Greetings! Told you I'd post sooner or later. I hope this vignette stands
by itself. For the story it is an addendum to, contact
Cinda Gillilan, 1705 14th Street, #412, Boulder, CO. 80302-6321.
(An homage to W.S. Porter & an addendum to K. Hanna Korossy's story
of the same name, which was published by Neon
Rainbow Press.)
Hutch fumbled for the key in his pocket, opening the door to his apartment with one hand, groceries balanced in his left arm. To make things worse, the phone was ringing.... It stopped just as he reached it. "If it's important, they'll call again," he muttered, hurrying to put the bag down. He had picked up the salad supplies and the wine for the dinner that he and Starsky would fix tonight, regretting his offer to go shopping the minute he pulled into the packed parking lot. The store was jammed with other last minute shoppers, all as pressed for time as he was. And he still had to pick up Starsky's present!
He was thirsty, so he poured a glass of orange juice from the fridge.
He was about to chug-a-lug it, standing there, when he
shook his head and then sat down to drink. He'd bargained hard with
God when he thought that Starsky was dying. One of the
promises he’d made to a deity he hadn’t been quite sure he existed
was that he’d eat better. He’d also vowed to exercise more
and enjoy life. He glanced across the room to the small, live tree
next to the sofa. He and Starsky had strung cranberries and
pop corn to decorate it the old fashioned way. After the holiday, the
tree would go out in his new greenhouse. This year, he
was glad to celebrate Christmas and Chanukah with his friend. Since
Starsky had been shot in the parking lot, Hutch had
known sacrifice, love, and a true miracle, all wrapped up in his partner.
Finishing his juice, Hutch got up, rinsed the glass, and set it in the
drain board. He took his watering can and went over to the
tree, smelling the fresh pine needles. Just like getting a tree with
grandfather. Smiling at the recollection, he gave the tree more
water. If you have one person in the world who loves you for what you
are, what other gift could you ask for? He remembered
the old man’s words as he gently touched the wooden star that his grandfather
had made long ago for their country house.
Since his grandfather's death, Hutch had kept it hidden away in a box
of mementos until now. This was the right time for it.
Purposely avoiding looking at a now bare corner of the apartment, Hutch started gathering
the things to take to Starsky's: the bag of salad ingredients, the first
good bottle of wine he'd bought in a long time, and a box of
See's candy that he'd promised his partner he'd pick up to take to
the Dobey's house when they had Christmas dinner there
tomorrow. It was still tiring for his friend to drive.
Fortunately, the train shop was on the way to Starsky's place. Hutch
had bought several other cars at Griswold's Train
Emporium, so when he'd called and asked them to save the passenger
car for him, they'd been happy to oblige. They even kept
a record of what cars Starsky already had, sort of like a registry,
so that Hutch or anyone else would know what he needed.
This year called for a special present. The only mystery had been how
to pay for it. Adding the greenhouse and then their brief
retirement from the department had really eaten into his bank account.
Then during the months of Starsky’s recovery, Hutch
had chipped in often to cover things that neither Starsky nor their
medical plan could cover. His account was near zero. He had
done the only thing he could; he'd pawned his guitar. He'd felt a little
regretful at the beginning of the week, slipping out at lunch
to exchange the instrument for cash. After all, he’d only had it about
a year and a half. This guitar replaced the one that Diana
had destroyed. The owner of the pawn shop, knowing he was a cop, had
been generous on the deal, so at least he had enough
money for the train car. Checking his wallet, he realized that the
money for Starsky's gift was all he had left. Good thing we get
paid in six days! He knew that Dobey would have loaned him some cash;
the Captain had even organized a fund raiser for
Starsky, unbeknownst to his partner. Hutch hated to ask his boss for
anything more after all the time off the books and moral
support Dobey had unstintingly given them both. After Starsky's gentle
teasing that a lump of coal was all he could expect from
Hutch, the blond had to come through with a gift that would show his
partner how glad he was that Gunther's plan had failed.
The sound of Starsky's voice was music enough for him.
The Christmas eve traffic was heavy, but he made it to Griswold's just
before they closed. "I've come for the passenger
car...name's Hutchinson." He said to old man Griswold himself. "Ah...a
fine one, indeed. Here you are."
The balding, plump owner could work as a department store Santa himself,
Hutch mused. Of course, here, in this store, he was
surely doing St. Nicholas' work.
Mr. Griswold set the car down gently on the glass topped counter as if he had all the time in the world.
Hutch held it up to the light, admiring the detail on the car itself
and the figures of the passengers inside. It was beautiful...and
would make Starsky so happy.
"It is a gift for your friend?" Griswold
asked.
"Yes." He beamed.
"I'm sure he'll like it. I'll make a note in our records. Mrs. G," he
called to a woman who could have doubled for Santa's wife,
"would you be so kind as to wrap this for the gentleman?" "Certainly."
She emerged from the back room and took the car back
there with her.
Hutch could see her working diligently through the not quite tightly
drawn curtains that screened the back area of the shop. The
car was put into a box swathed in tissues, and then the gift was wrapped
in bright paper, decorated with a big red bow.
Within a few minutes, she returned with a package that Hutch knew would
be ripped to shreds in a matter of seconds - once
Starsky got his hands on it. Ah well...that was the point, wasn't it?
"Now...is there anything else I can help you with?" Griswold asked.
"No, that's it, thanks."
"If we could settle accounts...." the owner said, gesturing to the end
of the counter where an old cash register stood. Griswold
rang up the bill, which came within $1.50 of what remained in Hutch's
wallet.
Glad they don't charge for gift wrapping, the blond thought wryly. He
paid out the bills and received his package. It rested,
heavy in his arms, a solid symbol of the season.
He headed down to Starsky's place, looking forward to watching his friend...no,
joining his friend as they played with trains
together.