December 13th- Actually, Love Part 1 by Spencer

This story is inspired by the iconic cue card scene in Love Actually arguably one of the most romantic holiday movies of all time. 

Chapter One

I feel it in my fingers
I feel it in my toes
The love that’s all around me
And so the feeling grows*

“You ain’t in prep school anymore, blondie,” Dave Starsky goaded Ken Hutchinson as they faced off on the mats.

“What?” Ken asked. They had been singled out of the roomful of cadets in order to practice the latest self-defense moves their instructor had just demonstrated.

“Those whites of yours look like you’re tryin’ out for the tennis team.”

A couple of guys watching from the sidelines snickered as Ken looked down at his clothes. While the other police hopefuls were wearing faded sweats or cut-off jeans, Ken was dressed in crisp white shorts from L.L. Bean. Thank God he’d opted for the plain green tee he’d stashed in his locker alongside his polo shirt. Starsky’s shorts, on the other hand, were so shredded they’d be lucky to stay on him once Ken pinned him to the floor—as he was confident he could do.

Starsky and the rest of Ken Hutchinson’s classmates were wrong to underestimate his schoolboy charm. As a matter of fact, they were wrong to underestimate him in general. But Ken wasn’t surprised. Their reaction to him wasn’t totally unexpected. He was far from his home and out of his element.

In the gated Minnesota community where he’d been raised, he was just one of any number of attractive blond-haired, blue-eyed boys, bound for private school and then college. His good looks weren’t anything out of the ordinary. Ken could also swing a mean bat and run like the wind—plus smile like an angel—which gave him a slight edge in the friendship department. Back then, he’d had no lack of friends, either male or female.

But Ken was in Southern California now, attending the police academy with a group of exuberant young men—and a few women—from all walks of life. Their skin tones were varied, their accents were mostly working class. Several were even fresh from the military. Ken doubted any of them had attended college the way he had. A few pre-law classes on his father’s dime. That was before he’d dropped out and headed west, reluctant bride in tow. Not that any of it mattered to him.

Ken wasn’t completely panned by his classmates at the academy, however. As time passed, he’d made a friend or two. But Dave Starsky had seemed to have it out for him from day one. Ken didn’t know why he cared so much; he just did. Dark and earthy, with a full head of curly hair, Starsky was the opposite of Ken in every way. His accent gave away his east-coast upbringing. Rumor had it he was the son of a cop. Another rumor was that he’d spent time in the army. But that’s where the rumors stopped. When it came to what he might have experienced in Vietnam, Starsky was infamously silent.

Starsky made a quick, cat-like move that Ken was lucky to evade. He stepped out of range and keenly assessed his opponent close up. Starsky was strong, his arms and legs well-muscled. For the first time Ken realized he’d been the one to do the underestimating. While Ken’s moves were more graceful, Starsky was unquestionably tenacious. The kind of pluck one didn’t get on a well-groomed baseball field or country club tennis court. The realization struck him. Ken found himself actually admiring the guy. The same guy who called him “blondie”—an odd cross between disparagement and appreciation—and took every opportunity to challenge him.

The second time Starsky approached, Ken didn’t react quickly enough with the countermove they’d been shown. With a whoosh of breath, Starsky had Ken’s back on the mat and firmly held him there. Starsky looked Ken square in the eye—their faces mere inches apart—and Ken could swear he felt actual sparks fly between them. He saw a flash of a grin on Starsky’s face—a most intriguing expression. But then the grin was gone, replaced by what could have been described as a snarl. The next thing he knew, Starsky backed off as if he’d been burned and Ken got to his feet.

“What happened there, Hutchinson?” the instructor snapped. “You can’t let yourself get distracted like that. When you’re out on the streets every little distraction could be the difference between of life or death.”

Ken shook his head, willing his face not to color, waiting for Starsky’s predictable come back. But Starsky didn’t say anything more. He just took a swig from the water cooler and then headed toward the showers.

Ken should have been happy. After several weeks into the program, Starsky’s teasing had stopped. But damn if he didn’t actually miss the barbs that had always been more witty than venomous. In fact, the man practically seemed to be avoiding him in a way that he didn’t anyone else. He sat as far away from him as possible in classes, hung back if Ken was talking with a group in the hallway, didn’t join him at lunch and never, ever partnered with him in self-defense training—or anything else for that matter— again.

They both had become good friends with another cadet named John Colby, but like Clark Kent and Superman, Starsky and “Hutch,” as Colby had come to call Ken, never seemed to be in the same place at the same time.

“What’s with that guy?” Hutch finally found himself asking Colby as Starsky got up and walked away from the table a minute after Hutch sat down. He’d stopped in at Huggy Bear’s, a local dive bar favored by the cadets. The bar was small and cozy, the drinks were cold, and the upbeat proprietor carefully walked the line between his civilian and police patrons.

“Who? Starsky? He’s okay.” Colby said then nonchalantly tipped back his bottle of beer. The nuances of interpersonal relationships weren’t his thing.

Starsky, meanwhile, had gone to cut into a game of darts, effectively turning his back on Colby and Hutch.

“He acts like I have a disease or something.”

Colby’s grin had a mocking edge. “He does seem to have something against you. Maybe he just doesn’t like Vikings.”

“Ha-ha.” Hutch got the attention of a waitress and pointed to Colby’s beer, indicating that he’d have the same.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Colby continued. “He’s a good guy, but he’s a little rough around the edges.  Maybe he’s just out of his depth.”

Hutch could sympathize with feeling out of place and the wondering of whether he was headed the right direction. But he had a wife at home. Someone on his side at the end of a grueling day. That was supposed to help to ease the transition. “Maybe you should tell him sometime that I don’t bite.”

The waitress, a buxom, bottle-dyed blonde with a surprisingly pretty smile, set an open bottle in front of Hutch. He nodded his thanks and for the first time noticed a well-used case for an SLR camera hanging from the chair Starsky had vacated.

“Is that his?” Hutch asked, gesturing with his glass to the worn case.

“Yeah. Apparently, he likes to take pictures. You wouldn’t have expected it, would you?” John commented.

Colby’s statement irked him enough to snap, “Why not?” then hoped Colby didn’t take the heat in his tone the wrong way.  He needn’t have worried.  As usual, John Colby was singularly unruffled.

“Well, professional wrestling or stock car racing I can believe, but photography? For a guy like Starsky? I mean, that’s more for artists and hippies. Next thing you know, he’ll say he writes poetry.”

“Hmmmm,” Hutch savored the refreshing drink that slid down his throat. It had been a full day of classes and sometimes, going home to his wife, whose dissatisfaction with being married to a cop-in-training seemed to be growing by the day, wasn’t all that appealing. Sometimes, just hanging out with a buddy was far preferable.

Hutch found himself watching Starsky’s cocky stance across from the dart board. His deft thrust with the darts made them sail through the air, striking the board precisely more often than not. Hutch got the distinct impression Dave Starsky could do anything he wanted if he put his mind to it. Take esthetic photographs, write lyrical poetry. Maybe someday even be his friend.

Chapter Two

It’s written on the wind
It’s everywhere I go
So if you really love me
Come on and let it show*

“I hope you weren’t expecting dinner,” Vanessa said as Hutch he walked through the door to their apartment. “I’ve been on my feet for hours.”

Hutch winced. He felt awful that Vanessa had taken a part time job at a jewelry store. He hadn’t wanted her to, but couldn’t deny that any added income was a help to their over-stressed budget. Vanessa had been excited to come with him to California, but her dreams of fun and sun had quickly faded. Especially after he told her that his parents would no longer be helping with their expenses. Personally, he’d hadn’t expected them to after he’d quit school against their wishes. He was determined to stand on his own two feet.

“That’s okay. I grabbed something at Huggy’s.” Two beers and a handful of pretzels would have to do for tonight.

“Where?” Vanessa called from the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table and a glass of chardonnay in her hand.

“Huggy Bear’s. That little hole in the wall place I told you about.” Hutch sat down next to her and took one of her feet in his large hands.

Vanessa sighed. “Really, Ken. That doesn’t sound like the right place for you to be spending so much time.”

“It’s not so bad. A lot of the guys like to go there after class to unwind.”

“I hope you’re not going to make this a habit. Can’t you find a better class of people to socialize with?” Vanessa sipped from the pricey, hand-blown glass, one of a multitude of wedding gifts they’d only just finished sending out thank you cards for, and tossed a length of glossy, chestnut hair over her shoulder.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hutch stopped massaging her foot, as his stomach made an uneasy pitch. As much as he loved Vanessa, she had a habit of sounding snooty. He tried to remind himself that she came by it honestly. That, like him, his model-gorgeous wife had come from a privileged background and was sure to change her perspective once she got to meet more of his friends.

“Civil servants and bartenders? I would hope you’d aim to mingle with some officers—a captain or lieutenant at least. Even a politician or two might be fun.” Vanessa smiled at him in that breathtakingly wicked way that always drew him in and allowed him to overlook her shallow remarks. Brian Wilson obviously hadn’t met Vanessa, because California girls had nothing on her.

With his drive and her class, Hutch felt sure everything would work out for them in time.

Despite the rocky start, Hutch felt more secure in his decision to come to California and enroll in the police academy as the weeks passed. Unlike college, the courses were more pragmatic and hands on and he was beginning to develop meaningful friendships with others in his program. He found the differences in their backgrounds enhanced rather than hurt their relationships. Hutch was also enjoying connecting with the fixtures in his working-class community—Louie, the paunchy, ever-smiling deli owner; Adele, the baker who kept her long white hair twisted into a French knot; the long-suffering waitresses and early-morning newspaper hawkers.

The same couldn’t be said for Vanessa. Instead of reaching out to their neighbors, she stayed holed up in the apartment much of the time. The sun was too hot, the beaches too crowded, the streets too run down. The only time she seemed content was when she was working at the jewelry store. It was obvious Vanessa enjoyed dressing up for her job, which also allowed her to model various pieces for customers—necklaces and bracelets far out of range of a policeman’s salary. She seemed dazzled by the high-priced gems as well as by the well-heeled clientele.

Hutch listened to Vanessa talk about her work at the store but couldn’t understand her passion for inanimate stones, no matter how sparkling. Conversely, Vanessa seemed bored or even disgusted when he shared with her the daily details of his police training. Sometimes Hutch feared their lives were going in separate directions. But then he’d brush his uneasiness aside, reminding himself of Van’s criticism that he tended to overthink things. He was determined to hold their marriage together.

If only Vanessa could appreciate what Hutch saw in the people he’d gotten to know. The people he’d soon be responsible for. Everyone had a story. Since Van had no desire to join him at Huggy’s, Hutch began to invite a few of his friends over to their apartment from time to time. They’d watch a game on TV or play poker—quickly switching to Monopoly when Vanessa let her distaste for gambling be known, even if they only played for spare change. A low-brow waste, she called it.

One evening, after perhaps a few beers too many, Hutch dared to break out his guitar. “Hey, that’s pretty good,” Colby had remarked. Then someone started using a stack of textbooks as a drum set, and an impromptu dance party had ensued. But when a potted orchid was knocked over onto the cream-colored rug, Vanessa was not amused.

“I’d prefer you keep your high jinx at the bar,” Van announced as Hutch and his friends scrambled to clean up the mess.

The party broke up soon after. Despite his embarrassment at being scolded like a child, Hutch figured maybe she was right. Their apartment was designed more for style than comfort. Even he didn’t really feel at home there. But it suited Vanessa and he wanted desperately to make her happy. After all, happy wife—happy life, as the old adage went. But why was it, Hutch wondered, that neither one of them was?

Even the academy spring outing—a picnic and softball game between cadets and rookies—had ended in disaster. Hutch already knew it was pointless to try to impress Vanessa with his athletic prowess. Sports was another interest they didn’t happen to share. “I don’t see the allure of sliding around in the dirt,” Vanessa remarked. Still, several of Hutch’s teammates sent jealous looks his way. Even dressed down as she was in jeans and a prim sweater set, Vanessa was a head-turner. Admiring glances was one thing she didn’t seem to mind.

 “I’d rather wear a diamond than run around one,” Vanessa commented on their way home. “And what’s with that curly-haired New Yorker?”

“What do you mean?” Hutch asked though he knew who she was referring to right off. David Starsky posed a definite attraction for the ladies, but he certainly wasn’t Vanessa’s type. Was he?

“I mean, he seemed to have some hard-on for you.”

Hutch blushed at her pointed language. Was it that obvious? He was well aware Starsky was the only one who hadn’t congratulated him on his game-winning run. Vanessa must have noticed it, too. He didn’t know whether to feel annoyed at Starsky or gratified that Vanessa for once seemed to be on Hutch’s side.

“I tried to be friendly with him. That is what you wanted isn’t it? To make friends? I offered him a lemonade when you were on base but he just mumbled something about me being ‘Hutch’s’ wife and said he’d pass. He’d barely look at me,” Vanessa declared with a touch of disbelief. “I felt like throwing the drink in his arrogant face.”

Just his luck. Of all people, his haughty wife had to pick Starsky to try to be friendly with. Make that strike number two against the guy. Hutch figured he’d never get Starsky over to his side now. He wondered why it bothered him so much. Funny though. Usually men fell all over themselves for Van’s attentions. As well as he knew her, Hutch was sure the last thing she’d expected was to be rebuffed by a working stiff like Starsky. Maybe it was better this way. Hutch didn’t need any more fireworks between himself and Vanessa.

Lately, Hutch had been feeling more at ease at Huggy Bear’s than his own place. He’d come to enjoy the camaraderie of the people he’d soon share a beat with. Brothers in uniform who felt the same way he did about wanting to serve their community. Wanting to do something with their lives that mattered, instead of just earn a paycheck. Hutch never would have been happy pushing papers behind a desk the way his parents—and even Vanessa, if truth be told—had wanted him to. Police work seemed less like a job and more like a calling.

The thought continued to roll around in Hutch’s mind as he took a seat at the crowded bar as usual after classes.

“Sorry about the mess we made at your place the other day,” Colby said. “I hope there was no permanent damage to that fancy rug of yours.”

“No, no damage,” Hutch said. Not to the rug anyway.

“Your wife sure is a looker,” Colby continued, despite Hutch’s discomfort with the subject matter. “But she seems a bit high maintenance.”

“The good-looking ones always are,” someone else chimed in from a few seats down.

Hutch turned toward the speaker and then noticed Starsky at the far end of the bar dip a french fry into a dollop of ketchup and then into his mouth. Hutch felt the slow burn of embarrassment. Not because he’d clearly hosted a gathering Starsky hadn’t been invited to—Starsky wouldn’t have come even if he had been—but because of John’s all to obvious insinuation that there was trouble brewing in paradise. Aware that Starsky had run up against the formidable force that was Vanessa Hutchinson, Hutch didn’t want Starsky to perceive her as a chink in his armor. A weakness he might use against him at some point in the future.

Hutch forced a smile. “I can handle her okay.”

“Then why are you sitting here at my bar, friend, instead of at home with your beautiful wife?” Huggy Bear, the lanky, dark-skinned proprietor, drew a cloth across the bar, wiping away wet rings of condensation and peanut shells while everyone within hearing range had a good laugh.

The barkeep should have been a diplomat with the way he could read people, Hutch thought with a mix of disquiet and admiration.

Chapter Three

You know I love you, I always will
My mind’s made up by the way that I feel
There’s no beginning, there’ll be no end
‘Cause on my love you can depend*

“Ride-alongs start next week, people,” the instructor announced. “Your assignments will be posted outside the booking office.”

Hutch felt excitement flare within him like the strike of a match. This is what he’d been waiting for. Why he’d been studying and practicing so diligently these many months. Checking the list, he saw that he’d been paired with a no-nonsense veteran with the Bay City PD well known for his gruffness. But that didn’t dim Hutch’s enthusiasm a bit. He felt sure the guy could teach him plenty of things that the classroom couldn’t. And he was eager to learn.

Hutch turned away from the assignment board and was surprised to nearly bump into Starsky. Although Starsky usually kept his distance, he hadn’t disappeared from their social group altogether. In fact, sometimes it seemed as if the man was practically following him. Hutch would frequently catch him out of the corner of his eye as he went about his day, the battered camera case often around his neck.

“Starsky’s really getting into that hobby of his,” Hutch mentioned to Colby.

“So I’ve noticed. Maybe he’s planning to send some pictures into the Policemen’s Gazette or wants to get into crime scene photography.”

Hutch forced a smile at Colby’s facetiousness. Starsky remained a bit of a curiosity to Colby as well, it seemed. If Hutch thought Starsky would open up to him, Hutch wouldn’t have minded asking him about his hobby. In fact, Hutch had the feeling he’d enjoy sitting down and talking to Starsky about anything at all.

The knowledge that Starsky practically went out of his way to ignore him continued to prick at Hutch painfully. What did Starsky have against him? Could it really be his blue eyes and blond hair? His privileged upbringing? Talk about reverse discrimination. If they’d learned anything in the academy it was to not judge a book by its cover. Besides, Hutch had the impression Starsky was much smarter than that. Maybe smarter than any of them. The thought that he’d make a good partner came to his mind, unbidden.

“Excuse me,” Hutch approached Starsky as amiably as he could. There was a time he prided himself on his ability to charm, but recent events had him questioning that particular ability. “Who’d you get put with?” Hutch asked in an attempt at light conversation.

Hutch was surprised that Starsky replied as easily as he did. “I got Richardson. I see you’re with Murphy.”

Hutch simply nodded.

“He’s got a good reputation,” Starsky added.

Hutch nodded again, incredulous that they were having an actual conversation. “I hear the same about Richardson. I’m sure we’ll learn a lot from them.”

“Yeah,” Starsky agreed and Hutch thought he saw a glimmer of the smile he first saw months ago. You feel it, too, he thought. That excitement, that thrill of doing what we’ve been born to do.” But then the smile was gone, replaced by an expression that was hard to read. Concern? Wishfulness?

“The streets are a lot different than the classroom. Be careful out there,” Starsky warned, then turned and walked away.

To be continued…

*Love is All Around, Lyrics by Wes Presley