Hutch glanced up as his husband-to-be emerged from the bedroom knotting his tie. “Hey, why are you all dressed up? We’re going to Huggy’s.”
“Yes, and he said there were people he wanted us to meet before the wedding. I’ve put out some clothes for you.”
“Seriously? You want me in a suit?”
“You look spectacular in a suit, and you know you do.”
Hutch stood up reluctantly, then pounced on Starsky and pulled him close for a kiss. “Do we have to go? Couldn’t we…?”
Starsky returned the kiss, then pulled away. “We do. And anyway, aren’t you curious? Huggy wanting to meet us right out in the suburbs?”
“I’m more curious about… oh, all right! I’ll get changed! This had better not be some glorified burrito joint, though.”
Hutch thought he heard Starsky mutter “a guy can hope” and grinned as he reluctantly went to change, emerging ten minutes later in a pearl grey suit, white shirt and blue silk tie, still grumbling, but simultaneously preening a little under Starsky’s admiring gaze.
“I want us to make a good impression. I think whoever we’re meeting is important to Hug. Come on — we still have to find this place! Can you grab those presents? The red ones by the tree.”
Half an hour later, they were driving slowly down a tree lined road, with neat front lawns and sparkling Christmas trees in every window, but no sign of any sort of restaurant, burrito joint or otherwise.
“You must have got the address wrong,” Hutch said. “There’s number 92, but it’s a house…”
“Well, that’s what he said. Maybe we’re meeting there then going on to the restaurant? Oh, come on! Stop being a grump — it’s Christmas!”
Hutch pinned on a smile, and they rang the doorbell. As it chimed, the door was flung open, and Huggy greeted them, arms outstretched. A Huggy practically unrecognizable in chinos, a blue Ralph Lauren button down and tassel loafers. His visitors stared — speechless.
“My two main men! Welcome! Come and have some champagne. Nothing but the best for the grooms-to-be!”
Looking at each other in bafflement, Starsky and Hutch followed their friend into a cozy L-shaped living room. There was a big Christmas tree in the window, and rising from a brown velour couch, a smiling woman with a baby in her arms. Huggy went to take the baby and she came forward, arms outstretched. The little boy clinging to her skirt was overcome with shyness and went to sit on the floor with a grinning Labrador.
“It’s so lovely to meet you at last! James has told me so much about you — and we’re so excited for your wedding! Shall I call you Ken and Dave or Starsky and Hutch?”
“The two gaping codfish would be more appropriate!” Huggy said. “My dear, may I present the individuals who have been referred to, although obviously not tonight, as Bay City’s finest? Starsky, Hutch — my wife, Mariella. This is baby Clara, and the individual hiding behind Honey is Joseph. He’ll come round in a few minutes. I hope I can say the same about you two!”
Mariella laughed. “I think they’ve had a shock, James. I’ll get the champagne and give you three a chance to recover.”
She beckoned to the boy and the dog and shooed them out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Starsky and Hutch simultaneously collapsed onto the sofa.
“Huggy — how long has this been going on?” Starsky asked.
“Eight years in January. Coincidentally, we will share an anniversary, which you might find useful. I never forget.”
“‘James?'”
“I just can’t….”
“How on earth did you…?”
“We had no idea….”
“Why…?”
Huggy grinned at his two friends, silenced at last. “Undercover work is not the sole preserve of the white man. Ah, and here comes the champagne.”
