quickly became involved in the activities around him again, for which I was grateful. His hand slipped slowly from atop mine and I was sorry to lose the contact.

I love seeing Starsky like this and sat luxuriating in the sight of his strong, relaxed features. The midnight eyes were more deeply set and the brow a little more furrowed these days. Other than that and the weight I was working overtime to put back on his thin frame, there was little to show what a desperate struggle he’d been through. There was, however, the emotional distance that had built up in the last few months. It was nothing tangible….a wall….not made of stone or brick or anything solid. More like a silk barrier, really. We could see each other and even touch; we’d always been able to reassure or comfort one another just by a hand gripping the shoulder or a pat on the back. But now there was this silk wall, however flimsy….unapproachable….guarded….almost sacrosanct between us.

“Hutch!”

He sounded impatient, as though he’d tried more than once to get my attention.

“You rang?”

“Did you see all those kids?” He pointed at dozens of children, being wrangled by one parent or the other, occasionally both, in a long, constantly moving herd. On a throne near the center of the mall sat the big man himself. It was obvious that as the crowd got closer to him, it broke up and transformed itself into an orderly line and the children in it became remarkably better behaved.

Not as thrilled with all aspects of the season’s charms as Starsky, I gave them a quick glance and mumbled cynically, “Bet they all have a list longer than your arm.”

Starsky speared me with another stare. “What would you ask for, Hutch?”

“Santa? Oh, come on, Starsk….I stopped believing in him long ago.” I chuckled uneasily.

“No, I’m serious….if you got one wish….what would it be?”

I met his eyes and held them steady this time. “Hey, buddy, Santa and I are all squared up. I got my wish….you’re still in one piece.”

“There must be something.” Starsky squinted at me as though he were trying to pierce whatever armor I’d wrapped myself in for the day and figure out just what made me tick. “Don’t forget….your bed’s in the room next to mine. You don’t sleep worth a damn….you’re not eating right, either. I know something’s wrong.”

“Me?” I was astonished. “I could say the same thing about you.”

This time his eyes pulled away first. He sighed….a deep gut-weary sound that made me cringe. “Okay, but I’m not gonna drop this, you know.”

How well I knew. Once he got something in his head, he held on like a bulldog, gnawing on it till he had it in pieces. He’d had way too much time on his hands.

“Now I’m sure you’re feeling better,” I said, getting to my feet. “You’re beginning to ask way too many questions. Time to go home.”

To my relief, the subject didn’t come up again and Starsky fell asleep in the car on the way home.

I spent a nearly sleepless night, pacing my room, craving something that in my mind, at least, I’d never possess. Finally, in a moment of deep yearning, I began to stroke myself and thinking of what making love would be like with him, I fulfilled my own need, physical repletion providing only surface satisfaction. Unable, maybe unwilling to stop myself, I moaned loudly as I finished and fell asleep, exhausted.

I came to the breakfast table late in the morning to find that Starsky had gotten there before me and was finishing up one of his cardio-toxic breakfasts for both of us. I was halfway through my scrambled eggs when I looked up to see dark eyes studying me knowingly.

“What?” I asked, not at all sure that I wanted to open this can of worms.

Starsky’s lop-sided grin served to irritate me further. “Sleep well, Hutch?” The man asked, as if he didn’t know perfectly well that I’d been up half the night.

“You writing my memoirs for me, Starsk?” I returned.

Starsky’s grin seemed to stretch in proportion to my annoyance. “Just checkin’. Unless you snore funny, some of the noises I heard this morning had nothing to do with sleeping.”

“Yeah, well….you should be getting your rest….not monitoring my sleep habits.”

“Hutch, you really need to talk to somebody.” He urged, setting my teeth on edge. “You got unfulfilled sexual tension.”

“Unfulfilled….? Starsky, what kind of women’s magazines have you been reading, anyway?” I warmed up to my subject. Unfulfilled….never can be fulfilled….tension. If he only knew, he’d be the first one to call the men in the white coats. “Don’t all men who aren’t getting any have unfulfilled sexual tension?”

“But, Hutch, we….”

“We….that’s the operative word. Thrown together here for months….what the hell can you expect?”

I wished that I could take the words back the minute they left my mouth.

He looked away. “I’m sorry, buddy….I know it’s been hard on you.” His beautiful eyes fixed on a point near the floor, unwilling to make contact with mine. “I‘ve leaned on you too much; couldn’t have asked for a better friend, though.”

I reached out and lifted the pointed chin, lifting his head so he had to look into my eyes.

“I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Starsk. This time has meant more to me than I can tell you….taking care of you….I don’t regret it at all.”

I had to let go or kiss those lips that were so close to mine. I wanted to….more than I wanted anything….I wanted to blurt out what I felt, but I couldn’t.

He looked hurt, disappointed. “I know, Hutch, it’s just that….” His voice cracked and he licked lips that looked dry. A bleak grin lit his face. “You gotta do something about that.”

“What….what do I have to do something about? What are you trying to tell me?”

“Wish fulfillment, blondie,” was the maddening answer. “You’ve got to tell Santa what you want for Christmas. He doesn’t read minds.”

“We back to that again?”

“’Nough said.” The moment was lost. “My back’s hurtin’. I’m going to go soak in the tub.”

Starsky had taken to the hot baths that were recommended for him by the physical therapist. They seemed to not only ease his pain, but relieve the anxiety he had about how his body was healing and the fears he harbored about his future. Often I’d gone in and rubbed his back while he was in the tub, which seemed to help him, too. Some of my needs had been met in being able to do those things for him, too, but he no longer needed those kinds of small intimacies. He was able to do so much more for himself and I felt like I was losing him in some way. If I didn’t do something soon, he’d be on his own again and I’d find myself back at Venice Place ….alone…with nothing but a few plants to keep me company for the rest of my life. But could our relationship survive a rejection and the fallout that could come from that? There was only one way to know.

I was still in my old orange bathrobe. I’d eaten breakfast, fresh from the shower. No time like the present. I felt so awkward, like a schoolboy with his first date….only this was so much more important. This was Starsky. If it wasn’t meant to be, where did I go from here? There would never be anyone else for me.

Starsky was totally relaxed in the hot bath, nearly asleep. If he heard me enter the room, he gave no indication. Moving over the cold tile in my bare feet, I crossed the bathroom floor quickly and stood over him. His eyes opened drowsily, revealing irises nearly black in the light of the candles he’d lit. I’d never seen anything so desirable. Could I really do this? I took a deep breath.

“Close your eyes,” I told him and he obeyed without question. I slipped off the bathrobe.

“Scootch up.” Probably figuring I was going to rub his back for him, again there was no resistance. He did what he was told. He had to feel the hard length of me as I slid into the tub behind him. I pulled him back against me.

“Hutch, what….?”

I took a breath so deep, felt like my lungs wouldn’t hold it all. I put my lips so close to his ear that he could feel my warm breath and I let the words go, like a prayer.

“Starsk-I-love-you-and-I-want-to-make-love-to-you-for-the-rest-of-my-life.”

I’d gone over all the possibilities in my mind and thought I was ready for any one of several reactions to my suggestion. What I definitely was not prepared for was Starsky hitting the water with his fist, sending soapy foam flying in every direction.

“I knew it!” He yelled triumphantly.

It took a second to register. Once it dawned on me, my knee-jerk reaction propelled me from the tub like a geyser, leaving Starsky to fall back and momentarily disappear under the water. He quickly resurfaced, sputtering and wiping the soap out of his eyes. I was more than ready for him.

“You little sneak!” Feeling self righteous, I stood there totally naked, with water dripping off the end of my suddenly deflated cock. “You set me up!”

“Hutch….I….I…” He had a look on his face that said ‘I know I blew it and I deserve whatever you do to me, but I’ll be damned if I care now.’ The wall was gone and I could read him just like I always had.

A Starsky, any Starsky at a loss for words was an original and satisfying concept and I knew I had this Starsky right where I wanted him. I wasn’t really angry, but I was planning to make him pay….just a little.

“Out….out of the tub, Starsky!”

“Hutch, I…”

“I know, you said that already.” He got up and reached for a towel, but I wasn’t about to let him cover up that body. I snatched it out of his hand and threw it on the floor. Punctuating my words with a well-placed index finger in the middle of his chest, I stalked him, maneuvering him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

“You knew exactly what was going on….for how long? How long, Starsk?”

“Since the….uh….the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Once again, he’d shocked me.

I’d backed him up to the edge of the bed and he stopped, not sure what to do.

“I had a lot of time to think, you know, and I….well. That night you got into bed with me….it just kind of made sense. Felt like you belonged.”

“You mind telling me why you didn’t let me in on it?”

“Well, you just weren’t ready, Hutch. Least you didn’t know you were ready.”

I had to think about that. Starsky often seems like the more flighty of the two of us, but when it comes right down to it, he’s probably more practical than I could ever hope to be.

Evidently, in Starsky’s mind, the two of us had done enough thinking about the whole situation and he was ready for action, because he suddenly grabbed my head and pulled me toward him. I felt his lips on mine, hard and demanding….then I was in his arms. My mouth opened and my tongue met his on its way in and we shared what I thought had to be a miracle of some kind. Then all rational thought was gone and all my senses were caught up in experiencing Starsk like I never had before.

Much later, we sat bathed in the reflection of the Christmas tree, each quietly reveling in these feelings that were now expressible.

“That was one soapy scene.” He chuckled.

“Are you sure, Starsk? Is this what you want? Because there’s no going back after this.” I still needed to be sure.

“You’re mine now, blintz.” The cock-eyed grin was back, along with the cocksure attitude I loved.

“There are bound to be problems.”

“None that we can’t handle together.”

“Censure from our peers.”

“But we have love.”

“Loss of our jobs, if we get caught.”

“Love.” He said again, eyes sparkling with happiness.

“Ostracism.” I said, enjoying the game.

“Love.”

“Hemorrhoids.”

His eyes widened in surprise and he actually blushed. I had to chuckle at the look on his face.

“And I thought you were a romantic.” He pouted.

“I am. Just wanted you to know what you may be getting yourself into.”

Then he smiled….the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.

“I love you, Hutch. We’ve always had that, now we just have a whole lot more.” He ran his thumb over my lips. “We can get through anything.”

Never the end