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FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE

Hutch surfaced from his reverie as Starsky maneuvered the Torino into the vacant space outside the store. "Why d'you pull over?" he asked. "Forget we're short of time?"

"It's not that late. This is going to take just a minute." Starsky was out of the car, on the sidewalk. He looked in through the passenger window. "Just take it easy. Be back in no time. "

But Hutch was already following into the drugstore, catching up with his partner in time to propel him onward, frustrating the built-in tendency to linger over the racks of paperback books.

"What're you looking for?" he demanded.

"Nothing." Starsky intercepted a passing sales clerk. "Cosmetics counter?" he enquired.

"Right behind you."

"Oh -- yeah. Thanks."

"What'd you say?" Hutch's question synchronized with her reply. 

Starsky homed in on his target, prowling along the colorful, scented displays. 

"Help you?" Her badge identified the smiling salesgirl as Rosa.

Starsky smiled back. "Uh -- sure -- I need a lipstick."

"You do?" She considered her customer and went on, "Are you thinking of any particular shade? You have a special occasion in mind?"

"No...no...." Starsky said nonchalantly. "Just for every day."

She indicated a tray of goods. "These are classy -- new. How about Petunia Passion? Or --" she sent a swift, speculative look in his direction -- "this Glowing Gorgeous?"

Starsky frowned over the numerous options, appealed for back-up. "Hutch -- which?" and Hutch turned back to the counter, checking his watch again. "Which should I get? This one's -- uh -- Tender Temptation -- or this -- can't decide --"

"My temptation's anything but tender right now! Know what time it is?" Hutch's attention was obviously elsewhere.

"I know. But it's important to get this right."

"This is a new line," Rosa offered helpfully, drawing Hutch into the transaction. "Try it -- ?" Starsky hesitated. "Just give me your hand." She smoothed the color inside his wrist. "See? Scarlet Ribbons -- a true red."

Puzzlement battled with impatience in Hutch's expression. "Right! It's you, Starsk," he pronounced.

"Candy apple...." Starsky considered potential.

"He'll take it," Hutch informed Rosa.

"You like it?" Starsky came to a decision. "He likes it. I'll take it," he confirmed. "Could I just have it gift-wrapped?"

"No problem. We have them ready-packaged." She produced a small, glittering box. "How about the nail varnish to go?"

"He doesn't have the time," Hutch broke in. "Will you come on! " He headed for the exit, leading the way, yards ahead within seconds.

"Don't have the time," Starsky repeated as he paid for his choice. He left the store at a run to catch up with Hutch at the car.

"Get in," Hutch instructed tersely. "And don't tell me. Save the explanations."

"What's to explain? Had a little shopping to do is all. Person needs a lipstick -- where's the big deal?"

"Okay, okay. Let's go. Could take time to find a parking space -- remember? Just drive."

Starsky drove. Hutch fumed. Journey's end, they drove in and Starsky pointed triumphantly to the clock. "Told you. Ten minutes to spare."

Judith's flight was being called just as they caught sight of her. Still on their side of the departure gate, she came forward to meet them. Only a few weeks back they hadn't known of her existence. Then, with the outbreak of the plague virus, Dr. Judith Kaufmann had flown in from the Alabama research center to be part of the investigative team. And was now flying back. In that brief interval she had played a crucial and unforgettable part in both their lives, a kind of catalyst, making some things suddenly clearer, bringing certain factors into sharper focus. They owed her so much.

"You made it," she greeted them now.

"Wouldn't miss it," Starsky assured her. "Here --" He took her hand and closed her fingers around the little gift package. "I owe you one." He glanced at Hutch, standing silently by, then back to Judith. "Thanks -- for everything." She looked down at the gift wrapped gift, half-smiling, then returned his look, understanding in her eyes. "Here's your patient," he told her and stepped back, scrutinizing the newspaper he hadn't been able to refrain from picking up off the Torino's rear seat, while the last exchanges continued.

"You have to leave?"

"Oh, yes...I have to leave. Plane to catch."

"Back to 'Bama, huh?"

"Right."

As if in confirmation, the flight announcement was repeated. There was opportunity for only a few more minutes' talk as travelers thronged around them in the busy departure area. And then, as the time ran out, the moment for the final farewells. They returned her last wave, stood watching 'til she was no longer in view.

Hutch sighed and began leading the way out. The thought of Judith would always bring the reminders of so many things: the sharp sense of reprieve, never very far away now, and, with it, awareness of possibilities restored, chances still real. Inside that isolation room he had been somehow insulated from emotion as well as from people, when, minute by minute, any long-distance prospects had become progressively more illusory...when they had both known that all Starsky's brave words were no proof against a plague virus. Never a very good liar, Starsk, except when you're under cover.

The post-plague days had brought their own kind of respite as well as acknowledgement of priorities which, he saw now, Judith had acknowledged too. Their debt to her was not for her professional skills alone, but also for her clear vision of certain realities. Now, he was re-learning the realization that there was going to be a feature and that he himself could make some choices in its shaping. The knowledge brought its moments of cresting dynamism.

They rode the escalator to the basement garage and Hutch knew again that resurgence of confidence. End of a chapter. And the start of another. There were plans, ambitions, hopes, all in the waiting. He wasn't wholly sure of details, but this zest for life was no illusion. There was a lot of living to do. And to share. It was a thought that made him turn spontaneously to Starsky who, in turn, caught the mood, returning the infectious grin...message received...understood.

"Gonna live, Starsk." He voiced the authoritative statement. "Gonna live -- uh -- hundred and forty-eight years. At least."

"Sure you are. But right now, gonna take you home and tuck you in. Remember -- you're just out of the hospital. Not ready for the big leagues yet."

"Sounds good." Hutch found himself more than ready to go along with both diagnosis and prescription.

In the days which had followed his escape from the hospital, there had been so many hours, needing, it seemed, to be filled with nothing but arrears of real sleep. Starsky's plans for his immediate future felt irresistible. Who would have thought that the noise and bustle of an air terminal could leave him wanting to sleep for yet more hours?

As they drove back to Venice, his thoughts skimmed the events of the day. "Wonder how Judith liked her gift."

"I was going to return the one she lent me," Starsky said. "Only it was sorta squidged."

"Figures." Hutch smiled reminiscently. "You did a great job there, Starsk. Neat. Original, too."

"Yeah. Wasn't easy, you know. Ever tried mirror-writing on glass with a lipstick?"

The remaining couple of miles brought them to the apartment. As they left the car Hutch remembered something else. Across the car roof, he looked at Starsky. "Hey, tell me something." Starsky raised an enquiring eyebrow. "This car -- you didn't really hock it?"

"What? What're you talkin' about?"

"C'mon. Don't forget I've had a lot of time to hear a lot of things. Had a lot of visitors. Huggy --"

"Oh."

"So, did you?"

"Wasn't necessary. Had to think of ways in case it might have been."

Hutch bestowed an affectionate pat upon the Torino's gleaming side, then rounded the car to join his partner, patted him too. The understanding held, needing no words to elaborate it.

"So -- quiet night in," Starsky pronounced. "We start by building up your strength, ready for those next hundred years. Then we think about the big leagues."

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