A bouquet of roses and lots of thanks to Solo and SHaron for all their help scanning and proofing these classic stories of Constance Collins! This story originally appeared in the zine Nightlight 2 which can still be obtained from In Person Press.
Comments about this story can be sent to: VenicePlaceAngel@aol.com
WRITTEN IN THE HEART
by
Constance Collins
The door shushed closed. Starsky opened his eyes, expecting a nurse; instead he found himself being scrutinized by a pair of big brown eyes in a decidedly teenage face.
"Mr. Starsky?" The voice was whispery.
"Huh-huh. Who're you, Angel?"
"Carly Weston. I'm part of the Read-to-an-Invalid program at Hawthorne High School and you're my invalid."
Starsky bit on his top lip to keep from smiling. Obviously she was new at this; her technique left a lot to be desired. "Only temporarily, sweetheart."
Carly flushed Valentine pink. "Of course! I didn't mean--" She stopped, took a deep breath, composed herself. "Our job is to entertain patients." This was obviously memorized but apparently it was all she remembered because she stopped abruptly. After a moment's thought, Carly held up the paperback she was holding. "Wuthering Heights. It's an English assignment. I hope you don't mind if--" She started to say, "I kill two birds with one stone," but caught herself. "I--I hope you like the classics."
Starsky was drowsy from pain-killers, but not so drowsy he didn't know what was going on. It wasn't Raymond Chandler, but it had to be better than soap operas and listening to hospital noises. "Hey, sure, Angel, sounds t'riffic. Gotta do a book report?"
She smiled, a sweet, conspiratorial little smile. "Uh-huh."
"Well, let's get with it."
Carly pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, opened the book and flipped past the introduction.
It was slow going at first; between the words unfamiliar to Carly and the pain medication, Starsky snoozed through the first chapter. But Carly was a good, smooth reader, practiced at reading aloud, and after a while Starsky realized it wasn't so much the pain killers that had his eyes drifting shut, but the cadence of Carly's voice and the old-fashioned words. It brought back his early childhood, when his grandmother would read to him. She never read bedtime stories, didn't believe in them. Instead she read him poems--long, long, long page-after-page poems. And she'd sit by his bed until she was finished, whether he was asleep or not; sometimes he'd waken late into the night to find her still sitting in the rocker next to his bed, still reading "The Lady of Shalot" or "The Song of Hiawatha."
A little over an hour later Carly closed the book. "I have it figured out that I can read an hour a day, more or less, and be able to stop at the end of a chapter each time."
"Yeah, sure, Angel, whatever you wanna do."
Carly stood at the door, watching Starsky as he fell back to sleep. Then she silently slipped from the room.
~~~
The next day Hutch met Minnie as he was going into the hospital and she was coming out. She corralled him and led him into the waiting room. "Well, he's back to his old self," she said as Hutch sat down with a cup of coffee for each of them.
Hutch smiled. "Why, what did he do?"
"Haven't you heard? The nurses got one of the girls who volunteer to read to long-term patients to read to our boy. She was going in just as I was ready to leave, and if I know Starsky, she'll end up with a major league crush on him."
"So they finally found a way to keep him from buzzing the nurses' station every fifteen minutes. Good for them."
Minnie shook her head. "Sending in a defenseless little teenager to cope with that incorrigible flirt? They ought to have their Hippocratic oaths revoked. He's calling her Angel."
"He's calling them all Angel, Minnie; he can't focus his eyes enough to read any of their name tags."
"Well, this particular Angel could end up taking him pretty seriously. I don't think she's old enough to recognize a habitual flirt when she sees one."
"I don't know, Minnie, he's all doped up, hardly at his most appealing self right now."
Minnie put her hand on Hutch's arm. "Honey, he's been hurt, and he's being all brave and charming--that's an unbeatable combination where teenage girls are concerned. If you don't believe me, you can go check it out; she's up there right now."
Hutch stood and downed the rest of his coffee. "I think I'll just take you up on that."
He stopped just outside the open door to Starsky's room. Peeking around the door-frame, he saw a brown-haired teenager sitting next to Starsky's bed, reading aloud, while his partner half-listened; she was just finishing up her last chapter of the day. As she closed the book, he grinned at her. "Same time tomorrow, Angel?"
She smiled back at him. "Same time tomorrow. Are you sure you don't mind me reading you my English homework? I could find something more interesting."
Hutch entered the room. "Anything he'd want to hear, you're not old enough to be reading," he told Carly.
"Angel, this is my partner, Ken Hutchinson."
Carly held out her hand, very adult. "Carly Weston, Mr. Hutchinson. I'm a volunteer reader."
"Please, call me Ken. And I wish you good luck keeping him under control; I've been trying for years now, and my average hasn't been too good."
"'Cause you're the one always gets me in trouble," Starsky answered.
Hutch watched Carly as she watched Starsky; her look was sweetly speculative--she was on the verge of a full-bloom adolescent infatuation. Realizing that Hutch was observing her, Carly became flustered. "Well, I better go. It was nice meeting you, Mr.--uh, Ken."
"Nice meeting you, too, Carly."
Turning back to his partner, Hutch found him asleep. He'd promised himself that no matter how much he wanted to, he would not wake Starsky when he came to visit. "He needs all this sleep more than I need to talk to him. And watching him sleep, watching him breathe, is miracle enough..." He'd picked up the habit of talking to himself when Starsky couldn't answer him, and things hadn't changed much.
Starsky's eyes opened just as Hutch was getting up. "Shit. Slept through another one, huh? I dunno why you even bother comin' to see me--I'm 'bout as much fun as watchin' dust settle."
"Don't flatter yourself; I've watched dust settle, it's a far sight more interesting than you are right now." He'd nearly told Starsky that he'd rather watch him sleep than anything else he could think of; but Starsky would only want to know why Hutch was saying such sweet things to him--was he dying, or something? "But," Hutch shrugged, "that's the way it is. Anyway, you're not that much more interesting when you're awake."
"Chuck you, Farley."
"So, you going to tell me about the candy striper?"
"She's not a candy striper, she's a read-to-the-bed-ridden something or other. She's reading me her English assignment."
Hutch didn't try to contain his amusement. "That's what you get for bugging the nurses. It could've been worse; they could've just upped your dose of knock-out pills to keep you quiet."
"'S not so bad. I was raised on that kinda stuff, you know, my gramma useta read it to me. She didn't believe in kids' books, so she read all kinda things I didn't understand."
"Hate to tell you, Gordo, but you wouldn't've understood the children's books; in fact, I'm not sure you'd understand them now."
"Clever, very clever. That means a lot coming from you, Mr. Potato Head."
Hutch broke out laughing. "So, are you proud of yourself, making a new conquest? I'd think it would worry you, the way you appeal to adolescent girls--says something about your mentality."
"Better'n some people, who don't appeal to anybody. Anyhow, what're you talking about?"
"Carly's getting a crush on you."
Starsky thought about it for a moment, then frowned. "Naah. you're just imagining things again."
"Yeah, probably. What're the odds of a pretty, young girl like that being attracted to somebody like you?"
"Hey, there ain't nobody like me."
"That's the truth," Hutch agreed. "Well, I better get going--the nurse on duty's the one that doesn't like me. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Hey, whatcha workin' on? Anything exciting?"
"Paperwork and more paperwork. You wouldn't believe the complications behind this whole Gunther case."
"Really. Well, you do all the shit-work, and when I get outa here, I'll stand next to you and smile pretty when the reporters take our pictures and call us heroes."
"Remember what happened last--" Hutch stopped himself, but Starsky was grinning.
"Really. Go back to work. I want it all cleaned up before I get outa here."
Hutch shrugged, heading toward the door. "What the hell, I do all your work anyway--"
"Get in touch with reality," Starsky suggested, as Hutch closed the door behind him.
~~~
Starsky reached out and touched Carly's hand. "Wait. Read that part again."
Carly looked over the top of the book at him, surprised. "Okay, sure."
Starsky was frowning when Carly got to the end of the paragraph again. She watched him, waiting, but he didn't say anything, so after a few moments she resumed reading, not sure he was even listening to her. But only a page later he again reached out for her hand. Without being asked, she re-read the last few sentences.
Starsky's mind was again a million miles away. Again Carly waited a few seconds, hoping he'd say something to her; then she went on reading.
She would have liked to talk to him when she finished that day's chapters, but he still seemed so distant that she was almost afraid to disturb him. In fact, she wasn't sure he even noticed when she left.
"Ya wanna hear somethin' kinda--I dunno, perverse?" Starsky asked as Hutch entered the room.
"You been fooling around with that red-haired PT nurse again?"
"Wish I was up to it," Starsky muttered. "No, this is something that just occurred to me today while Angel was reading to me; can you think of anything more perverse than reading a ghost story to a guy who was dead just a little while ago?"
The blood drained from Hutch's face, and he felt a chill settle on his skin. "What?"
"The book she's reading, Wuthering Heights, it's a ghost story. I just think it's a kinda weird selection."
Trying to stop the shaking in his knees, Hutch sat down on the furthest chair from Starsky's bed. "It's not a ghost story, it's a romance."
"The girl dies, doesn't she?"
"Yes," Hutch admitted unwillingly.
"An' she comes back? So what else you gotta do to be a ghost story?"
"I guess I just never thought of it that way," Hutch answered finally. "It's been a long time since I read it--must've been my first year of college." He wanted very much to change the subject, but could think of no agile way to do so.
But Starsky did it for him. "So, ya got anything on what's-his-name, Gunther's lawyer, yet?"
"Welles. Nothing yet, he's stonewalling it, but I'd be willing to bet my badge he knew about everything that was going down before it happened; that'd make him an accessory-before-the fact. We just have to find the proof."
"T'riffic. Hey, how's my car?"
"Merle's doing his best, so it'll probably come back fur-lined and with pink polka-dots. Of course, you'll like that. I've been watering your plants and picking up your mail, and I've cancelled the papers."
"Good to know. Listen, Hutch--" Starsky seemed about to say something important, but then he stopped and took a deep breath. "Are you okay?"
Hutch stared at Starsky, waiting to see if he'd voice his original thought; when he didn't, Hutch answered him, "I'm fine. Not sleeping real well, but I'm okay."
The air was clogged with an uneasiness neither of them could dispel; there were too many things they couldn't seem to say to each other. Hutch cut his visit short.
~~~
The lovely poetic words swirled around Starsky's brain, somehow comforting and frightening at the same time, because behind them was the soft summer blue of Hutch's eyes.
~~~
"Can you think of anything more perverse than reading a ghost story to a guy who was dead just a little while ago?" Starsky's words echoed in Hutch's head renewing the chills he'd felt the first time he'd heard them.
"It's true," the voice in his head told him, and he knew that it was, but thinking of Starsky's death, no matter how brief, panicked him. That particular reminder of his partner's mortality was one he didn't want, didn't need, couldn't shake.
"Starsky's gonna die." He'd said that to Huggy, believed it with all his heart, and when Starsky had died, Hutch had felt not shock, but as though he had willingly stepped into an elevator shaft. Nowhere in his vivid, bleak vision of the rest of his life had there been hope for reprieve.
But he'd been given one; Starsky was back. And why-ever it was true--cosmic piece of luck? Divine act of kindness? --Hutch was guarding it superstitiously. Hearing anyone, but especially Starsky, talk about his death made Hutch feel as though the whole thing was just so much sleight-of-hand: rub too hard and the gold glitter will peel right off the magic; Starsky would go back to being dead; he would go back to being eternally alone.
~~~
The fledgling attraction Carly had felt for Starsky had faded away after only three days. Though he smiled at her enchantingly, and called her Angel, it seemed that he grew more and more distant. His only interest was in the book; she'd read a page or two, then he'd ask her to re-read a paragraph. Otherwise his mind seemed to be--well, Carly couldn't figure out where Starsky's mind was. But if it wasn't on her--and it wasn't--then what good did it do?
And all this re-reading was getting tiresome--the story wasn't even that interesting--and how, if she had to read the same thing over and over again was she supposed to finish the damned book?
Finally allowed to complete that day's allotted chapters, Carly closed the book, waiting for Starsky to notice she had stopped reading.
Preoccupied as usual, it took a few minutes. "Oh. Uh, that was t'rific, Angel. Same time tomorrow?"
She took a deep breath. "No, I'm sorry." He frowned, as if not understanding, and she went on, "You see--well--" This was much more difficult than she had expected. "Well--my English teacher has moved up the date the report's due, so I'm going to have to go home and finish this so I can write it over the weekend. And I'm sorry, but I won't be able to read to you anymore. I've just got too much studying to do--finals are coming up. And my boyfriend says I haven't been spending enough time with him. You understand."
Starsky dredged up a smile. "Yeah, Angel, I understand. Good luck on your finals."
It had been so easy it almost hurt. That didn't make any sense to Carly, but somehow beneath the relief of not having to return was an ache at leaving. She put her book under her arm and walked out.
~~~
It wasn't the first brush-off he'd gotten from a girl, and it certainly wasn't the smoothest, but somehow it was one of the most painful. He'd started to ask her why she was leaving like this, but her silly, seamless story covered any question he might ask, and that in itself told him more than he wanted to know: she was quitting because she didn't want to come back.
Starsky was actually grateful for the hour of Physical Therapy that followed; the tangible discomforts inflicted on his body kept his mind off Carly, and that portentous book, and whatever was weird between him and Hutch. Since their uneasy parting the other day, relaxed conversation between them had been difficult; Starsky didn't understand it, but between the hydro-therapy and the massage, he resolved to fix it.
Apparently, so had Hutch. "Live long and prosper," he greeted Starsky, hand raised appropriately.
"Nanoo, nanoo," Starsky responded. "And may the force be with you."
"Beam me up, Scotty."
"Klatu, baroda nicto."
Stumped, Hutch fell back on cliché. "Take me to your leader."
Starsky laughed and took pity on him. "Grrrr."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hutch asked, pulling a chair up next to the bed.
"Klingon for 'how's it going?'"
Hutch laughed. "Pigs in space."
"Speak for yourself, Blintz. So, how's it going?" Starsky had been trying for a long time to get some details out of Hutch, but always before Hutch had shrugged him off, told him he needed his sleep, or not to worry, he was taking care of it. Now, it seemed, he was ready to talk.
"Not bad, not bad. We've got a deposition from Gunther's butler; he says Gunther poured Bates' coffee himself, that all he did was bring in the tray."
"So hard to find loyal help nowadays," Starsky murmured, grinning. "Go on."
"And the guy that tried to ice me in the men's room here claimed he didn't know you were a cop; he said he was hired by some of your relatives to do the humane thing and turn off your life support."
Starsky laughed. "Is he stickin' with this fairy tale?"
"No, we got him to tell a more reasonable story when we told him about the conspiracy charges we'd have to tack onto attempted murder."
"The guy oughta be grateful he met you in a nice, well-lit hospital insteada some dark alley. And don't give me that 'butter won't melt in your mouth look;' I heard how you shot up the parking garage. Sounds like you were pretty close to the edge."
"I'm okay," Hutch said quickly. "You don't have to worry."
"Who, me worry about you? Never. They keepin' a close eye on Gunther?"
"His lawyer--not Welles, a different lawyer. This one's name is Van Raalte; he tried to get him low bail for health reasons."
"And?"
"Well, I guess after Dobey got done, even Van Raalte couldn't say too much; from what I heard, Dobey made a speech that topped the Gettysburg Address."
"Wish I'd been there to hear it," Starsky said wistfully. "Where were you?"
"Rounding up the hired goons. Besides the two in the police car, and the one who tried to sneak into your room, and the ones in the parking garage, there were two waiting at my place, and two at yours--"
"What the hell is this, some kinda Noah's Ark for hired guns?"
"And Huggy came close to being shot in the elevator--"
"Yeah, he told me 'bout that. I been meaning to ask you--did he really tackle the guy and force the gun outa his hand?"
"What? Hell, no. He got on the elevator, and a guy got on after him. The doors closed, the guy pulls out a gun. Then the doors opened again and a couple of nurses got on. They must've been right behind him and pushed the elevator button before the car had a chance to move. Anyway, the guy panicked and bolted. Huggy went the other way and called Security."
"Nice move," Starsky said. "But hardly the heroics Huggy told me about; according to him, he wrestled King Kong to the ground and saved the lives of half a dozen nurses."
"And you fell for that?"
"I was groggy; I wasn't even sure who Huggy was. Why do I feel like I'm in the world's most sinister hospital? Is Jack the Ripper roaming the halls? Do I have a guard outside my door?"
"No, and yes. There's been a guard since the first night. And always an officer either Dobey or I know personally, so there's no possibility of an imposter. Didn't know you were such a VIP, huh?"
"Nice to know you care," Starsky answered quietly.
"You know, pretty soon we're going to have to get down to the questions. Hate to remind you, buddy, but this time you're the victim, not the arresting officer."
"Yeah, that's right, I'm the sweet young thing and you're the big brave hero. Dream on, Hutchinson."
"Nobody said you were sweet or young," Hutch answered soberly. "But it's the job of the LAPD to protect everybody, no matter what."
"'Preciate your dedication to your job," Starsky told him, just as solemnly.
"Well, you know how the DA feels about witness protection."
"As I recall, he's never heard of it."
"You got it. Oh, hey, I've got another batch of get-well cards that came to the station." Hutch dropped a dozen or so various-colored greeting card envelopes on Starsky's blanketed stomach.
"An' you didn't even open 'em, like last time."
"Well, this time you looked like you could handle opening your own mail. Those that I did open, you kept holding backwards and you couldn't understand why all your cards were white and had nothing written in them."
"Ha, ha, very funny." Starsky started tearing open the envelopes, pulling out the cards. But his eyes still wouldn't focus enough to read them. "Here," he said, passing the pile of cards to Hutch.
No explanation was necessary; Hutch read the cards aloud. When he'd finished, he stacked them neatly on the bedside table. "How're you doing with Young Florence Nightingale?"
Starsky grimaced. "Her dog ate her homework."
"What?"
"Nothing." Suddenly he brightened. "Look, she left me stranded and she took the book with her--why don't you get a copy and you can finish reading it to me?"
"So I've got nothing better to do than baby-sit you, is that it?"
"What else do you have to do? An' anyhow, what kinda partner'd leave me stranded in the middle of a book like this, huh? That's cruel and unusual punishment, even for you, Hutchinson. And with you reading to me, I don't have to worry that you'll have to quit because of finals, or because your boyfriend thinks I'm monopolizing your time."
"I don't even want to know what that's supposed to mean. All right, I hate to hear a grown man whine; I'll go home and look for my library card. See you tomorrow."
~~~
The book Hutch arrived with the next morning was very different from the beat up paperback Carly had read from; a large hardback illustrated with severe, fiercely imposing woodcuts, it exactly expressed the desolate spirit of the story.
"Okay, she was what, about halfway through?"
"Yeah," Starsky agreed grudgingly.
"What's the matter?"
"Well, I slept through a lot of it, and I just figured you could start at the beginning and read the whole thing."
Hutch gave him a narrow look. "Are you putting me on?"
"No! I really wanna hear the whole book."
Hutch sighed. "Oh, what the hell." He flipped back to the beginning of the book, glanced at Starsky, laying back against his pillows, face full of bright expectation, and commenced reading.
Hutch hadn't planned to spend more than an hour or so reading that day, but Starsky wouldn't let him quit; he seemed sincerely enraptured by the story, and whenever Hutch suggested leaving off for the day, a look of such melancholy would come over him that Hutch hadn't the heart to stop. Hutch couldn't understand it; the antiquated prose hardly seemed Starsky's style.
"If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable."
"'Because you are not fit to go there,' I answered. 'All sinners would be miserable in heaven.'
"'But it is not for that. I dreamt once that I was there.'
"' I tell you I won't hearken to your dreams, Miss Catherine! I'll go to bed,' I interrupted again.
"This is nothing,' cried she. 'I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth, and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other. I've no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven; and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so low, I shouldn't have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightening, or frost from fire.'"
*** [There it is, what I thought I heard before. 'If I were in heaven, I should be extremely miserable... I dreamt once I was there... I was only going to say that heaven, did not seem to be my home...' I dreamt I was in heaven, only it wasn't a dream. I was there, and my soul ached from loneliness, and I couldn't stay, I had to come back I had to come back. ]***
**{Bronte's words waltzed into my head,
like a beautiful stranger at a private party:
they reached out, stroking my subconscious:
and brightening the dim light that wavered over my feelings for Starsky,
bringing the picture into sharp focus.} **
*** [I had to come back because what was I doing there alone?]***
"' ... What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don't talk of our separation again: it is impracticable and'--"
***['He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don't talk of our separation again... ' I think if Hutch had been there when I 'went away' (Dobey's euphemism) I'd've just moved right into that blond head of his, just left my body behind and found myself a new home--old home?--and lived there forever...]***
** {sometimes, lately, it's seemed like I've liked Starsky more than I've liked myself--
that Starsky was the person I wished I could be and could not.
more and more that failure seemed to be singeing my soul,
and I've been taking out that dissatisfaction on Starsky.
I hadn't realized that I didn't have to be everything,
that it didn't matter--
it didn't matter.
Starsky is my other half--together we're whole}**
Nurses came and went; so did doctors. Accustomed to seeing Hutch in Starsky's room, they paid little attention to him, except to shoo him away occasionally, and to take Starsky to his Physical Therapy. Every time he told Starsky that he'd have to be going, and every time Starsky insisted that he come back and read some more.
"You don't expect me to read this whole book today, do you?"
"You got something else to do?"
"I can think of a million things," Hutch replied caustically.
"Yeah, like what?"
"My laundry. I'm all out of clean underwear..."
"So borrow some of mine. I won't be needing it for awhile, and you've got a key to my place. Socks, too, if you need 'em."
"Starsk, I'm getting hungry--"
"So go get a sandwich outa one of the machines. An' bring me somethin', too, a burger or somethin'--"
A sigh, long and heartfelt. As Starsky opened his mouth to go on, Hutch cut him off. "All right, all right. I'll pick up something from a machine and be back in a little bit."
One sort of funny-tasting chicken salad sandwich and a cup of coffee later, Hutch was back by Starsky's bedside, reading while Starsky ate an egg salad sandwich.
"'You teach me how cruel you've been--cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry, and wring out my kisses and tears; they'll blight you--they'll damn you. You loved me--then what right had you to leave me? What right--answer me--for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of you own will, did it. I have not broken your heart--you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me, that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you--oh God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?'"
*** [nothing that God or Satan could have done would have parted us. god, yeah, that's true, that's true--nothing could ever have kept us apart, nothing ever has kept us apart, except us--we've kept us apart, always, that's all it's ever been, us... ] ***
** { with each other we always obeyed the rules we never played by the rules anyplace else, but where we were concerned, we never stepped over that line. too dangerous, too frightening.}**
"'And I pray one prayer--I repeat it till my tongue stiffens--Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living! You said I killed you--haunt me then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!'"
*** [for a while there it felt like we were taking two steps away from each other for every half-step we took toward each other; we were closer while I was dead than we have been over some of the last months... ] ***
** {follow the rules, follow your heart--
but if your heart says one thing and the rules say another?
with anything else we'd follow our hearts--
I don't know where you're going, but I'll go with you, unless--
except--what if your heart takes you places you've never been before?
what if you can't find your way back again?
what if you don't even want to?} **
*** [why run so hard from each other? it was useless, anyhow--it's just like it says, our souls were connected, like two halves of a whole. so why can't we talk to each other, say the things we need to say? ] ***
** { sometimes it seems like I'm watching you walk away;
you turn to me and smile that smile I know I can't trust,
and I find myself trusting you anyway.
fear kept us frozen in place--
fear for our careers,
fear called what-would-people-say--} **
*** [what if I reached up and put my arm around your neck, just pulled you down and pressed your forehead against mine; would you know my thoughts? sometimes it does seem like we can read each other's minds--but sometimes it seems like we don't even speak the same language. would you understand what I feel for you? do you feel the same for me?] ***
** {finally the dream image comes into focus--
and what I see is not frightening
not frightening at all
what I see is what I've always seen
but never recognized:
the beautiful stranger standing in the shadows is my partner. } **
"Starsky--" Hutch stopped reading abruptly, mid-sentence.
After Cathy's death Starsky found himself growing less and less interested in the story; somehow the problems of Cathy's children, and Heathcliff's weren't as impelling. And now, when the plot was becoming interesting again, Hutch was baling out on him. "Hutch!"
"Starsk, my throat's getting dry, and--" a glance at his watch, "--my God, it's nearly five-thirty! I've really got to--"
"Hutch! You're quittin' just when it's gettin' good again!"
"Starsky, I'm exhausted," Hutch said firmly. "I've been reading all day long. I'm going to go home, have some real food, and get some rest."
"Yeah, okay."
~~~
The resigned-to-it-all tone of Starsky's voice surprised him; it sounded as though Hutch had just announced that he was moving to Arizona. "Hey, I can come back tomorrow, you know. I'll stop by on my lunch hour, then after I get off I should be able to finish this thing up. How's that sound?"
Starsky smiled, that trying-to-be-brave smile Hutch recognized, and at once he felt better; for a moment it felt like everything was back to normal.
Hutch drove through the drive-through at McDonald's and pulled into an empty space to eat his dinner. He took a bite of his Big Mac without much thinking about it, his mind still in Starsky's hospital room.
"What the hell am I doing?" He spit the mouthful of hamburger out into the Styrofoam container. "Been turning into the kind of person I've always been afraid of becoming--and killing myself in the process." On the way out of the parking lot he pitched the bag of uneaten junk food into the trash can.
It had been a long time since he'd stopped at Bread & Roses (or, Thorns & Thistles, as Starsky called it). He didn't recognize the young man behind the counter, and the shelves had been rearranged, but it didn't take too long to find what he needed: goat's milk, black strap molasses, kelp, lecithin, desiccated liver; to these staples he added a bottle of multi-vitamins--he'd been letting himself go too long.
After dinner he took a long, steaming hot shower and crawled into bed. It was only nine o'clock, but he had set his alarm for six a.m. In the morning, before work, he was going jogging.
~~~
Hutch had hoped to stop at Vinnie's Gym after his run; that had to be cancelled--he couldn't believe how winded he was after just the run. Killing myself the slow, sure way, he thought.
He wouldn't have believed that two healthy meals and a two mile jog would have made such a difference, but he felt remarkable invigorated.
And it seemed that Dobey noticed a difference, too; he offered to treat Hutch to lunch at The Pits, sounding friendlier than Hutch could remember hearing him in a long, long time. Not solicitous, which was how everyone had been treating him lately, but actually congenial, like back in the old days when Dobey still approved of him...
Huggy joined them, of course, and Hutch told them about Carly, how she'd gotten Starsky hooked on Wuthering Heights and deserted him, leaving Hutch with the responsibility of finishing the book. He didn't mention the way Starsky had insisted he start over from the beginning--he didn't know why, but that made him sort of uncomfortable.
The two men found the whole thing hilarious, of course. "So you're going after work tonight to finish it up?" Huggy asked.
"Guess I have to," Hutch agreed as if it were the last thing in the world he wanted to do.
"Cap'n, why don'tcha give Hutch here the afternoon off so's he can finish readin' Starsky his book? You can see how anxious he is to get back to the Fine Arts and Literary Society he's inherited."
Dobey shot Huggy a mind-your-own-business sort of look. "I'll handle my own personnel assignments, if you don't mind." But a moment later he was saying that there was nothing going on downtown that couldn't be handled without Hutch's presence; if he finished up his paperwork that afternoon, he could have the next day off. "And," he added with a decidedly self-satisfied smile, "why don't you read him The Scarlet Letter next?"
"'Five minutes ago, Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a human being: I felt to him in such a variety of ways, that it would have been impossible to have accosted him rationally. In the first place, his startling likeness to Catherine connected him fearfully with her. That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least: for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped in the flags! In every cloud, in every tree--filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day--I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men and women--my own features--mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her! Well, Hareton's aspect was the ghost of my immortal love; of my wild endeavours to hold my right; my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and my anguish:'"
Starsky listened, wondering: if he lost Hutch, would he, too, see him in all his surroundings? What a way to live--to be pursued by the shadow of his partner for the rest of his life. What could be worse?
The answer came immediately: being alone.
"'I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death. Why should I? With my hard constitution and temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and probably shall, remain above ground till there is scarcely a black hair on my head. And yet, I cannot continue in this condition! I have to remind myself to breath — almost to remind my heart to beat! And it is like bending back a stiff spring: it is by compulsion that I do the slightest act not prompted by thought; and by compulsion that I notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated with one universal idea. I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties are yearning to attain it. They have yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly, that I'm convinced it will be reached--and soon--because it has devoured my existence: I am swallowed up in the anticipation of its fulfillment. My confessions have not relieved me; but they may account for some otherwise unaccountable phases of humour which I show. O God! It is a long fight, I wish it were over!'"
It was a struggle for Hutch to keep his voice from trembling; he'd just caught a glimpse of life without Starsky.
"We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as he wished. Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry the coffin, comprehended the whole attendance. The six men departed when they had let it down into the grave; we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brow mound himself: at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds--and I hope its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folk, if you ask them, would swear on the Bible that he walks: there are those who speak of having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even in this house. Idle tales, you'll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em, looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night since his death: and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening--a dark evening, threatening thunder--and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be guided.
"'What's the matter, my little man?' I asked.
"'There's Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t'nab,' he blubbered, 'un' I darnut pass 'em.'
"I saw nothing, but neight the sheep nor he would go on; so I bid him take the road lower down. He probably raised the phantoms from thinking, as he traversed the moors alone, one the nonsense he had heard his parents and companions repeat. Yet, still, I don't like being out in the dark now; and I don't like being left my myself in this grim house: I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to the Grange."
Hutch paused, glanced at Starsky. He wanted to say something, he wanted to say something--
~~~
Starsky lay with his eyes dosed, willing the story to end; he had so much to say--
"I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next the moor: the middle one grey, and half buried in heath: Edgar Linton's only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its foot: Heathcliff's still bare.
"I lingered round them under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth."
Hutch closed the book. It had been just over four hours since he'd arrived, and now the book was finished. There was so much he wanted to say his heart was overflowing with it, but the thoughts refused to be organized into words for him to say. It frightened him, this feeling of being so totally out of control; he had to get out of there, before the disorganized thoughts began pouring out--
"Hutch--" Starsky began, but Hutch cut him off.
"I'm sorry, I've got to go now. I'll see you tomorrow."
Starsky watched, bewildered, as Hutch hurried from the room.
~~~
Starsky certainly hadn't expected Hutch to return late that night. He didn't know when his partner made his reappearance, only that when he opened his eyes, there Hutch sat next to the bed, with something of the same goldenness Starsky remembered from the academy. Colby had said to Starsky that with Hutch for a roommate, they wouldn't need a nightlight. And Hutch had turned swiftly and knocked Colby flat. Starsky had reached out a hand to assist Colby to his feet, and none of them had said anything more, but that had been Colby's last crack about Hutch's fair hair, and it had been the beginning of their friendship.
"What're you thinking about?" Hutch asked softly.
Starsky's eyes met the searching gaze he felt. "Colby. And the time you knocked him down."
"Which time?" Hutch asked.
"Really. Whatcha doin' back here? An' so late? You oughta be home in bed." There was a difference about Hutch that Starsky couldn't quite put into coherent thoughts. It made him feel strange, like he'd floated back in time somehow, to his first hospital stay.
"I'm not particularly tired. I didn't mean to wake you, though."
"No sweat. I can sleep anytime, at least for the next couple weeks. An' I like bein' up at night."
"You always have been nocturnal. Like a bat."
"I prefer to think of myself more like a--"
"Possum? Raccoon? Owl? Wolverine?"
"A wolf. I'd make a terrific wolf."
"Just ask any of the nurses," Hutch agreed.
Making little whimpery sounds of pain, Starsky slid over till he was on the edge of the bed, away from Hutch. He patted the empty space. "Lay down here with me, why don'tcha? I wanna talk."
"Talk about what?" Hutch asked dubiously. But he cautiously settled himself next to his partner, carefully slipping his arm around Starsky's shoulders.
"Hutch, lemme ask you a question."
'Hutch, lemme ask you a question'; it was a danger sign Hutch knew well. Invariably it lead to parts-unknown and perhaps best-left unknown. But what could he say? 'No, you can't ask me something'?
Not really waiting for permission, Starsky went on. "What do you think happens when we die?"
Hutch opened his mouth to answer, but no response came to him. "Why do you ask?"
"Because something happened when I was gone--" Starsky grimaced. "Dead."
"You need your sleep," Hutch protested, trying to slip out of the hospital bed. Starsky grasped one of his hands, hanging on as tight as he could.
"You can't keep runnin' away from it. I was dead for awhile--and we need to talk about what happened."
It would have been easy enough for Hutch to break Starsky's grip, but he didn't even try; he relaxed against Starsky, waiting.
Weird, Starsky thought. He's got that same guarded expression I remember from the first day we met. Really fucking weird. He took a deep breath and began.
"You know the light they talk about, and the bridge and alla that? Well, I didn't see any of that."
"Was it an airplane dream?" Hutch asked, trying to keep things light.
Starsky laughed, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't an airplane dream. I saw my body, for a second, then I--I dunno, I didn't really see anything, but my father was there." His voice held a wonder, a bewilderment more wistful than anything Hutch had ever heard in his life. He squeezed back against the hand that still held his.
"You don't have to--"
"I do have to. He was there, Hutch, really there, I could feel him. I was so safe, so completely, totally safe, so peaceful--" He paused. "Didja ever crawl in bed with your folks after you had a nightmare? Fall asleep in your father's arms, perfectly sure that nothing out there could get you? Well, that's how I felt. Only thing was, I kept thinking about you; you were still out there in the dark, where the monsters were. I felt like I should have been safe, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. I wanted to know where you were, and he told me you were alone. And I just panicked--I told him that I love you, I had to go back to you, I couldn't forsake you here alone, that wherever you were, that's where I had to be." Starsky stopped, taking a deep breath. Hutch could see his eyes glistening--tears? And another deep breath, and another. Softer, even, than when he'd begun, Starsky continued. "It hurt, Hutch. It hurt to leave him, like it hurt before when he left me. But he understood--he told me I had to come back to you.
"And then I remember waking up, seeing you dancing with that nurse, only it didn't seem real at all--like some kind of dream...and later I saw you outside the window with all those print-outs-- They looked like huge, white paper wings. I was surprised as hell--"
"You told me you didn't know I could fly," Hutch broke in to agree, although that conversation had come much later. "I thought maybe you thought I was an angel."
Starsky reached up to pull at a few strands of Hutch's hair. "Never let that gold stuff fool me, you never looked nothin' like any angel to me-- An' I hurt like hell," he went on, regaining his original thought. "But I was back. So it was okay."
"I'm glad you are," Hutch told him, though it didn't begin to express the depth of his feelings.
"Yeah," Starsky agreed, understanding not only what Hutch had said, but what he hadn't said; understanding that better. "I--" a yawn interrupted him. "Shit. I'm not done, but I can't stay awake," he complained.
"So don't. Just go to sleep."
"You be here in the morning?"
"Yeah, I'll be here."
"Promise you won't run off again?"
"I promise."
"Terrific. Oh, an' did I remember to thank you for not having me cremated, while I was gone? That business'a lookin' for a new body looks like a real drag..."
"Warren Beatty is still using his," Hutch agreed.
"I'm better looking than Warren Beatty."
~~~
Hutch stayed, but he didn't sleep much, or very soundly when he did. Starsky's weight put his arm to sleep right away, but he didn't even try to move it; instead he lay, still as death, holding tight to his partner, and thinking about what he'd said, about what more he could possibly have left to say. He didn't doubt Starsky's story; his faith in any Higher Power that might be Out There was in shreds--as was his hope that people were basically good. But those he'd loved and lost waiting on the 'other side,' to love him when he arrived was an idea he could believe in.
"How many times haven't I told you I love you?" he wondered aloud, watching Starsky's shadowed, sleeping face. "And should have."
Starsky's hand reached up, his fingers bumping Hutch's chin, his nose, one cheek, before finally locating his mouth. "Shush up, go sleep."
Hutch closed his eyes, eventually obeying.
~~~
He awakened in the morning with something poking him in the ribs. He jerked back with a start, opening his eyes to look into Starsky's; Starsky was poking him. "What're you doing?"
"Hafta go," Starsky told him sleepily. "Get out there'n catch the bad-guys, clean up the town, all that good-guy stuff. 'Member?"
"Dobey gave me the day off," Hutch explained. He wanted to get comfortable again, but someone would be there soon to kick him out anyway, so he extricated himself from the bed.
Starsky slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. "Dobey did what?"
"Gave me the day off."
"But you had the day before yesterday off. What've you been doing that Dobey's trying to get rid of you? Swiping his lunch, or making crank calls, or--"
"Nothing. He just feels sorry for you, all alone here, so he sent me to keep you company."
Starsky looked skeptical, but he dropped the subject. "So, where're you going, if you don't have to go anywhere?"
"Doctor's and nurses'll be arriving soon to check you out, you've got your physical therapy; I thought I'd go home, have breakfast, shower, change my clothes."
"But you'll be back?" Starsky asked. He was anxious to continue last night's conversation.
"But I'll be back," Hutch agreed.
"Okay," Starsky agreed, satisfied.
~~~
Hutch did everything he told Starsky he was going to, if in a slightly different order. And before his return to the hospital, he made a stop at Vinnie's.
If Vinnie had noticed his prolonged absence, he didn't mention it; he acknowledged Hutch's presence with his usual indifference.
After a workout and a shower, he stopped at Baskin-Robbins and picked up a strawberry-hot-fudge-marshmallow sundae for Starsky. The thought of it set his teeth on edge, but his partner would love it.
~~~
"You wanted to talk to me," Hutch prompted, watching Starsky lick strawberry syrup and whipped cream off his lips.
"Uh-huh." Starsky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hey, you started workin' out again? That moustache looks like it wandered onto the wrong face."
"Stopped by Vinnie's," Hutch admitted.
"Oh, yeah? You must be as sore as me. Did Vinnie recognize you?"
"Was this what you wanted to talk to me about?"
"No," Starsky admitted. "Gimme your hand."
"What?"
"Gimme your hand. I don't want you running off again 'til I've had a chance to talk to you. An' come over here and sit by me."
Hutch moved from his chair to the edge of Starsky's bed, and held out his hand to Starsky, who gripped it in both of his.
"Thanks. Hutch--" Starsky took a deep breath, let it out, took another. "Geeze, I knew this was gonna be rough, but I wasn't expecting--oh, hell. Hutch, being dead changes a person."
It was impossible not to laugh. "Really, Turkey? That comes as quite a surprise."
Starsky grinned. "Okay, so that was a stupid way to start. But it's true. It kinda--puts your life into perspective, you know?"
"Things are gonna be different from now on; even if I get all my strength back, even if I can get back on active duty, no matter what, things will be different. And that's what we need to talk about, because I've been thinking..."
"Don't strain yourself, Stark; there's some things doctors can't fix."
"And what I've been thinking about is you--us--our relationship. What it's been like lately, and what I want it to be like."
Hutch could feel his heart fluttering up toward his throat, and at the same time, sinking down to his stomach. He'd have run out of the room, crawled under the bed, done anything to escape from that earnest look in Starsky's eyes--but he couldn't bear to pull his hand away. "I know, Starsk, I've been pretty shitty to you lately--"
"We've been pretty shitty to each other," Starsky corrected. "The games we've been playing haven't been any fun, and I couldn't figure out why-- Look, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but hear me out, okay? No jokes 'til I'm done."
Hutch nodded his assent, squeezing Starsky's hand as a sign of support.
"That book--it got me thinking about what you mean to me. The only thing that kept them apart was society, the rules they had to live by. At first I thought Cathy was a real bitch for dumping him to marry Mr. High-Society, even if it was so he could live off her money; but then I got to thinking, that's kinda what I've been doing."
"What is?"
"Looking for some Ms. Right to marry, somebody Ma would approve of, not so much 'cause I want a family, kids, but because I'm supposed to. Taking you home to the family--well, you'd be damn hard to explain--"
"What are you talking about? You've always wanted kids, for as long as I've known you. I always figured you were looking for playmates, but--"
"You promised: no jokes."
"Who's joking? I feel like I took a wrong turn in Oz--"
"Hutch. Things have changed. I've changed. Sure, kids would've been nice, but--Hutch, who'm I ever gonna love more than you? Or find who loves me more?"
"Starsky--"
"Hutch. When I was talking to my father, it wasn't really like talking, it was more like we could read each other's minds. And when I told him I had to come back to you because I love you, there was no way he could've misunderstood; he knew exactly what I meant and he sent me back to you."
"Starsky--" But now that he could get a word in edgewise, Hutch could think of nothing to say. He studied his partner's expectant face for a long moment, pausing at the luminous indigo eyes, then, without a word, leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth.
Starsky was glad they'd taken the monitors off him; the way his heart was thundering, they'd've called another code blue on him in no time. Hutch started to pull back, but Starsky put one arm around his neck, keeping him close. "What happened? Some nights," he whispered in Hutch's ear, "we've laid together, held each other so close it was like we had only one body; how can one little kiss make so much difference? An' what made you wanna do it? I never imagined you wanted to kiss me--"
"Wanted to kiss you for a long time," Hutch murmured, moving back to Starsky's mouth. "Wanted to kiss you--" After a long, long kiss, Hutch drew away. "Wait a minute; you are still all drugged up--" It was what he had meant to say in the first place, before the miraculous blue of Starsky's eyes had gotten him all lightheaded. "I have no business doing this; you're in no shape to go around making important life-decisions--"
"Made the only one that counts back when I came back to you. I'm here; my decision's made. Now you gotta make some. Gimme another kiss--"
"What?"
Starsky's lips found his.
Without disturbing the kiss, Hutch repositioned himself more comfortably, kneeling on the edge of the bed, resting on one forearm and gingerly slipping his other arm beneath Starsky.
Starsky turned his head slightly, separating his mouth from Hutch's. He was smiling, a million-watt smile. "Hey, blue-berry waffles! I was expecting you to kiss like French vanilla ice cream. You know, the real expensive stuff--"
Hutch broke out laughing. "My God, I'd forgotten that game."
"Yeah, well, for years it was the closest I could get you to kissing and telling. So, if you had to say what kinda food you think of when you kiss me--"
"--did I ever tell you how twisted you are?"
"--what would you say?"
Was this what being with Starsky would be like? The rapture of the physical pleasures added to the exuberance of their friendship? It should have felt strange, not only kissing Starsky, but laughing with him about it, but somehow it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Hutch looked into his partner's eyes again, then kissed him again.
Finally he came up for air, feeling intoxicated. "Well," he said slowly, "my first guess would've been hot chocolate, overflowing with whipped cream. But that's too--common-place. Your kisses are like hot apple pie with cinnamon ice cream--hot and cold, sweet and tangy and--" Again he bent to touch Starsky's lips with his own.
"Lay down and get comfortable," Starsky advised when the kiss ended; he bit his bottom lip, hard, as he shifted to give Hutch more room. "Does this mean you've made a decision, or are you humoring me?"
"I'm not humoring you."
"But you don't want to take me home to meet your mother."
"Starsky, this isn't a decision to be made lightly. Leaving our families aside, what about the department? You don't think Dryden's forgotten--"
"Screw Dryden, and Simonetti, and any other IA spies you can think of. There's no guarantee I'll be going back--"
"Let's assume you are."
"Okay, let's assume. I get kicked loose from here, and after a few more months of PT, some quack gives me a clean bill of health. We're back on the streets, and everything's the way it was just before I put my hand in my pocket to pull out my keys. Where do we go from there?"
"I never said everything would be exactly the same; I said that this idea of yours didn't seem practical."
"It's none of it practical; walkin' this tightrope the way we have been hasn't been too practical. You just tell yourself it's worth the fall, and for God's sake don't look down."
It was too apt a description of the last few years of their lives for Hutch to argue. "All right. Suppose we could keep it from IA--"
Starsky sighed. "S'pose we couldn't. Who cares? What're they gonna do, make us write a hundred times, 'I will not kiss my partner'?"
"Force us to resign."
"Yeah. But I got a better s'pose for you: s'pose you go home right now and we pretend this never happened, and we spend the rest of our lives bein' buddies, partners, doin' what we're told, and we never, ever, kiss like we just did, never touch except like friends, go on playin' games with each other? Right back where we started, an' wha'd I come back for? Because, Hutch, there's nothing IA or anybody could do that could scare me into letting you go. An' the only way I will is that you don't want me back. An' that's the one point you haven't brought up yet."
"Do I want you?" He couldn't count the number of times they'd held each other and he hadn't wanted to let go; the times he'd wanted to go with Starsky to those dark, secret places they'd never shared. "God, yes, I want you; but what the hell am I gonna do with you?" Before Starsky could respond, Hutch put one hand over his mouth. "That question was rhetorical. This is the craziest idea you've had yet--"
"Not really," Starsky said modestly. "I was about to ask if you'd break me outa here, I can't take much more of this place--"
"Your doctor says you'll be out in ten days; just be patient."
"I've had it with being a patient. I wanna be a regular person again."
"And what're we going to do when you do get out of here?"
"Head for Bolivia and rob banks?"
"I didn't like the ending of that one."
"Really. Well, lessee. We were never any great shakes as body guards. An' I'm sure not up for football, Canadian or otherwise--and, anyhow, some of us don't wanna live in the Frozen North. You could finish med school."
Hutch laughed. "Right, and you could teach Driver's Ed. Get real."
"Got any filthy rich relatives you could cozy up to, might leave you some bread?"
"Maybe we could move to New York, live with your mother."
"Huh-uh, no way. Cowboys? You think we could be cowboys?"
"You're afraid of horses."
"Oh. Right. What about movies--"
Hutch gave him a look. "I'll take you to one; I won't be in one."
"Guess I'm not exactly skin flick material anymore anyhow. I could always teach dancing. Don't you know how to do anything useful? Maybe open a flower shop..."
"You make me sound like Eliza Doolittle."
"I meant, you could sell plants, you know, have a greenhouse."
"What makes you think you could teach dancing?"
"Ginger Evans said I was the best teacher she ever had." Starsky bumped his pelvis against Hutch. "One two three four--"
"Her other instructors were all blackmailers; you won that one by default."
"Well, I won't go back to drivin' a cab--"
"For which the city of Los Angeles thanks you."
"Entertainment directors? I bet the cruise line would love to see us--"
"Dream on."
"Hairdressers? We were pretty good at that--"
"Yeah, sure we were. There were more threats on our lives on that assignment than the rest of our careers put together. Why don't we just go back to Vegas and win ourselves a million bucks?"
"So what's that leave? We live on the beach? What?"
Hutch shrugged, kissed Starsky lightly on the nose. "What the hell, we'll think of something."
end
The sequel to this story is Two Hearts, One Fire also on the Archive.