PREVIOUS

MORNINGS OF OUR LIVES

Exuberance lending speed, Hutch took the stairs two at a time and halted on the sidewalk. Even the street door, he noticed, commended this place, with its beautifully carved panel of dark wood. He liked everything about this apartment. Venice, he conceded, was maybe a little far out, so getting to work could take longer, but that scarcely counted when set against this ocean-side location and the right size at the right price.

There was the attraction of walks along the beach. He ignored the voice in his head asking when he ever found the time for such indulgences. He'd make the time. He'd start a new chapter. The cottage had been fine once and Starsky was going to miss those ducks. But with an ocean across the street, he could settle for gulls to feed.

He tossed the keys from hand to hand. He knew he'd been lucky to find a place like this so fast. He felt better than in months past. The visions of indefinite motel life receded. It had been a lunch-hour well spent and time now to get back to work. He'd call the realtor from the squadroom, fix a few dates and details.

Back at the desk, he was aware of some factor missing. It felt strange not to have Starsky sited opposite. He'd talk to the realtor confirming his intention of taking the place. He'd keep the keys, sign some papers next day, move in at the start of the following week. Without thinking twice about what he was doing, he reached again for the telephone and began dialing the New York number, when second thoughts prompted him to resist that impulse. Starsky would be back in L.A. by the weekend. Better to get a few things set up to greet his return and let the great news burst upon him then. With a happy smile, he replaced the receiver and turned purposefully to the waiting files. He felt more cheerful than in a long time. Colleagues began to notice, especially when he helpfully supplied coffee to a couple of them who were chained to their typewriters, working against time, and even volunteered, in view of their urgency, to take over a little of their workload, help them finish up.

"You're in a festive mood," Minnie remarked. "What happened? You win a lot of money or something?"

Hutch smiled sunnily. "Something like that. It's just a lovely day."

"Right." She smiled too. "So when does that partner of yours get back here?"

"Day after tomorrow -- I think."

"Yeah? Place kinda isn't the same without him around."

He could agree with that. "It's different," he admitted.

The afternoon moved on. Time didn't drag. No snags, no delays, no problems.

Everything was in tune with his wonderful day. He could practically hear Starsky's comment on the way he'd been a regular shaft of sunlight ever since lunchtime. Minnie regarded him with open curiosity when he finally prepared to leave, nearly a half hour later than the scheduled time.

"This Pollyanna act has to be leading somewhere," she observed as he called a pleasant farewell to the squadroom in general.

"No." He had to tell someone. "It's just -- I just found a place to live -- that's all."

"You did?"

"It's terrific!"

She smiled at that. "It is? You sounded like your partner talkin' then."

"It's great. Moving in next week. You're invited to the house-warming."

"Planning a party, huh? And moving out of Starsky's place?"

"Sure -- next week."

He'd been grateful to move in with Starsky when events combined to hasten his removal from the canal-side cottage. The ending of the lease was not unexpected but the landlord's decision not to renew had come as a surprise. He'd had to look for an alternative roof at short notice.

Starsky had soon squashed the plans to search for a motel.

"Wanna share?" he'd asked simply. "You're welcome."

Hutch knew that was so he hadn't hesitated. The offer was unequivocal and he'd been glad to accept, and to take more time to find himself a new permanent address.

"Anyway, I won't be here," Starsky had reminded. "You'll have the place to yourself. You can keep the plants watered." He thought for a second. "Plant," he amended, in allusion to the fern, which Hutch had introduced into his care, complete with complicated instructions for its nurture.

Today, as Hutch unlocked his partner's front door, he was at once aware that he didn't have Starsky's place to himself. The woman who was about to leave introduced herself as Mrs. Katz.

"Thursday," she added. "My regular day. He didn't tell you?"

"He'll be back day after tomorrow," Hutch told her. Again, he felt that need to share his good news. "I'll be moving out. Just found my own place."

"You're his partner?" Hutch nodded. "Guessed that -- he's talked about you."

She indicated the box on the kitchen counter. "I'd forgotten he wouldn't be here today. Brought a few cookies -- the kind he likes." She seemed about to retrieve them but changed her mind. "You like them too? I'll leave them -- you eat them."

"Me? I wouldn't dare. He'd kill me." He laughed. Maybe Starsky's cookies weren't that sacred. "He'll be back. They'll be okay 'til then."

Alone in the apartment, Hutch spent a relaxed evening on Starsky's sofa, watching Starsky's TV. He'd already inspected Starsky's bookshelves, a much more prominent feature of this apartment than of his own. His partner's reading tastes were clearly varied. He recognized a couple of the books: the special guide for left-handed persons -- didn't seem to have been much used -- and the manual of elementary Spanish with which he'd sought to extend his partner's linguistic range.

The graceful ship model with its intricate rigging was set up next to the books. Starsky had been working on that for almost as long as Hutch remembered...one more aspect of this partner he was still getting to know. He'd discovered, a while back, that there was constantly more to know about Starsky -- like this patient perseverance which this kind of craft demanded. The complexities were rewarding. The apartment was full of reflections of a lively interest and curiosity in so many areas. Starsky, he'd realized early on, didn't fit into any type-casting. Here, in this apartment, paradoxically, his absence felt very close to presence. Their partnership was working well. That was partly the outcome of a shared, keen professionalism, a commitment to the job, a belief, even, that maybe they could make a difference to some things. Compared with some, they hadn't been working together long, but long enough to know that they had something here that was worth having.

They were comfortable with one another. It was the way the best partnerships worked; they'd been lucky there. Differences were marked in many ways, yet basic values and priorities were close. Living here, and especially living here in Starsky's absence, made Hutch somehow more aware of his partner's special quality...this partner he was every day getting to know and like. Some things, he believed, you didn't analyze but it had all added up to a kind of friendship at first sight. He had here a friend as well as a very competent and inventive partner.

He felt now that a lot of things were less precarious. The rocky time of the split from Vanessa was receding into the past, both in fact and in his consciousness. Tomorrow, he'd start in on plans for the new place. And Starsky would be back the day after. He got up from Starsky's sofa and retired, relaxed and happy and ready for sleep, to Starsky's bed.

Saturday morning, he picked up the keys -- to his new apartment and to Starsky's car, left in his keeping during its owner's absence. The New York flight, due in just before noon, was on time.

He felt an upsurge of happiness -- there was no other word -- as he caught sight of Starsky. He had things to share -- it was simply a good moment. The satisfaction seemed reciprocal.

"You wanna drive my car again?" Starsky offered generously.

It was exactly what Hutch did want, something that fitted in perfectly with his plans.

He drove away from the airport, listening to Starsky filling in him in on events back home in New York...the family gathering for the wedding celebrations, the visiting, the parties which had been crowded into the past few days.

"You should come too some time," Starsky suggested.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. See a little of the east coast too."

"Everything's fine. And, yes -- " he forestalled the next question. "They all missed you. Even Dobey."

Starsky cast him a skeptical glance and lapsed into post-flight somnolence as they took the freeway, but roused after a few minutes to ask, "Why're we going this way?"

"Prettier route. And I just wanted to show you this restaurant. You're always introducing me to new eating places."

"Not sure I'd like your kind."

"Relax. It's perfect. Picked it out specially for you."

"Tryin' for revenge, huh?" Starsky looked unconvinced. "Anyway, I already ate on the plane."

"Excuses, excuses. They have a great line in pizzas," Hutch mentioned persuasively, hoping this was true. "Other things too."

He could scarcely wait to usher Starsky from the car on arrival at Venice. "This way first." He led the way up the stairs, threw open the door of his new domain.

"This is it?" Starsky was puzzled.

"Restaurant's on the ground floor. This is my new apartment."

Starsky looked incredulous. "You picked one over a pizza place?"

"Right. Happy now?"

Starsky grinned, moving over to the window. "There's times when you get some good ideas. And the ocean's just across from here."

Hutch joined him. "Moving in on Monday. How about a celebration lunch?"

"Guess I could handle that. The flight food wasn't very much." He looked back as they left the living room. "I like this place."

"Had a feeling you'd approve," Hutch said. "Welcome back!"

"When he was asked 'What is a friend?' he said 'One soul inhabiting two bodies'." Aristotle 384 -- 322 BC

NEXT