Starsky and Hutch Take a Vacation

Hutch is resistant. Starsky is patient.

This story takes place about a year after About Last Night, near the end of Season Two.

We had just finished work on a tough case-it had been a tough year, really-and we were hanging out at Huggy’s place eating burgers and drinking beers, when I decided to make my pitch.

“Hey Hutch, we oughta take a vacation. I think it would be good for us, take our minds off work for a bit.”

Hutch looked interested. “A vacation. Good idea. Where should we go? Captain Dobey has a cabin in the woods-maybe we could borrow it.”

“The woods? I said a vacation, not a survival expedition. I was thinking a nice nearby city, maybe San Diego or San Francisco. Bright lights, lotsa people, maybe a museum or two…” I raised my eyebrows at Hutch, this last bit thrown in for his benefit. I didn’t care much about boring museums, although it might be fun to go to one with Hutch and annoy him by making fun of the modern art.

“San Francisco could be fun. I haven’t been there in awhile. They’ve got a great museum of modern art. We could check out the ballet…” Hutch took a sip of beer.

“…. Or we could check out a ballgame at Candlestick Park,” I added.

“When did you want to go?”

“Tomorrow we can ask Dobey for a four-day weekend. We can leave on Thursday, come back Sunday.”

“How do we get there?”

“We drive.”

“We fly.”

“We drive. Much cheaper, and no waiting in line at the airport. And that way, we don’t have to rent a car when we get there.”

Hutch sighed. “Ok. You’re in charge of travel, but I’ll make the hotel arrangements.”

“Nothing too swanky,” I warned.

“Nothing too swanky,” Hutch agreed.

*****************

On the drive up, Hutch stuck his long legs out the passenger-side window and sang along to the country music station. Then we switched to a pop music station, and I sang along. For the first time in months, we didn’t have to worry about being radioed by dispatch. I’d unhooked the two-way radio and put it in the trunk. No Zebra Three’s for the next four days.

After a little more than five hours on the freeway, we took the exit marked “Union Square” and I followed Hutch’s directions to our hotel. It turned out he’d made reservations for us at the San Francisco Hilton, which was a bit more swank than I’d hoped. I looked around nervously as we walked through the lobby, which was filled with crystal chandeliers and beveled mirrors.

“Hutch, how much is this gonna cost us?”

“Don’t worry about it, buddy, it’s on me.” He turned to the man behind the counter. “Hutchinson, room for two,” he said, holding up two fingers.

“On you? No way-we’re splitting it.”

He turned to me. “You paid for the travel expenses, I’m paying for the hotel. We split it that way.” Gas was 79 cents a gallon, so that let me off cheap.

“How are you gonna afford this? IA would be on your tail if they ever found out.”

Hutch smiled. “I dipped into my savings a bit, no big deal.” Ah, the mysterious Hutchinson savings. I knew when he said “savings account” what he really meant was “trust fund,” but he never liked to talk about that so I didn’t press for details.

The bellboy showed us to our room, which was on the 17th floor and contained two king-sized beds, a dresser with a tv on it, a minibar and a bathroom with a sunken bathtub in it. I walked over to the window and looked out over the tall buildings of the city. In the distance was the Golden Gate Bridge. It was red, not gold, which I’d never understood, but it sure was beautiful. The sun was just starting to set in the west, behind us, and it glinted off the bridge in sharp orange bursts.

“Hutch, this is great!” I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. “I am gonna show you a great time tonight. My friend Rocky owns a bar on Market Street-best burgers you ever tasted! Draws a very…colorful crowd, too.”

“I was hoping to try out a restaurant I’d heard about, what was it called?” Hutch thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Fleur de Lys! That’s it. French, but very light, very healthy.”

“French and healthy? Yuck, and yuck.”

“Oh, come on, give it a try. You might like it. Then we can go to your friend’s bar after.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Hey, I’m gonna take a shower, get rid of this freeway grime. You think they got a shower in this place?” I peeked into the bathroom and spotted a shower stall in the corner.

Hutch came in and inspected a tray of bottled goodies on the counter by the sink. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a bath? You could make it a bubble bath.” He smiled and held up a bottle of raspberry foam bubble bath for me to see.

“Nah,” I said. “Maybe later.” I grinned. I had big plans for later.

*****************

Fleur de Lys wasn’t too bad, once I got used to the idea of cloth napkins and heavy silverware. I pretended not to know what escargot was, or how to pronounce it, which Hutch ate right up. Then I made a big show of putting the napkin on my lap, and I listened patiently as Hutch went on and on about some fancy wine he was ordering, and the proper way to serve it. He loves stuff like that, and I love watching him get all worked up about it.

After dinner, we headed over to Rocky’s bar, Stingray, in the Castro District. It was April in San Francisco, which meant it was windy and drizzly. I pulled up my jacket collar on the walk from our parking spot to the bar. I wondered what Hutch would think of the place.

” ‘Stingray’, what kind of a name is ‘Stingray’?” Hutch held open the door for both of us.

“I dunno, it’s a drink, I guess,” I said. I was too nervous to think of a smart-aleck comeback.

Hutch looked at me. “I know. But it’s a dumb name for a bar.”

Inside, the place was noisy and crowded. A bar lined with brightly colored lights took up one wall; opposite it were about ten small tables, all crammed with people. There was a pool table in the back, and people were milling around and talking and drinking beers and smoking cigarettes. Well actually, it wasn’t so much people as men. The bar was packed entirely with men. I wondered if Hutch had noticed yet.

I looked around for Rocky, and spotted him working behind the bar. Rocky and me went to high school together in L.A.; he’d moved up here for college and never came back. We kept in touch, and I dropped by Stingray to say hello whenever I was in town.

“Hey, Rocky, what’s happening?” I grinned at my old pal and reached over to squeeze his shoulder.

“Starsky! What are you doing in these parts? Had enough of the dumb beautiful people in Southern California?”

“Hey, there’s something to be said for never having to wear a winter jacket.”

“And never having to read a book. Hey, who’s your friend?” Rocky nodded towards Hutch.

“That’s my partner, Hutch. He reads lotsa books, so I don’t have to. Hutch, Rocky, Rocky, Hutch.” Rocky reached over and shook Hutch’s hand. “Ah, the famous Hutch. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I’ve heard about you. Very nice to meet you, finally.” Hutch was being polite, but he had a funny look on his face. He put his hand on my chest and pushed me away from the bar. “Starsk? Do you know what kind of bar this is?” he asked me. “Sure,” I said. “It’s a gay bar. You got a problem with that?”

“No,” Hutch shook his head. “No problem.”

“Good. ‘Cause Rocky’s my friend, and this is his bar.”

“Okay,” he said, but he looked puzzled. We made our way back to the bar, and back to Rocky, who was chatting with a couple of guys next to us.

“Hey Starsky, Hutch, I want you to meet my friends Dino and Bryce. Dino, Bryce, this is Starsky and Hutch. Starsky and me go way back. Hutch I don’t know so good, but Starsky vouches for him.” Rocky winked at me, and handed us each a beer.

“You guys live around here?” Dino asked.

“No, we’re just visiting from L.A. for a few days. How ’bout you?” I said.

“We live a couple blocks away, on 14th Street.”

“Oh, yeah? You like it here?”

“It’s ok. We don’t have to worry too much about getting beat up or anything.”

“You? Are you kidding?” Dino was wearing a white t-shirt that showed off healthy biceps. His pal Bryce didn’t look too skinny, either.

Dino grinned. “Hey, even two tough guys don’t have a chance against a gang of ten skinheads. We moved here from Minnesota after a few too many close calls.”

“Oh yeah, whereabouts?” Hutch perked up at mention of his home state. I sat there watching while they chatted about the merits of Minneapolis versus Duluth. They seemed like nice guys. Dino had dark brown hair and tattoos on both forearms. Bryce was clean-cut and blonde with a preppy buttoned-down shirt and brown loafers. They looked like a couple of normal, regular guys. I hoped Hutch noticed that.

A few minutes later, Bryce turned to me. “How about you guys, you get any abuse down in L.A.?”

“Who, us?” I asked. Then I got it. “Oh, no, we’re not a couple.”

Bryce looked surprised. “No? Oh! I thought…sorry!”

“Hey, that’s ok.” I leaned in closer. “Between you and me, I wouldn’t mind if we were. But Hutch here won’t have any of it.”

“No?”

“No. Wants a ‘normal’ life.”

“Whatever that is.”

“Amen, brother,” I said, and clinked my beer bottle against his.

*****************

When we left the bar, it was nearly midnight. We walked back to the car, which was parked a couple blocks away.

“You ok to drive?”

“Yeah. I only had a couple beers,” I said. We walked on a few more steps.

Finally I asked, “So, what’d you think?”

“About what? It was a gay bar,” Hutch said. I could see this was gonna take some work.

“Yeah, I know that, Hutch. I meant about Bryce and Dino. And Rocky. Nice guys, huh?”

“Yeah. Nice.”

“Seem pretty normal, huh?”

Hutch was silent.

I kept on. “You wouldn’t call ’em fairies, would ya?”

“No. Not fairies.” More silence.

“Nice guys, huh?”

“Yes, they were nice guys, all right?” Hutch snapped at me. “So what? What was the point of that? Are you trying to convince me of something? That we could live like that? That it would be ok? Because we could not, and it would not.”

“I’m just trying to show you that lotsa gay guys are just like us. They’re not weirdo freaks who you don’t wanna know. Some of them are normal, regular guys.”

“Yeah, just like us. Except they have to move away from home because people keep beating them up.”

“Well, nothing’s perfect.”

“Perfect? Perfect!?? Starsky, I’m not gonna live like that. I’m not gonna live in constant fear that someone who doesn’t like the way I look at you might beat me up for it. I’m not gonna live hidden away, unable to show my feelings in public. And I’m not gonna move to some ghetto so I can live with all the other fags.”

“Come on, Hutch, tell me how you really feel.”

Hutch glared at me.

“Aw come on, Hutch, it doesn’t have to be that bad…”

“Starsky, stop it! I am not interested in continuing this discussion.” Hutch was nearly yelling now.

“Awright, awright, I get the picture. I’ll stop,” I said. But I wasn’t giving up so easily.

*****************

Back at the hotel, things were a little uncomfortable at first. I turned the tv on and lay back on one of the beds to watch it. Hutch decided to take a bath. I heard the water running and Hutch whistling a tune to himself. I was tempted to go in and check on him, but I decided against it. I didn’t want to make him madder than he already was. I wondered if he’d used the bubbles.

I had dozed off by the time he came back into the bedroom. I opened my eyes to see him walking around with a towel around his waist, rummaging through his suitcase for pajamas and a toothbrush.

“Nice bath?” I asked.

“Yeah, very nice. Relaxing.”

“Almost ready for bed?”

“Yep. Just give me a couple minutes, and I’ll turn off the light.”

I could hear him brushing his teeth in the bathroom. I got up to switch off the tv, took off my clothes, and climbed under the covers of the bed nearest the window, which I’d picked as mine. I curled onto my side, and shut my eyes.

Hutch came back into the room and shut the light.

“G’night, buddy,” he said.

“G’night,” I mumbled. I heard the other bed creak under the weight of Hutch’s body.

“Y’know, you can join me in this bed if you want. Big enough for both of us, and less lonely,” I offered.

“No, thanks,” Hutch choked out.

I sighed, and settled in to sleep.

*****************

A few hours later, I was awakened by the sensation of someone standing over me. When my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I saw Hutch standing by the window, wearing only light-blue pajama bottoms. His body glowed softly in the moonlight. He leaned on the window frame with one hand, the other traced patterns absently on his chest. He looked so beautiful standing there, I heard myself gasp.

He turned when he heard me. “Starsk. Sorry I woke you.”

” ‘s okay. Whass wrong?” I asked, dragging myself up from sleep.

“I can’t sleep. I want… I want…” he couldn’t finish his thought.

“Whaddaya want, Hutch? What is it?” I propped myself up on my elbows.

He turned away. “I want you, Starsky. I want to touch you.”

“So touch me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” I was out of bed and standing in front of him in a second. “You want to touch me, so touch me. Don’t think about it so much.”

“What if…”

“What if what?”

“What if it’s no good? What if we don’t like it?”

“Then we won’t do it again.”

Hutch stared at me. “It’s just that simple for you?”

“Yeah. I got a question for you-what if we do like it?”

“What if we do?” He seemed confused.

“Yeah. You’re so busy looking at the negative side of things, that you forgot about the positive. What if we do like it? What then?”

“Yeah, what then?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. We see when we get there.”

Hutch put the palm of one hand to my face, and ran his thumb over my lips.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I murmured. I took his thumb in my mouth and sucked on it. Hutch groaned. I led him over to the bed quickly, before he could think some more and change his mind.

We knelt on the bed facing each other, kissing, touching, exploring each other’s bodies in a way we never had before. I touched his ribcage, he stroked my neck. Each touch was like a jolt of electricity through me. I wanted him to know how it felt, so I told him. “Mmmm, feels so good, Hutch. Feels so good.”

I could feel my cock getting hard and rising. I wanted so badly for him to touch it. Once that happened, I knew we couldn’t go back. The thought was exciting, and terrifying.

Hutch must’ve read my mind, because suddenly I felt his hand cupping my cock and balls. “Ohhh,” I groaned. I couldn’t help it. “Oh God, Hutch.” I pressed myself harder against him. I heard him moan my name.

“Hutch, I’m so close. I don’t wanna ruin it. Lemme go into the bathroom-I’ll be right back.” I was out of bed before he could stop me, but he was right behind me. He grabbed me just as I got into the bathroom.

“No, let me,” he said, pressing up against me. We stood in front of the bathroom mirror, Hutch behind me, his right hand wrapped around my cock, left hand around my midsection. My left hand rested over his right hand, and I guided him as he pumped, letting him know just how slow or fast I wanted him to go. He was looking at me in the mirror and I was looking at him, until I couldn’t take it anymore, and had to shut my eyes and lean back, resting some of my weight against him as he brought me closer and closer to climax.

Then I was done. It couldn’t have taken more than a minute. I’d been that close, just from touching. Jesus. I used a wet washcloth to clean us off, then a towel to dry.

“Hutch, go back to bed. I’ll be right out. I just need to be in here by myself for a minute.”

“You ok?”

I nodded. “Fine. I’ll be right out. I promise.”

He gave me a pat on the shoulder, then left. I shut the door and leaned on the sink. I stared at myself in the mirror.

I was now a man who fucked men. That was ok, that was what I’d wanted. Still, it was not something I’d ever thought I’d be. I looked at my face. I looked the same. I felt the same. Actually, I felt better. Much better. I took a few deep breaths. Then I was ready.

I walked out of the bathroom, and crawled back into bed next to Hutch.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm. You?”

“I’m fine. Just fine.” He smiled, and stroked my hair. Then we were kissing again, and touching, and we didn’t stop for a long, long time.

*******************

The next morning we woke up around 10. We hadn’t actually fallen asleep till around 4, so it was only to be expected. Hutch was raring to go, but I was groggy.

“Why’re you getting up so soon? Stay in bed a little longer,” I said with one eye open.

“Starsk, if we don’t get up now, we’re gonna miss the whole day. We can sleep in when we get back to L.A. Come on, get up, I’ve got a whole day’s worth of plans.” He held up the San Francisco guidebook that he’d bought. “The sooner you get up, the sooner you can get some coffee in you,” he shook my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

I stumbled out of bed and dragged myself into the shower. After a couple of minutes under the hot water I felt better. I quickly dried off, picked out a fresh pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt from my suitcase, gave my teeth a quick brushing, and I was ready.

“Where we going, maestro?” I asked Hutch.

“Maestro?”

“You’re the leader. I put my fate in your hands. At least for today,” I grinned.

“In that case, my first suggestion would be to put your jacket on. The sun is out, but it’s gonna be windy.”

“Yes, sir!” I gave Hutch a mock salute and grabbed my leather jacket as we headed out.

*****************

The city was laid out before us in all its hilly splendor. We walked across Union Square and hopped on a cable car down to Fisherman’s Wharf, which had a lot of tacky shops that Hutch grumbled about but I loved. I dragged him into one of the wax museums, and pointed out wax sculptures of Bette Davis and George Brent. Hutch just rolled his eyes. Sometimes he’s no fun at all.

We both bought some chocolate at Ghirardelli Square before we left. On the way back, we took a cable car that passed by Grace Cathedral, which Hutch ooh’ed and aah’ed about and read me some stuff about from his guidebook. I didn’t care, though; I was getting hungry.

“Hey, Hutch, when are we gonna eat?”

Hutch consulted his guidebook again. “Well, it looks like we just passed Chinatown. We could go back and eat there.”

“Hey, that sounds terrific. I could really go for some fried wontons.”

“Easy on the fried stuff, Starsky. Why not get them steamed?”

I sneered. “Yes, Mommy.” Hutch slapped the back of my head, and we got off the cable car and started out walk back to Chinatown.

*****************

Over a tasty lunch of wonton soup, spare ribs, and fried rice, I smiled at Hutch. “Pretty late for lunch, huh?” It was 3 o’clock.

“Well, we got a late start,” Hutch said, smiling back. We were all smiles, but we hadn’t talked about the night before yet. I wasn’t worried, though. I knew we would, eventually. “We’ll just have a light dinner later,” Hutch said, biting into a spare rib.

“What about the art museum? It’s gonna close in a couple hours.”

“Tomorrow. I don’t have the energy for art today, especially with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, you know you’re just gonna make fun of all the modern art, and try and get me to explain it to you. Then when I do, you’re gonna make me look foolish. It’s the only reason you’re interested in going.”

I looked at him in mock horror. “You are a very cynical person, you know that? I’ll have you know I’m very interested in the exhibit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I hear they have an excellent Marcel Duchamp collection.” I mispronounced the name on purpose.

“It’s Duchamp,” Hutch said, correcting me. “It’s French.”

“Whatever.”

“You’re trying to tell me you’re interested in urinals and bicycle wheels?”

“It’s ‘found art’,” I said proudly. “Duchamp was trying to suggest that if you think about it, anything can be art.”

Hutch stared at me, dumbfounded.

“I’m not dumb, you know.”

“I never said you were dumb.”

“Sometimes I look through your art books when you’re not looking.”

“You what?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I know how to read, you know.”

“I know.”

“I can read more than car magazines and horoscope books.”

“Now that I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.”

“You’re a constant surprise to me, Starsky. A constant surprise.”

I smiled proudly over the last bit of my fried wonton, pleased with myself.

*****************

After lunch, we went back to the hotel to pick up the Torino, and drove across the East Bay Bridge to Berkeley. Hutch led us to Shattuck Avenue, which was lined with little ethnic food shops, produce stands, and kitchen supply stores. Hutch wandered in and out of stores, picking up dried herbs and spices and organic flours and all sorts of weird stuff. I didn’t mind tagging along and watching, amused, as Hutch got all excited about organic this and organic that.

“Smell this, Starsky.”

“What?” We were in the Berkeley Food Co-op, in the produce section. Hutch was holding a green pepper.

“Smell this. Ah? Smells the way a pepper should smell-like it was grown in the earth, and harvested by hand. Not like those enormous, fake peppers they have in supermarkets these days.” Hutch held it up to my nose and I sniffed. “Mmm. Smells good. I hate enormous, fake things.” I winked. Hutch rolled his eyes. “Sustainable, organic farming, Starsky. That’s the future of agriculture. None of these gigantic agribusinesses are going to last. People want their peppers to taste like peppers, not like cardboard.”

“Yeah, but will I be able to get them in February?”

“What?”

“Well, all this sustainable, seasonal farming you’re talking about. What if I want a vegetable out of season? I feel kind of reassured that at any time of the year, I can go into the supermarket and get a pepper, or a tomato, or a carrot.”

Hutch looked at me. “When was the last time you bought a carrot?”

I shrugged. “That’s not the point. The point is, I could if I wanted to.”

Hutch frowned. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“Aw, don’t give up on me, babe. I’m… educatable.” I grinned. Hutch tossed the pepper at me and walked away. I caught it and put it back on the pile, and followed him out of the store, smiling to myself.

We did go into one store I liked-Peet’s Coffee. There were big barrels full of coffee beans all through the store, with metal scoops and small paper bags so you could scoop your own beans. I spent a lot of time sniffing the different beans, and finally decided on a Colombian Dark Roast. I scooped some into a bag and brought it to the counter.

“Do you want it ground?” asked the bored-looking kid behind the counter.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Don’t get it ground, Starsky,” Hutch interrupted. I could see he was getting worked up again-he was gesturing wildly with his hands. “Don’t you know how much fresher the coffee tastes when you grind it just before brewing?”

“I don’t have time for that,” I protested.

“Oh, yes you do. What does it take, an extra minute in the morning? And imagine the coffee-so fresh, so delicious. Not like that mud you make now.”

“What mud? I like my coffee.”

“Well, you’re the only one. Here,” he placed an electric grinder on the counter with my beans. “Trust me. You won’t regret it. It’ll change your entire experience of morning.”

I lifted my eyebrows in resignation. “Ok. If you say so. You’re the maestro.” To the kid, I said, “I’ll take this, too. And don’t bother grinding the beans, after all. My entire experience of morning is about to be changed.”

*****************

For dinner, Hutch had decided on Chez Panisse, a restaurant where they served lots of this organic, seasonal food he was so interested in.

“It sounds French,” I said skeptically.

“Give it a try,” he said, so I did, and it wasn’t bad, I had to admit.

After a lemon tart for dessert, I was ready to get going. “Mmm, good lemon tart,” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Let’s get the check.”

“Meyer lemon tart,” he said.

“What?”

“Meyer lemons. That was made with Meyer lemons, Starsk. They’re special, a better blend of sweet and sour than regular lemons, and seasonal only in spring.”

“Oh,” I looked at him blankly. He’d been lecturing like this all during dinner, giving me more background information than I ever needed on everything we ate. I just wanted to eat! But I was happy watching him get so excited about stuff. I thought, I have stuff that I get excited about, and he has stuff that he gets excited about. That’s kinda nice. Everybody should have stuff they get excited about.

“After dinner, it’s my turn,” I said, reaching into my wallet for my share of dinner.

“What is?”

“To be maestro,” I grinned wickedly. “There’s a part of town I wanna take you to, where we can walk around and maybe do some more shopping.”

“Starsk, it’s after 9pm. All the stores are gonna be closed by now.”

“Naw, I think these stores are open pretty late,” I said. Hutch looked a little unsure, but fair’s fair. We paid the bill, picked up all our packages, and headed back to the car.

I gave Hutch the directions I’d written down, and he navigated us back to Castro Street in San Francisco. When we got there, Hutch saw that I’d been right. All the stores were still open. They had bright neon signs and names like The Pleasure Chest and Venus in Furs. I glanced at Hutch to see his reaction-it was much the same as last night. He looked stunned, and a little bit annoyed. I parked the Torino in a nearby space, and we got out.

“Let’s go in here,” I said, and tugged at his arm. We entered a brightly lit shop with one wall full of books. The wall opposite it was filled with all sorts of plastic, leather, and metal implements. I looked at them with some interest, and smiled at the middle-aged man at the cash register, before heading over to the books. I was thumbing through one of them when Hutch came up beside me.

“Starsky, let’s get outta here.”

“Why? I found an interesting book-”

He took the book out of my hands, put it back on the shelf, and pulled me out of the store. I shrugged apologetically at the man behind the counter, but when we got outside it was my turn to lead. I pulled Hutch by the arm and walked to the end of the block, where we turned onto a dimly lit side street. Roughly, I pushed him up against the side of a brick building, and kissed him hard on the mouth, pressing my body against his. I ground my crotch against his, for emphasis. He groaned, deep in his throat.

“I wanna fuck you, Hutch,” I growled, when I finally pulled my mouth away. “I wanna fuck you, but I don’t know much about it, so I thought I’d do some research. San Francisco is a great place for that kind of research, so I thought we could do some while we’re here.”

Hutch was flushed, but I couldn’t tell if he was upset or excited.

“Starsky, we have to talk,” he said.

“Did you enjoy last night?” I asked.

“Yes, but-”

“Do you wanna do it again? Do you wanna do more?”

“Yes, but-”

“Because I do. I wanna do all sorts of things with you. To you. So let’s go back in that store and find out more about it.”

“Starsky-”

“We can talk tomorrow. We can talk the day after tomorrow, during our five-hour drive home. Plenty of time for talking then. Tonight, we do.”

Hutch still seemed uncertain. I was gonna start taking it personally any minute.

“Starsky,” he said. “It’s dangerous. We’re cops.”

“No one knows us here. We’re completely anonymous, while we’re here. We can do anything we want-”

“But what about in L.A.? People know us there.”

“I told you, we’ll talk about it on the way home. Right now, we’re perfectly safe. Come on.” And I led him back into The Pleasure Chest.

A half hour later, we left the store with a brown paper bag full of goodies-two books and a couple of tubes of stuff the books recommended. I wanted to walk around more but Hutch was anxious to get back to the hotel. I managed to drag him into a few more shops before we left. Everything and everyone was so out in the open-guys wearing leather pants and stud earrings, making out in doorways, holding hands on the street. Gay magazines and posters on display in shop windows. There must be a place in L.A. like this, but I didn’t know about it. If it wasn’t on our beat, I probably hadn’t seen it. A sad comment on my life, I thought.

Back at the hotel, everything was fine and dandy. The chandeliers in the lobby were sparkling, busboys and porters were bustling around, carrying suitcases and trays of food. I carried two bags, one filled with coffee and one filled with something else, and had lascivious thoughts about what Hutch and me were gonna do back in our room. And nobody knew about it. Nobody would have guessed what we were up to. There was something exciting about that, I had to admit.

We got in the elevator and pressed the button marked “17.” The elevator seemed to be taking its own sweet time. I drummed my fingers on the handrail. Finally, the door opened on our floor.

We walked silently down the hall to our room. We didn’t look at each other; we’d barely said a word to each other since we’d parked the car in the hotel garage. There was tension and excitement in the air between us. And maybe a little fear.

As soon as we got inside the room, though, we were on each other. We barely had the door closed before Hutch was yanking my jacket off; his hands were under my shirt, all over my chest, and then he was pulling my shirt up over my head.

My mouth was on his again; I searched for his tongue and drew it into my own mouth. I was greedy for his taste, his smell; I wanted to bite and suck every part of him. I figured I’d start with his face.

Something nagged at the back of my mind, though, and through my lust-crazed haze I could hear myself saying, “the door-Hutch-get the door”-and Hutch reached back and put the chain on. “Don’t worry, Starsk, no one’s gonna find us here,” he said, and I kissed his cheekbone, his temple, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids. He reached for the buckle of my belt.

*****************

We were on the bed, naked, still kissing and touching and rubbing up against each other. Both of us were pretty excited, but we hadn’t made a move for the stuff in the paper bag yet.

Finally, Hutch rolled us both over so that he was on top. He held my arms down at my sides and moaned into my ear, “Starsky, I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me.”

I lifted his head so he was looking right at me with those unguarded blue eyes.

“Really?”

“Please,” he said, closing his eyes.

“You sure you’re ready?”

“Yes.” It was almost a whisper. I reached for the bag, which was on the nightstand, and grabbed one of the tubes. I spread the lube on my fingers, and reached around Hutch to find his opening. We hadn’t touched each other there yet, and I was a little nervous. Hutch flinched once, and then relaxed against my fingers. “You okay?” I whispered. “Mmm,” he said, which I took as a ‘yes.’ I went further, massaging, stretching, and then finally, carefully, putting one finger inside him, and then another. I felt him clench against me, and then relax. I dug deeper. He was kissing my neck, my shoulders, kissing and biting, his arms enveloping me, his body open. “God God God God,” he moaned, and I bucked my hips up against him. I knew I’d better get going if I wanted to get inside him before I came.

Somehow, I unlocked our bodies and turned him around so that we were both on our sides, him facing away from me. I slathered some lube on my cock and nudged it up against his ass. I was right up against his opening. I pushed just a bit, and then I was inside him, just the head of my cock, but still.

We lay there for a moment, each of us thinking our own thoughts, feeling our bodies truly connected for the first time. He clenched, and then relaxed. Each time he relaxed, I pushed further in. Each time he clenched, I felt tiny firecrackers go off in my brain. My top leg wrapped around his thigh and my top arm reached around for his cock. As I started to stroke inside him, slowly, gently, I also stroked his cock. I felt his own hand on top of mine, showing me what he liked. I bit his shoulder and groaned. My chest was up against his back; there wasn’t a bit of air between us. I had never felt so close to anyone in my life.

At some point I hit something sensitive inside him, and Hutch cried out, and moved my hand faster, and came. His body convulsed all around my cock, and I came a moment later, shuddering within him, our bodies completely joined.

We lay there for a few minutes, coming down from our high. I stroked Hutch’s hair, kissed his head, rubbed his shoulder muscles. He took my hand and held it to his chest.

“You okay?” I asked. “Did you like that? Did it feel good?” He squeezed my hand, but he didn’t say anything. I felt warm and safe up against his back, and started to drift into sleep. Then I thought I heard him crying. I was just about to ask what was wrong, why are you crying, Hutch, when sleep overtook me and I forgot the question.

*****************

The next morning I woke up before Hutch, which was unusual, but we hadn’t drawn the blinds the night before and the morning sun was shining right into my eyes. I don’t know how it didn’t wake Hutch, really.

We’d slept the whole night pressed up against each other-another unusual occurrence, as I usually end up in my own space when I’m sleeping with someone. Sometime in our sleep, we’d pulled the blankets up to keep ourselves warm. My arms were still around him; my left arm, which held the weight of his body, had gone numb.

I nuzzled my face sleepily in his neck and listened to his deep breathing. I was starting to think about the future, which was maybe a mistake, considering Hutch’s crying the night before. I knew he was still very resistant to this whole thing, but I was hopeful. I figured he’d come around eventually to my way of seeing things, even if it took awhile.

I was thinking of the future, and all the stuff we could try, but that wasn’t even the best part. The best part was one single image that had popped into my head, and wouldn’t go away, even though it was very corny and not at all hot. It was a picture of me and Hutch in bed, but we weren’t doing anything kinky. Instead, we were propped up against pillows, reading. Hutch was reading some thick book, and I was reading a car magazine. We were both wearing reading glasses, so we were older, maybe 40 or 45. The image changed like this: at some point, I put down the magazine, and murmured something to Hutch. He smiled, and let me lay my head on his chest. I put away my reading glasses, and closed my eyes. Hutch had one arm around me, and one arm holding up the book, and he was reading from the book aloud, to me. So this was my fantasy-Hutch and me in bed, reading together, and then Hutch reading to me from one of his books. Like I said, very corny, and not at all hot. Still, it was a nice picture, and one I could hold to my chest during hard times. And I knew there’d be lots of hard times ahead.

Eventually, I felt Hutch stir. “Mmmm, Starsk…” he mumbled. “I’m here,” I said, kissing his neck. He sighed deeply. “Time is it?” “Dunno. Can’t see the clock over your big fat head.” He moved his head and looked himself. “Nine o’clock. Not too bad.”

“We got all day. We should order room service, and stay in bed all morning.”

Hutch suddenly stiffened, and sat up with a start. “We should muss up the other bed, to make it look like we used both.”

“Hutch, no one cares. No one is gonna know.”

“You never know. You never know what the busboys and bellboys say to each other about the guests, or whom it can get back to.”

“Ok, whatever you say. We’ll mess up the bed.”

“Thanks.”

“C’mere, Hutch,” I said, pulling him back into my arms. “I love you,” I said, pulling his mouth to mine. I could see Hutch flush when I said it, and his mouth responded hungrily to mine. I felt a fluttery feeling in my chest, and in my groin.

“Didja like what we did last night? Next time we have to try it facing each other. This way was easier, but I saw some pictures in one of the books, maybe we could try…”

But suddenly he was stiffening again, and pulling away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Starsky, we have to talk. Before we go any further, I have to… we have to talk.”

“Ok, shoot-talk away.”

Hutch was having some trouble looking at me. He seemed to be staring at a spot just above my head.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I like… what we’ve been doing. It feels good, and I want to keep doing it. But…” Hutch took a deep breath. “I’m going to keep dating women. I need to keep dating women. We can’t think of this as a permanent thing.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

Hutch waited a minute, and then continued. “There are too many problems we’d have. First of all, we couldn’t be cops anymore. If word got out, our lives would be in danger every day. You remember that cop last year in Santa Clara, the one who called for backup that never came? Rumor was, he was gay. Rumor was, backup didn’t come on purpose.”

I thought, our lives are in danger every day already. I thought, we back each other up. But I didn’t say anything.

“Besides, I want a family. I want a normal life. I know you want one, too.” Hutch was looking at me now. He stroked my cheek, and kissed me. “I love you, too,” he smiled. “But this can’t be forever.”

“Ok,” I finally said. “We both still date other people. I can live with those terms.”

“Women. We date women.”

“Right. Women.” That was ok with me. I love women.

“This is fun, but we can’t let ourselves take it too seriously.”

“Right,” I said. “Not serious.” Hutch was still scared, I could understand that. But I thought about how far we’d come since that moment a year ago when he’d been repulsed by my kiss. Here we were in bed, touching each other in the most intimate places, kissing, fucking-it was almost more than I could’ve hoped for. If I had to put up with his conditions for awhile, fine. I knew I could wear him down eventually.

Besides, he’d said that he loved me. I loved him. I felt the little bird that had been fluttering in my chest take off, soaring up above my body, its wings held down by only tiny lead weights that I knew would be untied, eventually.

Some day, when we were older, Hutch would read to me in bed. Then I’d turn off the light, and we would both go to sleep. I knew it, but I didn’t know how long it would take to get there.

*******************

Hutch had a weird rule about not eating hotel food, which I’d forgotten, so instead of ordering in room service, we went to a coffee shop on Union Square for eggs and toast and coffee. We had a big day ahead of us, so we had to fuel up.

First up was Candlestick Park. The Giants weren’t in town, but I wanted to go anyway.

“Didju know that this park used to be open, so you could see the bay?” Now I was the one reading out of the guidebook, and Hutch was the one looking bored.

“No. Really?” he asked, with very little enthusiasm.

“Yeah. It wasn’t enclosed till 1971, when the 49’ers moved in. If that section wasn’t there-” I pointed out to center field “-you’d be able to see Candlestick Point, and the bay.” We were standing in the box seats just behind home plate, which would’ve been great seats if there’d actually been a game. But since the Giants were on the road, we’d been able to get into the park undisturbed. We’d flashed our badges to a couple of security guards and they’d let us in.

“Did you know,” I continued reading, “that Willie Mays got his 3,000th hit here on July 18, 1971?”

“No.”

“Yeah. Three thousand hits. That’s a lot of hits.”

“The Say-Hey Kid.”

“Yep.”

“Hey, Starsk?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s pretty boring to go to a ballpark when there isn’t any game.”

“Boring? Boring!?? Can’t you smell the grass? Can’t you practically hear the whiz of the ball, the crack of the bat? This park has seen a lot of games; there’s a lot of history here, Hutch. Don’t you care about history?”

“I don’t feel the history, Starsky. I don’t hear the ball, or the bat, or the crowd. I see a lot of empty seats, and a field with no one on it. Can we get outta here?”

“Hutch! Can’t you smell the hot dogs? Can’t you feel the dirt under your feet as you run the bases? You slide into second and get dirt all over the front of your uniform…” I made a sliding motion with my hand to demonstrate. “It’s beautiful, Hutch.”

“It’s boring. Come on, let’s go,” he said, dragging me by the arm toward the exit.

“Aw, you’re no fun.”

*****************

The art museum Hutch wanted to go to was on the third and fourth floors of the War Memorial Veterans Building, which I thought was a little weird. Why didn’t they have their own building? Hutch said it was a small collection, and that they might have their own building later on, when they got bigger. In fact, it said in his guidebook that they’d just expanded-the museum used to be on only the fourth floor.

I hung around with Hutch for a bit, looking at Jackson Pollock drip paintings and Picasso mixed-up lady paintings, but eventually I wandered off and found the photographs. These I liked. I looked at all the Walker Evans pictures-people living in rural America, some of them missing teeth. They looked like they had hard lives. They stared into the camera, unrelentingly, like they were daring the photographer to do something about it. I looked at these for awhile, and then I looked at the Alfred Steiglitz pictures of New York City for awhile, till Hutch came and found me.

He looked at the picture I was staring at. “The Chrysler Building. Nice.” He looked at it for a moment. “You miss it?”

“The Chrysler Building?”

“No, dummy, New York. You ever miss New York?”

“Sometimes,” I said. I didn’t really think about it much, but when I saw a picture of it, like this one, I did feel a pang of homesickness.

Hutch smiled. “Maybe we can go there on our next vacation.”

I was surprised. “You mean it?”

“Sure. We can go see the sights, and visit your mom, and the rest of your family.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said. “You done here? I think it’s time for the Conservatory.”

*****************

The Conservatory he was talking about was the Conservatory of Flowers, at the eastern end of Golden Gate Park. It was the biggest garden-indoor and outdoor-that I’d ever seen. Hutch was giddy.

“Should we go to the lowland tropics or the highland tropics?” he asked, reading from a brochure.

“Why can’t we go to both?”

“We can, if you don’t mind.”

“Nuh-uh. You lead, I’ll follow.”

Hutch’s face was glowing with pleasure as we walked through the highland tropics first, and looked at all the rare, high-altitude orchids. Then we walked through the lowland tropics-it was steamy in there, like a jungle, and gigantic plants with huge, floppy leaves filled the space above us. “What is that?” I asked, pointing at one. “It’s a philodendron,” Hutch answered. “Look at that one over there, it’s over a hundred years old.”

“A hundred years old? I didn’t know a plant could live that long.”

“It can.”

“Good thing most humans can’t.”

Hutch turned to me, surprised. “Why do you say that?”

“Imagine all the things they’d find to do to each other during the extra time. Plants are peaceful. They don’t go around shooting and stabbing each other.”

Hutch chuckled to himself. “That’s true. But some of them do kill living creatures.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Remember what you and Kiko gave me for Christmas?” And then he led the way to the carnivorous plants section of the Conservatory.

*****************

After Hutch had spent enough time with his beloved plants, we left the Conservatory and walked through Golden Gate Park, on our way back to the car. We passed a hotdog stand and I stopped, suddenly hungry, and ordered a couple of dogs and sodas for both of us.

“What’s next on the itinerary, maestro?” I said, my mouth full of food.

“Well, I thought we could go to-” Hutch stopped, noticing my poor etiquette. “Starsky, I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t talk with your mouth full.” He reached up with a napkin and dabbed at the corner of my mouth, then showed me the ketchup evidence.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m starvin’.”

“No excuse,” he said. But he kept watching me as I ate the hotdog. We’d eaten hotdogs in front of each other many times before, but I’d never noticed him watching me quite this way. I smiled secretly.

“Whattsa matter, Hutch? Haven’t you ever seen a man eat a hotdog before?” I waggled my eyebrows.

“I…” Hutch cleared his throat. He looked away, then looked back. “Keep eating. Didn’t mean to distract you,” he said hoarsely, and then kept watching as I ate the rest of the hotdog. I put on a bit of a show for him, tilting my head back and taking as much of the remaining dog into my mouth as I could. He blushed, but didn’t look away.

“Starsky, not here,” said, still staring at me.

I looked at him, unconvinced, while I finished chewing. “Oh, no!” I said in mock horror. “Not this kind of behavior in San Francisco! Please, Hutch, gimme a break.”

He put his hand over mine, beside us on the bench. “I don’t think we have any plans for the rest of the afternoon. I think we need to go back to the hotel room.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, and took a swallow of soda. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Right now, I have a picture of you swallowing a hotdog in my mind, and it doesn’t seem to want to leave.”

I leaned over and kissed him, on the mouth, in the middle of the park. He barely protested. There we were, holding hands and kissing in San Francisco like it was no big deal. “Hutch,” I whispered against his mouth, pulling away for a moment.

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

There were a lot of things I wanted to tell him, like that this was even better than Candlestick Park and pictures of the Chrysler Building combined, and that he was the most beautiful blonde I’d ever kissed in public, and that I could tell people were staring because he was so beautiful and they were probably jealous.

But all I could say was, “Let’s go.”

*****************

The hotel room was cool and dry with its manufactured air. The blinds were open and the room was light, so we could see each other perfectly.

Hutch lay back, naked, against pillows on the rough hotel blankets. I was looking forward to getting him back to my own apartment, with its soft sheets and cozy blankets. But we’d have plenty of time for comfort later.

This was now, and now there was just desire. I’d taken my shirt and my shoes off; now I straddled him, staring at his golden hair with the afternoon light in it, his tanned skin, the unabashed desire in his eyes. I started to undo my belt, not taking my eyes off him.

“Let me help,” he said, reaching towards me.

“No,” I said, pushing him away. “I want you to watch. Just let me look at you, watching me. That’s what I want.” I continued undressing; the belt came off, and then I undid the snap of my jeans, and the zipper. I pulled the jeans down, along with my boxer shorts, and tossed them on the floor. My cock was already stiff. Hutch stared at it, at me. I watched him stare.

Then I knelt down and took his cock in my mouth.

I’d never done this before, but I knew what had felt good when I’d had it done to me, so I tried to do that. I wasn’t sure what Hutch would like, so I just tried stuff and waited to hear his reaction.

I sucked on the head of his cock for awhile, enjoying the smoothness of it, tonguing the small opening, tasting the saltiness there. I left off sucking for a bit and licked and kissed in different places. Hutch was moaning and it was hard to tell which places he was moaning about. I cupped his balls and stroked the wrinkly sac; my other hand gripped the base of his cock and pumped at it shallowly, while my mouth when back to its head.

I sucked and let it touch the soft palate of my mouth; my tongue swirled all around, tasting and licking. Hutch was moaning louder now and had his hands in my hair. His hips were bucking up towards me and I tried to open my throat so I could get more of him into my mouth, but it wasn’t easy. I felt like I might gag, so I pulled his hips down and worked my mouth over him, establishing a rhythm, in and out, which I hoped he’d like.

“Oh. God. Starsk.” I could hear his head thrashing from side to side. I pulled my mouth away for a moment to look up at him; his eyes were squeezed shut and his face was pulled into a grimace.

“This ok?” I asked uncertainly.

“God, Starsky, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Oh, ok. Just making sure,” I said, and took him back in my mouth. I got my rhythm back, and kept stroking the base of his cock with my left hand. My right hand reached back and squeezed his ass. Suddenly I had an idea, and reached over for the tube from last night. I put some of the stuff onto my right hand, and rubbed it into Hutch’s ass. More moans and thrashing ensued, so I kept at it. I worked some of the lube down into the crack of his ass, my fingers massaging him, feeling him writhing beneath me in pleasure. He knew where I was headed, and I could tell he wanted me there, so I took my time. I felt his cock throb in my mouth and I knew he was close. I squeezed and massaged his smooth, muscular ass and when I thought he could take no more teasing-“please, Starsky, please,” he begged-I moved my fingers closer to his opening and touched him there. I touched and stroked and teased, but not for long, because suddenly his hips were bucking again, his hands pressing my head down, and he was coming in my mouth.

I swallowed and kept stroking his cock, softly, until his shudders had subsided.

Then I moved myself up along his body and cradled his head against my neck. “How was that, babe? Was that ok? I couldn’t get much of you into my mouth, but I can practice at it and get-”

“Shut up, Starsky, would you shut up?” he moaned against me. “Are you fucking kidding? That was incredible.” He had his arms around me, his whole body pressed up warmly against me. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat; his hair was damp and sticking to his head. His eyes were closed. “Let me just…take a little nap, ok? Then it’s your turn.” He sighed against me, and I felt his whole body relax into mine. I lay there with him, stroking his hair and thinking yes, with practice I could get better. I would need to practice. A lot. On Hutch.

*****************

Before we headed back to L.A. the next day, we took a trip over to the Marina. Hutch wanted to see some cockamamie Octagon House he’d read about (which I had to admit was pretty neat), and then we took a stroll, looking at all the stores that lined Union Street. It was a nice day, the sun was shining, and I was enjoying my last moments of freedom before heading back home and back to work. Hutch seemed happy today too, with none of his dark moments from the past few days. We walked in and out of shops, looking at the clothing and souvenirs, until we got to one called The Enchanted Crystal.

The minute I stepped inside, I knew what I was going to do. The place was filled with quartz crystals, jewelry, and other things made out of rocks. There was a small Buddha in one corner, with water running out of its navel and into its lap. A small pile of stones had been set up in one corner of the store, with books about something called “feng shui” all around it.

I walked around the center of the store, running my hand over the glass cases there, examining the silver and turquoise jewelry inside. I was looking for something, but I didn’t know what.

Then, suddenly, I saw it. I looked up to see if Hutch was nearby; he wasn’t. I’d seen him wander towards a bookshelf in the rear of the store, so I guessed he was still back there.

I deliberated for a moment on the color, then motioned to a clerk, told her what I wanted, and paid for it. Then I walked outside, and leaned against a nearby lamppost, waiting for Hutch to come out.

*****************

The drive back home was uneventful. We listened to the radio, or to the dry, windy sound of the freeway. Hutch snoozed. Then we stopped for gas, he took the wheel for a bit, and I snoozed. It was a comfortable silence that I was glad for. I didn’t want to talk anymore; I wanted to see where things led. Actions speak louder, they always say, and I agree with them on that one.

About an hour outside of L.A., I was driving again, when Hutch spoke.

“Hey, I meant to say, I got you something at that little shop we visited this morning,” he said, trying to sound casual.

“You did?” I said, surprised. “Aw, you didn’t hafta do that.”

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Just something I saw that I thought you might like.” He took a small packet out of his jacket pocket and opened it, shaking something into his hand. I held my own hand out, and he put what felt like coins into it.

“What is it?” I felt the coins in my palm, smooth, with holes in the middle.

“They’re I Ching coins. You throw them, to find out about your future.”

I turned to look at him for a moment. “I thought you didn’t believe in that kind of stuff.”

“I don’t. But I know you do. And they looked nice. Besides, it’s part of Chinese philosophy, been around thousands of years. What do I know, compared to thousands of years of Chinese wisdom?” Hutch squinted through the windshield as the setting sun hit his eyes.

I held one coin between my thumb and index finger, my other hand on the wheel. I glanced at the coin when I could, trying to see what was on the coins.

“Looks like some sort of squiggly lines on each side,” I remarked.

“That’s yin and yang. One side is yin, the other is yang. They represent opposing forces, but together, they make up a whole.”

I considered this for a moment. “Very interesting,” I said. Then I asked, “What do you do with them?”

“Well, you’re supposed to throw them. You ask a question, then you throw them and jot down how they fall, and then you draw these hexagrams…it’s a little complicated. I’ll show you when we get home.”

“And how do you find out your future?”

“You look it up in the I Ching. That’s the ‘Book of Changes.’ It tells what each hexagram means.”

“How do you know all this stuff, Hutch?”

“Oh, you know, I read a lot about Eastern philosophy when I was in college. Back then, everyone was getting high and reading tarot cards and studying the I Ching.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Well, you were lucky. It was mostly a bunch of crap, a way of hiding from the real world.”

We were both quiet a moment, while we thought about the real world, and what it’s like when you can’t hide from it.

“So this book can tell me things like, will I get a promotion this year, or am I gonna be taking a trip to Hawaii any time soon?”

Hutch laughed. “It’s a little more abstract than that. There’s a small instruction booklet that came with the coins, which you can look at. We’ll have to pick up a real I Ching when we get to L.A. They didn’t have one in the shop.”

I turned to look at him. “Thanks,” I said. I looked at the coins again, in the palm of my hand. “I really like ’em. That was very nice of you.” I waited a moment, then said, “I got you a present, too.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. It’s in my jacket pocket. Just a sec,” I reached into the pocket, deposited the I Ching coins, and pulled out a small box. It looked like a jewelry box, the kind you’d put a ring or earrings in.

Hutch looked worried. “Open it,” I smiled, and put both hands back on the steering wheel.

He looked at it for another minute, then took the lid off. He stared inside the box for a moment, then took the small, shiny object out, and held it up between his fingers.

“It’s beautiful, Starsk. What’s it made out of?”

“Petrified wood. That’s a kind of rock,” I explained. “I hope it’s the right size; I didn’t know guitar picks came in different sizes.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” He rubbed the smooth surface with his fingers. It was brown, with a marbled look. He’d seen these before, and he knew they weren’t cheap. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know. That’s what made it fun.” I glanced over and smiled at him. “I hope you like the color. I was stuck between this and the moss agate, which was green.”

Hutch rubbed the pick between his fingers. “I like the brown. It has a nice, earthy feel. Though green would have been fine too.” He looked at it for another moment. “Thank you, Starsky,” he said again, and reached over with his left hand to touch my arm, like he’d done a hundred times before, and then he lifted it to touch my face, softly, and only for a moment, but still I knew he was thanking me for more than just the pick.

“You’re welcome,” I said. I wanted to say more, but there was time for that later. There’d be plenty of time to say other things, and to do other things. Right now, the orange L.A. sun was setting in the haze, and our weekend vacation was ending. I rubbed the I Ching coins in my pocket, and thought about the future.

*****************

That night, before I went to bed, I took out the coins Hutch had given me, and the little instruction booklet. I followed the directions, and threw the coins like it said to, and had a question in mind when I did it. Not a real specific question, more a general one, like what was gonna happen to Hutch and me now, and what should I do about it. I wrote down the hexagram I got, and looked it up in the booklet.

It was called “Ken”, which was Chinese for “mountain.” (I scanned the list to see if there was a “Dave”; no such luck.) I smiled to myself and read what it said:

52. Keeping Still

MOUNTAIN above,
MOUNTAIN below

“This is a time to wait and be patient. Nothing can be achieved by action, although you should continue to work quietly in the background. Avoid new partnerships, but be true to existing ones.”

Mountain above, mountain below, I thought. Yes. That seemed right. “Nothing can be achieved by action.” I didn’t like it, but that also seemed right. Be patient. Let things take their course. “Work quietly in the background.” Okay. It would be tough, but okay. I could wait.

Then the last sentence: “Avoid new partnerships, but be true to existing ones.” I couldn’t decide about that one. Was ours a new partnership, or an existing one? I didn’t want to avoid it if it was new.

I thought about this as I searched through my apartment for something I knew I had-a leather thong that I’d used awhile back to tie garlic around my neck. I found it in a sock drawer, and sniffed it. The garlic smell seemed to be gone. It was just thin enough to fit through the hole in the middle of the coins. I ran it through, then put it around my neck and tied the ends. I fingered the coins, which rested in the hollow of my collarbone.

I thought about what Hutch’s reaction would be the next morning when he saw them there. I thought about what I’d say to other people if they asked about them. “Oh, these? These are I Ching coins. Yeah, they’re for luck. Where’d I get ’em? Oh, someone very special gave them to me.” Then I’d smile and make it clear that that was all I was telling. Very mysterious. People would think it was a girl, or my mother. Hutch would blush. Hutch would tell me I had to be careful. In the parking garage later that day, when I was sure no one was around, I would kiss him, hard, on the mouth, and tell him I was being careful, I would always be careful.

Mountain above, mountain below.

I brushed my teeth and got into bed. I touched the coins, which were smooth against my skin, and turned out the light. Our partnership was not new, I thought. It was old, and lasting. We would always be true to it, I knew. Nothing had changed, and everything had. We had discovered new ways of being true.

the end

The sequel to this story is TKO (Boxing Day).