December 9th- Quality That Counts by marianrose

Fifteen years after Sweet Revenge, Starsky is still needling Hutch.

“It’s a beauty!” Starsky exclaimed, admiring the fresh cut, green pine tree as they adjusted it in the stand.

Hutch didn’t respond. He didn’t see the beauty or the point of it either, not this year, not since he had moved to the condo, alone, separated, awaiting his second divorce. If Starsky hadn’t shown up at his door with the tree and trimmings, hadn’t been so insistent that Hutch let him make a gift of the holiday greenery, he certainly would not be putting one up. He wouldn’t be down on the floor, suffering rug burn from the scratchy, beige carpet or straining his shoulder to straighten the trunk according to Starsky’s instructions.

Starsky stepped back, judging the angle. “A little to left. A little more… Stop! Too much. Back a little. Uh, huh, right there. Right there! Perfect.”

Hutch tightened the clamp and let go, pulling his arms and head from under the tree in time to see a satisfied Starsky run a hand through his thick hair, barely touched with grey. He looked down at Hutch and smiled far too much.

“Humph,” Hutch reached back under the branches. He made a noticeable adjustment to the base, both to spite Starsky for bringing a tree when he clearly was in no mood for celebrating the season, and also because anything perfect would be too out of place in his beige living room.

When he emerged from beneath the tree this time, his friend looked back with a trace of amusement at Hutch’s defiance, then increased satisfaction, which Hutch knew had nothing to do with the position of the tree.

Grudgingly, Hutch pushed himself up, grunting as he rose from the floor. Starsky never did give him enough time to linger uninterrupted with his own misery. He had planned to stay immersed in his depression this Christmas season, well past the New Year, maybe until spring. But here was Starsky, already poking at him with pine needles and that cocksure smile.

“I strained my shoulder,” Hutch complained.

Starsky put his hands on Hutch’s shoulders, rubbing vigorously, “Nah, just need to get back the circulation.”

Hutch accepted the manipulation. It felt good even if it wasn’t medically necessary. He let his head fall forward as his muscles relaxed but restored the aggravation to his face when he raised it again. “When you said you wanted to come over to watch the game, I thought you’d bring beer, not this thing.”

Starsky let go of Hutch’s shoulders and slung an arm across his back, holding him in place.

“Look at it, Hutch. It’s nice, don’t ya think?” Starsky prodded.

Hutch considered the tree, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It was smaller than he had put up the prior year and for the past twelve years, years spent in a house, bright and colorful, with a wife. He glanced at his beige walls, still bare. His defiant spark flickered, weakened, finally extinguishing itself with the melancholy sigh that breathed out of him.

Hutch snuck a glance at his partner when he got no further prodding.

Starsky looked disappointed by Hutch’s unhappy sound, but his expression had understanding in it too. Starsky squeezed Hutch’s shoulder, holding on, this time, for no particular reason that Hutch could determine, except to share the burden. This felt good too, but not for long. The sadness on Starsky’s face, which didn’t suit him at all, began to irritate Hutch more than the tree.

“Yeah, thanks.” Hutch tried to smile, but it was without enthusiasm or real conviction.

“My pleasure, buddy,” Starsky’s face lit up again. He was evidently pleased with even that small effort from Hutch. He clapped Hutch on the back for good measure before letting him go.

“Turn on the game. It starts soon. I’ll go get the food.” Hutch said as he went to the kitchen.

He gathered up all the snacks he could manage in one trip, returning to the living room with arms completely loaded.

“There you go. Enough food to last, even you, the entire game.” He set out an assortment on the coffee table while Starsky turned on the television and tuned in the football game.

“Ooh yeah!” Starsky scooted to the edge of Hutch’s couch, overseeing the coffee table, rubbing his hands together as he eyed the smorgasbord all within his reach.

Starsky pulled out a piece of sliced turkey from the deli paper, folded it to fit on a round cracker and topped it with a piece of salami, two slices of pickle and a dollop of coleslaw. He opened his mouth wide, taking a gluttonous bite of the self-made hors d’ouvre.

Hutch sat down on the upholstered chair, watching Starsky as he tackled the snack buffet in front of him. It was amazing the way Starsky could eat like a kid but stay fit. Hutch nibbled a few nuts then decided to find something to distract himself from the food before he overindulged. He had enough heartburn already.

To keep his hands busy while the game was on, Hutch hefted onto his lap one of the old hiking boots he had cleaned that morning. Hutch had the vintage boots resoled not too long ago. He was determined to get another year out of the well-worn things since a divorce was going to be expensive as well as depressing. If he could just get the tattered strings rethreaded and knotted in the right places, they might last another year too.

“You’ll never guess who sent me a Christmas card,” Starsky said around a mouthful of chips as he sat back on the couch. The crinkly bag of chips accompanied him from the coffee table to his lap along with a plastic tub of salsa.

Hutch looked up, interrupted from his dark thoughts just as he was about to thread through the third eyelet of the boot. Hutch peered at Starsky over the top of his glasses long enough to detect the eyebrow twitch and tiny smirk that danced across his friend’s face after he swallowed the mouthful of chips. The challenge hung in the air, the gauntlet thrown down. Even in his worst mood, Hutch couldn’t resist a challenge from Starsky and this one, he thought, would be an easy victory.

“Edith,” Hutch replied, gratified to arrive at the winning answer so swiftly. He had just opened his own Christmas card from Edith that afternoon and relished the lovely picture tucked inside of Rosie, already a college senior.

“Edith sends a card every year. The one I’m talkin about was one hell of a surprise! You’ll never guess.” Starsky bounced forward to the edge of the couch, expertly juggling the chips and salsa.

Hutch adjusted the glasses on his nose. “Fine. Just tell me,” he responded with feigned disregard, knowing it wouldn’t put off Starsky for a second, now that the game was afoot.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Starsky leaned forward, putting down the snacks, licking the smear of salsa on his pinky finger. “It’s somebody we knew a long time ago. Fifteen years ago! Just like those boots.”

“They’re only ten years old.” Hutch carefully set aside the boot, considering which friends from fifteen years ago would get Starsky this ginned up. Fifteen years ago was a year of extreme contradictions. It was a year spent at Metro, bringing down the bad guys and, at the hospital, helping Starsky get back up.

“Babcock?” Hutch started his guessing with someone from Metro. Hutch knew Starsky always got a kick out of hearing from somebody they used to work with when they were Zebra Three. Plus, he remembered Starsky had run into Babcock a couple months ago.

“Babcock? He and Susie did send me a card. They said to say “hi” to you, but that’s not the surprise.” Starsky added, “It’s not one of the guys.”

Hutch realized that ruled out the men they had worked with on the force, but technically, it didn’t rule out the women. The women were more likely to send cards anyway, especially to Starsky.

“Joan Meredith?” Hutch guessed. She always got Starsky excited.

“Ahh, Joanie. She sent a card and called. Asked me if I would play Santa this year at St. Joe’s Toys for Tots party.” Starsky got up as he spoke, walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door and bent down looking through the contents.

“You talked with Joan? How is she?” Hutch was in awe of both Starsky’s ability to stay in touch with so many old friends and the way he could get up from a seat so effortlessly, no creaking knees or sore back to unwind. Starsky was a medical marvel, miraculous as far as Hutch was concerned, moving like he had never been shot. For this, Hutch was profoundly thankful, yet again.

“Great. Hey, you wanna come and help out at the party?” Starsky asked with his head in the refrigerator. When he pulled it out, a slice of cheese hung out of his mouth like a cartoon tongue and a can of Coke was in one hand. He closed the refrigerator door, took the cheese in his free hand, chewing the bite left in his mouth as he made his way back to the couch.

“Good cheese,” Starsky smiled, touching Hutch’s shoulder when he passed by, as if the awe and gratitude Hutch felt had been detected, appreciated and affectionately returned for some unknown, impossible reason. “You still got that Elf costume?” Starsky asked as he sat back down on the coach.

“No, of course not.”

“No sweat. Just wear something festive. I’ll pick you up on Saturday, two o’clock. Don’t be late.”

Hutch knew he should be ticked off that Starsky simply assumed he would go, would be free at that time. The problem was, he did want to go, despite his plan to stay cloistered with his despair. He loved the kids and Starsky always needed his help with the more difficult children when he played Santa. Still, Starsky could have waited until he checked his calendar.

“Maybe I’m busy,” Hutch pointed out.

“You’ll get to see Joanie, she told me to say ‘hi’ to you too.”

“And just who else has said ‘hi’ to me that you’ve forgotten to mention?” Hutch felt some of his earlier vigor returning.

Starsky popped the remainder of cheese into his mouth, talking as he chewed. “I’ll tell you who didn’t say ‘hi’ to you. The big surprise you haven’t guessed yet. They only mentioned me.”

Hutch scowled.

“You giving up already?” Starsky plopped back down on the couch. But before Hutch could answer, he continued, “I’ll give you another hint. I’ll give you three. This person got their name in the newspaper not too long ago although you haven’t seen it yet. It’s not a relative. It’s not a criminal.”

Hutch rolled his eyes at the so-called clues. They were useless, of course, except that part about the newspaper. Maybe it was a celebrity they met during a case.

“Sue Ann Grainger? Steve Hanson? Buzzy Boone?” Hutch searched his memory for any celebrities they knew fifteen years ago who might get their name in the newspaper.

Starsky swallowed a gulp of his soda, belched with gusto, and shook his head. “No. Not them. But I still get a card from Tommy Reese. Can you believe it? He must be about a hundred years old now.”

Starsky snagged a handful of nuts from the can on the coffee table, shaking them around like dice. He put a couple of them into his mouth.

“It’s probably someone who worked at the hospital,” Hutch commented, paying close attention to Starsky’s reaction, checking for signs that he was on the right track.

“It’s nobody connected with the hospital. “ Starsky shook the nuts again, tossed a few more of them into his mouth. “OK, Sherlock. Here’s another clue. It’s a female we shipped outta town with a lotta baggage.”

“Edna Zalinka?”

Starsky snorted. For a second, Hutch thought he might choke on the nuts. Then he laughed, “No! She only sends me postcards. Your way off, partner, try again.”

Hutch frowned, thinking hard about who else might fit the clues.

“C’mon, Clouseau,” Starsky hurried him along. “I’ll give you one more clue. And I’m practically giving you the answer on a silver platter. This female was very good looking and we both knew her real well.” Starsky raised his eyebrows in a not too subtle way as he finished off the rest of the nuts he was holding.

So, this was somebody they had both dated. Probably somebody they both knew in the biblical sense. It was a good clue.

“Kathy!” Hutch said triumphantly. It had to be. She was a beautiful lady they both knew intimately at that time. She traveled a lot, although her ship was an airliner and she never had much luggage as far as Hutch remembered. But Hutch hadn’t been focusing on the quantity of her luggage at the time.

“No.” Starsky chuckled. “I haven’t heard from her since she sent that X-rated Halloween card.”

Hutch glared at Starsky, recalling the way the card had made him jealous.

“Forget Kathy. Admit you’re finally giving up.”

“The girl from petty cash?”

“No.”

“The waitress that did that thing with her hair!”

“No.”

“Maureen with the Mustang?”

“No!” Starsky laughed heartily.

“Who, then?”

“Kira!”

Hutch narrowed his eyes at Starsky. That name was one he hadn’t thought about in ages.

“I knew you wouldn’t guess it,” Starsky gloated.

What did she want from Starsky after fifteen years? Hutch wondered. He pushed up out of the chair and headed to the kitchen.

“Hey!” Starsky jumped up to follow him, pulling out a card from the back pocket of his jeans and unfolding it. “Don’t you want to see her card?”

Hutch took his time getting a beer from the refrigerator. It was his last one. He turned back toward Starsky, leaning against the sink, legs crossed to appear casual. “What did Kira have to say?” Hutch tried to sound uninterested, but there was a sourness there that threatened to pucker his poker face. He opened the beer and took a drink to wash it away.

“She’s now the head of California’s United Charity Foundation. Here’s the article announcing it.” Starsky reached into his front pocket, pulled out an article clipped from last week’s newspaper and thrust it into Hutch’s hand.

Starsky pointed to the crumpled paper. “That’s how I got on her Christmas card list, cause of my work with the kids at the United Charity Center.”

Hutch read for a minute. Sure enough, it was Kira’s picture above the article.

Starsky extended the Christmas card to Hutch. “Here, take a look at the card.”

Hutch took the card. Like a form letter, the message was printed and the signature stamped. As the new president of the California organization, she extended best wishes for happy holidays and many thanks to the people working to improve lives throughout their great state. It was the least personal holiday card Hutch had ever seen, just the type Kira would send.

Hutch put the article inside the card and handed it back, also offering his bottle of beer.

The initial surprise at Kira’s name was gone. She didn’t want anything from Starsky now. And nobody from fifteen years ago, especially Kira, mattered much to Hutch, nobody except Starsky.

That realization suddenly gripped him, made his chest squeeze a bit, not because there was nobody else, but because Starsky mattered to him so deeply. And Starsky was still right there. Other people came and went in his life. He let that happen. But he never let a separation take hold with Starsky. Sure, he came close to messing it all up a few times, Starsky too, but they always mended the fissures with super glue.

Starsky accepted the bottle and took a good slug from it, keeping his eyes on Hutch the whole time. He handed it back, still waiting for Hutch to speak.

“That card doesn’t count,” Hutch nodded toward Starsky’s hand. “It’s not a real Christmas card. A machine signed it.”

Starsky let out a breath, a slow smile forming. “Course it counts. I gave perfect clues and you, who used to call yourself Detective, still couldn’t figure it out.”

“It’s kind of ironic how she’s your boss now.” Hutch teased.

“I’m my own boss. She’s just a figurehead for raising money.”

“Do you think she’ll come to see you at the children’s center?” Hutch took another sip of beer.

“Hell no.” Starsky paused. Did a double take. “But what if she did?”

A beat passed, Hutch imagined the scenario. Starsky must have too, based on his widening eyes and open mouth.

“Can you picture it?” Starsky asked. “What would she say? What would I say? You think she’s still hot for me?”

“Starsky!”

Starsky took the bottle from Hutch again and drank. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, paused, and then jiggled as if to shake off the mental image. He walked past Hutch, dropping the card in the trashcan with some ceremony. He turned back, tipped the bottle toward Hutch, and took another swig.

“So, who else sends you cards that I don’t know about?” Hutch retook the bottle, drained what was left of it and set it on the sink.

Starsky smirked, looking down at Hutch’s kitchen table, “I haven’t had a chance to go through all of them yet.” He fingered the meager pile of three cards Hutch had there.

“Leave my cards alone, Mr. Popularity,” Hutch started to push them away but Starsky already had one in his hand.

“Aw, Hutch, it’s not the quantity of cards one receives, it’s the quality that counts.” Starsky opened Edith’s card. He took out Rosie’s picture and held it at arms length.

Hutch moved to Starsky’s side, slung his arm across Starsky’s back and gazed down at the young lady in the photo.

Starsky said with pride, “She’s grown up.”

“Seems like she was in kindergarten just yesterday.” Hutch gripped Starsky’s shoulder firmly, feeling the strength and energy of Starsky beneath his hand, feeling it pulse through his own heart, pushing away the anger and despair that had worked itself inside him recently.

Starsky snaked his arm around Hutch’s waist and tugged hard. It felt to Hutch as if Starsky wanted to be sure the last bit of misery was squeezed right out of him.

Hutch grinned, “You want to help me put the lights on the tree?”

“Sure. Right after we get dinner.”

“How can you possibly eat more food?”

“I need dinner, not just snacks. Let’s go get take out from Mr. Wu’s. We’ll be back before the second half.”

“It’ll take forty minutes to get to Mr. Wu’s,” Hutch complained.

“Twenty. I’ll drive.” Starsky snapped his fingers at Hutch, “Gimme your wallet.”

Hutch reached for his wallet on the counter, next to his keys. He handed it over. “Why don’t I just put a frozen pizza in the oven?” Hutch opened his freezer to see exactly what he had there.

Starsky slid Rosie’s picture inside the wallet. “Wilderness Shoes is right next door to Mr. Wu’s. We’re getting you some new boots while we’re out. You’re going to break your ankle in those old ones.”

Hutch turned on him, “I’m not the one with weak ankles, pal. And I’ll have you know, they don’t make boots like that anymore.”

“Okay. Keep your boots, cowboy. But we’re not coming home without new laces.”

Hutch’s lip turned up as he eyed his clever friend, “And beer. You’re buying.”

Starsky handed back the wallet and headed to the living room. Hutch opened his wallet, flipping to the pictures, admiring the new one of Rosie one more time before putting it into in his back pocket. He followed after Starsky, breathing deeply the pine in the air. It smelled like Christmas.

Starsky was at the tree, fluffing a branch. “A real beauty!” Starsky repeated.

“Absolutely,” Hutch replied, no lack of conviction this time.

Starsky turned to look at him. Hutch saw the surprise in Starsky’s eyes grow to warm affection.

There wasn’t a lot in Hutch’s small, beige condo, but he had a vibrant green tree and Starsky, quality that counted.

“You know what else would look great?” Starsky asked, gesturing beyond Hutch, toward the window. “Some shiny, gold garland over there and one of those big Rudolphs with a blinkin’ nose lookin’ out at everybody.”

“Don’t push it.” Hutch raised his pointer finger. His soul, nonetheless, delighted in the way that Starsky pushed him, distracted him, accepted him, and found a way to love him right into the joy of the holiday season.