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PASSING THE LOVE OF WOMEN
Story by: PJ
Note: The story is slash in nature. If there are any comments, they can be sent to Tammy at tammylruggles@kih.net She'll give them to me.
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Chapter 1
Me and Hutch were at our desks in the squad room trying to get reports done, but the loud gathering on the sidewalk outside the window was interrupting us. A group was marching down the street--holding signs that said Gay Rights, Equal Protection, stuff like that.
"What's up over there?" I asked as Hutch went to the window and opened it. The sounds of the crowd were louder, and we could hear some individual chants and comments, sort of musical, like, "What's gay got to do with love?" and "We need protection too."
"Gay Rights rally," he answered.
I joined him at the window. Some cops were gathering with us to look and say stuff, like, "Shouldn't be allowed to carry on like that." And "Why don't they just keep it in their pants?" And "They're taking over."
"GO HOME, FAIRIES!" a uniformed cop behind me yelled.
"PERVERTS!" another one shouted--Lieutenant Wayne Lawrence. Top-of-the line cop.
"They have rights too," Hutch said with some danger in his voice, daring them to keep it up.
I backed away from the window, all of a sudden feeling really hot and claustrophobic, smothered in wool.
I had to get out of there.
I walked down the hall of the station house.
"Starsk?" Hutch asked as he followed behind me.
I could feel the warmth of his hand before it touched my shoulder. Mild heat. Like warm butter, or cream.
"What is it, Starsk?"
I couldn't stop walking. I went into the men's room and threw up in the commode. Cops were around me pissing and washing their hands, but the movement seemed to stop when I came in.
"Starsk?"
Hutch pulled some paper towels from a dispenser and shoved them in my hand. "Here. What is it?"
I spit something sour into the commode. "We should be able to do that, Hutch."
We were both in the stall, me leaning over the commode in case I had to spit again, Hutch standing behind me, close like a sentry.
"Maybe. But only if you're ready. WHEN you're ready. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
He could always protect me. Even with something like this.
It didn't matter what situation we were in, his protection was there around me like a warm blanket.
I dropped the paper towels into the commode and flushed. When the sound was over, I said, "Let's get out of this stall before somebody--"
"Starsky, I don't care who sees us, I don't care what they say, what they do, who they tell, or--"
"Shut up, huh? I know that. I know you don't care. But I do. And I don't know why. It shouldn't bother me. I should be comfortable like you. But I'm not. Not yet. Maybe some day--"
Hutch's hand squeezed the back of my neck and pulled me into a hug. "Starsk, what matters is you. I'm not going to force something you don't want. It's okay. I'm okay with that. It's not easy. We can't risk our jobs . . . your mother would die if she knew . . . my father . . . oh boy. But I don't want to lose you. And I'll do anything to keep you. To keep us. The way we are. Even if we never . . . ever . . . were together in bed . . . ever again . . . I'd want us to stay this close."
I moved past him and over to the sink, where I rinsed my mouth under the faucet and splashed water on my face.
Two cops came in to piss. One was Lieutenant Lawrence, who chuckled in my direction. "Shouldn't you be down there marching with the other fags, Starsky?"
Hutch sprang like a cobra before I could even stop him, and he grabbed the guy's hair in his fist and smashed his face against the wall. Hutch's voice echoed off the tiles.
"WATCH YOUR MOUTH, LAWRENCE!"
Lawrence blubbered--sputtered blood and spittle-- making painful sounds in his nose and throat.
"Queers," he gave a muffled voice into his hands.
I wanted to say something. I wanted to take up for myself, for Hutch, for the two of us, but I was too cowardly and ashamed.
Ordinarily I'd pounce too.
Ordinarily.
It wasn't like me not to retaliate, and I knew it, but I couldn't help the paralysis I felt.
I just walked out, and again Hutch followed me.
"You're like a lovesick puppy, you know that?" I stabbed at him. "Why don't you just leave me alone for a minute? Think I can't handle this?"
"You didn't, did you? I did."
I stopped and turned on him. "Oh, thanks, partner. Kick me when I'm down."
Hutch sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
"Yeah, you did."
Hutch grabbed my shoulders and gave me a shake to wake me up. "Starsky! Where's your fight, huh?"
I shoved him back. "Don't touch me!"
"Oh yeah! Only when you want, right? Only on your terms. What about me? I try to handle you with kid gloves, give you time, but you just keep taking and taking, and it never seems to be enough--"
I didn't want to hear it. He'd needed to say that for a long time. He'd kept it bottled and corked and sealed, like fine wine. He wouldn't have said it if he didn't think it was time.
I turned toward the wall so I couldn't feel his emotions. But it didn't work. "Sorry if I'm not as well-adjusted and self-assured as you are about it. You think this is easy? How'd it get so easy for you? 'cause you went to college? Have an open mind? Broad horizons? You think--"
He was talking gently down into my neck. "Here's why it's so easy, Starsk. I love you. That's the easiest thing in the world for me to do. I could shout it from this rooftop. I could go downstairs and join that rally and yell at the top of my lungs how much I love you. But I won't do that to you. Not until you want me to. I respect you that much. I don't love anyone else. You think I've ever loved another man? You think I could? Women, sure. They're complicated, given. Easier. But you. You. You. You. You know. Because you feel it too."
All of a sudden I didn't want to be near him. His words were hurting me. Making me ashamed. Making me feel sick, nauseous again. He would do anything for me. Die for me. Be ridiculed for me. For us. And I couldn't even admit openly that I loved him. Some friend. Some partner. I'd die for him too. But confess my love? My true love?
I could say it as his best friend.
I could say it out loud, and mean it.
But past that?
I felt like a heel.
Back-stabber.
Traitor.
So I left.
And I didn't hear his footsteps after me. He always knew when to follow, and when to leave me alone.
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Chapter 2
I was just walking around the streets feeling sorry for myself, kicking myself for being chicken. If those people in the rally could be so brave, why couldn't I? If I could take on three frigging lowlifes at the same time and beat them (which I have before), why couldn't I take one homophobe in the men's room? It's like I was living three lives: Straight cop. Suspected gay cop. And gay cop behind bedroom doors.
Hutch could do it. He seemed to have it all together. They could talk about outing all they wanted to. When your job is at stake, your family, your friends, your sense of self and who you are . . . fear of loss and total rejection . . . it's a little harder to do.
Why couldn't I do for Hutch what he could do for me?
Talk about a closet. I was living in one alright. Dual nature. Two-faced. Hypocrite. LIAR.
Self-disgust. Self-loathing. Self-destructive.
Why do they call it gay? There was nothing gay about it for me. Just secrecy and lies. What a way to show my love for Hutch. A slap in his face. But he was willing to take it. I meant that much to him. I was the important thing to him--not the disclosure. They could have as many rallies and parties and politicians as they wanted to--but if I said don't tell, then Hutch wouldn't tell. If I said we take it to our graves, we take it to our graves.
"You're lookin' pretty lonesome, Starsk."
Her voice made me turn around.
Sweet Alice.
Carrying a shopping bag of slinky new clothes. Her high heels clicked beside me, her arm linking around mine, her body slinking against me like a purry kitten.
"Like some company?" she asked me.
I forced a smile and put my arm around her. "Your place is just around the corner, right, honey?"
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Chapter 3
I carried her shopping bag home and we made out right there on her living room floor, right there on her polar bearskin rug.
"Oh, baby," she moaned in my ear. "You're so fine."
Slow and sweet. No strings. No I Love Yous. Just company and a selfish orgasm or two. And we fell asleep in each other's arms afterward and slept for an hour.
The bonging of the grandfather clock was what woke us up.
Why? I asked myself as I stood up and zipped my fly.
Why did you do this with her?
To see if you were still gay?
Straight?
No, that's not it.
Bisexual.
That was it. My dick could be in a woman, but my heart was with Hutch. Me and him didn't have to make out to show our love, but it was terrific when we did.
"You want a beer, Starsk?" she asked as she sat up and slipped on a silk robe.
"Nah," I said as I held my hand down to her and helped her up. "I need to get goin'."
She smiled a little and ran her long fingernails into my hair. "Hutch'll worry about you, you been gone so long."
Did she know? Who knew? Is it that obvious? If it is, then why can't you just say it? Just say it, damn it. Hutch would. He would wear a sign on his back that said I Love David Michael Starsky.
"Yeah, you know what a mother hen he is," I said with a smile.
She walked me to the door. "Come back anytime, sugar."
I kissed her on the mouth. "I will, Alice. Promise."
I went down her steps, walking faster down the sidewalk. I needed to go to Hutch's and talk to him. Maybe I didn't have his level of self-confidence, but I sure didn't want him thinking that I didn't care.
I wanted to say it as best friends.
I wanted to say it any way I could.
Did he know how much I cared?
Did he know, even though I couldn't admit to anyone yet? Was my love worth anything in secret?
It seemed to be for him.
I had to tell him I loved him.
I'd said it before, many times. But I needed to say it right now. I'd walked away like I was mad. And he loved me enough to let me go.
Like Terrie.
He loved me like Terrie.
More than Terrie.
I could shout my love for her from the rooftop, like Hutch said. Why couldn't I shout it for him?
"FAGGOT PERVERT COP!"
Lawrence. And two more. Jumped me on the street and sprayed Mace in my face like I was a criminal, then pulled me into the alley. Crammed me against a brick wall and pounded me up, using brass knuckles and billy clubs and stun guns.
I reached for my gun, but it was too sudden and brutal to fight back.
A kick to my stomach and I was up-chucking blood.
Elbows to my face dropped me to the ground.
One heavy boot crushed my neck to the pavement. Pinned like a bug. They stomped my back. Landed on my legs. Jumped up and down on my back some more until I couldn't breathe. Until my ribs made a sound like cracking knuckles.
I prayed to pass out.
"Die, faggot," was the whisper I felt in my ear just as my prayer was answered.
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Chapter 4
When I woke up, it was in the middle of the night and a cat was licking my cheek with its sandpapery tongue.
My face felt numb and swollen. My eyes still stung from the Mace and felt sticky. Mace or blood? Couldn't tell.
Up. Just get up. Start moving. One foot in front of the other. Go home. Get somewhere.
Hospital?
Questions?
(Well, Detective Starsky, what happened to you?)
(Oh, nothin'. Just got attacked by some gay-bashers, that's all)
(Gay-bashers? Why would gay-bashers want to attack you unless you were gay? Or suspected you were?)
Or . . .
How about the police station?
(I'd like to report a crime)
(Oh my, what happened, Detective Starsky?)
(Well, um, I was beaten up by Lawrence and company)
(Is that right? Can you prove it?)
(Well, not really. They were wearing ski masks. And I couldn't see for the Mace in my eyes. But I recognized his voice)
(Really? Well, sorry, but voice recognition rarely flies in a court of law. And why would the veteran, highly-decorated, much-respected Lieutenant Wayne Lawrence attack you?)
Forget it.
Just get home.
So I did. Rather, I tried. When I moved to sit up, my ribs poked my insides and sent sharp pains shooting all around my chest, and it hurt to breathe. And I could barely see, with my eyes all swollen from bruises and Mace.
I had only managed to sit up and lean against the brick wall when I heard Hutch's frantic footfalls pounding into the alley.
"Starsky!"
How?
How'd he know?
He stop by Sweet Alice's and knew I was in the neighborhood?
"Oh God," he breathed as he knelt beside me and touched my shoulder. "I've been looking for you all night. Who did this?"
I couldn't speak past my clammed-up throat. Clammed up from Mace and tears and swelling where they'd jumped on my neck.
Hutch rammed his elbow into the metal trashcan beside me and sent it
banging against the other wall.
"Tell me!"
I shook my head. My tears, trapped between my swollen eyelids, felt scorching.
"Who, damn it!"
My hand came up to grip his shirtsleeve.
He lifted my head up and touched my throat, and I guess it was then that he realized that it wasn't that I DIDN'T want to say anything--I couldn't.
"Oh hell. Starsk. I'm sorry. You can't talk. God. Let me get you to a hospital."
I shook my head no.
No hospital.
Too many questions.
Too many eyes.
Too many assumptions.
Too many--
I felt Hutch's strong arms under me as he lifted me up, and I knew then that he was getting me medical attention whether I liked it or not.
My mind drifted out to sea again as he carried me to his car.
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Chapter 5
I came to again, this time in a recovery room, feeling safe with Hutch's hand squeezing mine. The hospital bed felt good compared to the hard asphalt in the alley.
They must've given me some wicked painkillers, because I was feeling no pain.
Hutch's hand was soft on my brow, stroking, his voice humming, almost singing.
"It's okay, Starsk," he murmured over and over. "It's okay. Just tell me who did it."
God.
If I told Hutch it was Lawrence, Lawrence was a dead man. Hutch would kill him. Literally. With his bare hands. And I wasn't strong enough, physically, to stop him. He'd go stalking with his Magnum already out, and the next time I'd see him, it'd be behind a glass wall in a prison. And I couldn't let Hutch's love for me do that to him. Or us. The sleaze Lawrence was not, was not, was not worth it.
"Don't know," I gasped through my squeezed-up throat. Another lie. I was getting good at it, and I hated myself for it. I never wanted to lie to him. I could lie to anybody but him. "Mugged. They . . . wore masks."
I couldn't even tell him it was over being . . . God, why couldn't I say it? Over being . . . what? Gay? In love with a man I loved more than life itself? Why was that a crime? Why was that hated so much? Why did it draw so much violence and misunderstanding?
"They almost killed you, buddy," Hutch whispered as one of his hot tears dropped on my forearm. "But you held on. If I ever find out who did this to you . . . if I EVER find out . . . "
"Hutch . . . " I grabbed his arm and didn't want to let go. I pulled it close to my chest like a lifeline, even though it brought the pain back. "I let you down every day. I'm sorry. How can you still love me? I live a lie. I deny who I am. What our love is. I don't know what to do about it. It's tearin' me up inside. You deserve better than me."
He leaned his face close to mine, his breath hot and trembling. "I don't want anybody besides you. I don't care how long it takes you to say it. I don't care if you never say it. But it has to be real, Starsk. Don't just say it because you feel like I want you to. Like you have to. Like you don't love me if you don't say it. It doesn't matter. You matter. Having you matters."
God, Hutch.
You walk on water.
What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?
Love.
Means never having to prove it?
Unconditional?
No matter what?
Women.
Women needed to hear it. Most women. Some women. They needed to feel equal love. They had to feel like they were getting something in return. Fifty-fifty. Give and take. "What have you done for me?" or "I need more of you." or "You owe me."
With me and Hutch, sometimes it was ninety-five--five. Sometimes me giving the ninety-five. Sometimes him.
And that was always okay with us.
"Some day, Hutch," I whispered hoarsely. "Some day I'll shout it from
the rooftop. I mean that with all my heart."
The End