Starsky Tries to Get the Last Word

Starsky is convinced he can finally get the last word with Flamingo. Hutch isn’t so sure. A VenicePlace Story.

A short piece from the SHareCon 2002 Zine.

Starting in 1995, which, in geological terms is a nano-second, but in the life cycle of the Internet is “the olden days,” we had an SH slash discussion email list called “VenicePlace,” named after Hutch’s building. We treated the list as if it was Hutch’s building, with every member having her own apartment in an ever-expanding Escher-like multidimensional fantasy building with dozens of apartments, all of them with the best view of the guys when they came home from work. A number of VP’ers wrote stories that expanded on this theme, always including the guys, of course, in these often hilarious fantasies. Rosemary and I usually wrote an elaborate one for the SHarecon zines. In these stories, I was the harried “superintendent” of VP (since I was the listmom), and the adventure often featured some of the SHareCon Committee members. For some reason, probably because I was in charge of the building, Starsky and I were often at odds.

This is a brief example of one of these “VenicePlace Stories.”

“I got her now, Hutch!” Starsky crowed triumphantly as he dashed into their apartment in VenicePlace.

Hutch, who was busy trying to figure out their new latte machine, didn’t even look up. “Got who, Starsk? For what?”

“Flamingo! Yeah, I got her now! You know how she always manages to have the last word when we get into our little battle of wits?”

Without turning his attention from the gleaming glass and chrome machinery, Hutch murmured, “Whenever she gets into a battle of wits with you, babe, by its very nature, it’s a ‘little’ one.”

“Right!” Starsky agreed, without paying any real attention to his lover. “But this time I am going to win. I am going to have the very last word.”

At this, Hutch looked concerned and stopped fiddling with the machine. “Just what is it you’ve got up your sleeve?”

“I have right here,” Starsky slapped at a paper in his hand, “a scientific study that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the most important thing to any woman is men. In fact, it says right here, in black and white, that in this study they proved that a woman’s ultimate fantasy is to have two men at one time. Flamingo loves to act like men aren’t important, that she doesn’t need ’em. But here it says otherwise! Just wait till I show her this! And, it even explains all that weird slash stuff that’s always goin’ on around here. Never could understand all the fascination these crazy ladies have with–”

“Let me see that a minute,” Hutch said, taking the paper from his lover’s hands. He perused it quickly, then frowned. “Uh…listen, Starsk, I wouldn’t be so quick to bring this topic up with Her Pinkness.”

“You gotta be kiddin’! When I finally have the facts right in front of me? It says right there–”

Hutch nodded. “–That most women’s ultimate fantasy is to have two men at one time. It says, ‘While this has been verified by a recent sociological study–”

“See! See!!” Starsky pointed at the paper and nodded vigorously.

Hutch continued to read from the report, “‘–it appears that in this favorite female fantasy, one man is cooking and the other man is cleaning.”

Starsky gaped at his partner in dismay. “What?!?”

Hutch folded the paper and smiled. “So before you call her with this scientific news, babe, I think we should put some thought into which role you want. Every woman needs a wife!”

end