December 6th: Written in the Stars by Nicoltyler and Terri Beckett

Early December, Bay City, California, 1970.

John Blaine regarded the young man sitting on his back steps, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his fingers.

Blaine fingered the envelope in his hand. David Starsky was no longer the skinny teenager living with his aunt and uncle. Gone was the wide-eyed young man ready to conquer the world when they’d bid him farewell at 18, only to send him off to the brutal jungles of Vietnam a few years later.

Davey came back after 6 months as a POW. However, he returned an angry young man, scarred in more ways than one.

Blaine couldn’t help but feel that Davey was even more bewildered than when he left. He had no place to call his own and no clear sense of purpose. Back on American soil, Starsky couldn’t seem to settle in one place or hold down a job. The longest job he’d held was the most recent, as a cab driver.

That was until tonight.

With a sigh, Blaine shoved the envelope into his pocket before opening the backdoor.

“You better come in; Maggie will have my hide if I let you catch a cold or starve.” Blaine caught the side-eye glance from dark blue eyes and a quirky mouth twist.

“It’s 50 degrees,” Starsky remarked, steadying himself with the handrail.

As Starsky turned, Blaine could see a darkening bruise on his jaw and a full-blown black eye. A ten-year-old memory sprung up of a young, bruised Davey leaning on his best friend. Blaine shook his head. Some things change, yet others stay the same. Then, the bruises had come from saving a boy named Ken Hutchinson, who was visiting relatives in Bay City in the summer of ’59. Blaine didn’t know what tonight’s fight had been about though it had landed Starsky in the tank until Blaine used his influence to haul him out.

Tonight’s fight had cost Davey his job, too.

Whatever the case was this time, in Blaine’s eyes, David Starsky was running on empty.

“You can’t keep fighting…” Blaine began to say, concern etched across his face.

“Now don’t you start… first it’s my uncle, then Ma, and now you,” Starsky said, his voice rising as he pushed back from the table.

“David, wait,” John interjected, placing a hand on Starsky’s shoulder, and placing a mug of coffee in front of him.

“Thanks,” Starsky muttered.

“De nada,” Blaine said easily, sitting across from Starsky.

Blaine sighed. “Dave, look, I get that it feels like an uphill battle, but trust me, there are ways to work through this. Especially if you are trying to get into the academy.”

“Ah, who am I kidding? It’s a pipe dream. Besides, if I were getting in, I would have gotten something. The next class starts in January….” The envelope Blaine dropped in front of him cut off his tirade.

“What’s this?” Starsky picked up the envelope.

“What’s it look like?” Blaine asked; he still had some doubts about David joining the academy, but the kid needed a purpose.

Starsky traced the contours of the envelope with his thumb. He knew that this wasn’t just about opening a letter; it was about confronting his demons and finding the strength to move forward despite them.

“For crying out loud, Davey, just open the damn letter. You owe it to yourself to know for sure.”

Instead of replying, Starsky stood abruptly, tossed the envelope back on the table and, without another word, went out the back door, the screen slamming behind him.

Thirty minutes later, found Starsky with a helmet jammed over his unruly curls, wincing as the morning sun stabbed into his eyeballs. The cheap knock-off aviator RayBans did little to help. He felt the motorcycle engine’s roar, and the rush of the wind against his body provided a temporary escape from the chaos in his mind.

Much as he hated to admit it, John Blaine was right. The prospect of the police academy seemed tempting but out of reach as if belonging to a world that no longer welcomed him and had changed drastically from the one he had left behind.

He could count on the fingers of one hand the friends who had welcomed him back. The real friends, like Huggy Bear. John and Maggie.

And Hutch.

He hadn’t seen Hutch in a while. Hutch was his best friend; that hadn’t changed since the day they met in ’59. Despite the years of separation, Hutch was always happy to see him, though Vanessa didn’t like her new husband socializing with lowly cab drivers and ex-Vietnam vets.

But being in Hutch’s company made it all worthwhile.

“Who is it?” The voice called just before the door swung open, revealing Vanessa standing there in an elegant yet understated outfit that exuded sophistication.

“Is Hutch around?”

“Ken isn’t here. I’ll tell him you called.” And the door was slammed in his face.

Well, fuck you very much, lady.

Starsky checked his watch; it was nearly 1 p.m.; food was calling and he knew just the place. As he rolled into Venice Beach, he couldn’t help but soak in the lively atmosphere. Starsky parked his bike, took off his helmet, and took a deep breath of that salty ocean breeze.

Walking down the boardwalk, Starsky stopped to get a hotdog and a soda. He found a spot along the low concrete wall that separated the boardwalk from the beach, absorbing the vibrant ambiance while he ate. Venice Beach had a knack for brightening his mood. What made it even more special was that, in the summer of ’59, when they first met, Hutch had taught him how to swim.

“Surf’s up,” Hutch said as he stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and kicked off his sneakers. In a short time, he was down to his boxers. “C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Hutch encouraged his friend when he saw Starsky just standing there.

“What’ll be fun?”

“Body-surfing!” Hutch said. “It’ll be great!”

“But… I can’t swim….”

“I won’t let you drown, dummy! Sea Scout, remember!”

Starsky couldn’t help but smile at the memory. On impulse, he tossed the wrapper into a trash bin, then hopped the low concrete wall to the beach.

Got some thinkin’ to do, Davey boy. He found a clean patch of sand and sat down. The air smelled clean. The sound of the waves as they advanced and retreated was a background to his thoughts.

Hutch strolled the boardwalk, relishing the clean ozone-scented air and the sun’s brightness. His studies were going well, but he was no longer sure this career path was right. He would have liked to talk to Van about it, but she was set on him becoming a high-priced lawyer.

Vanessa.

He was coming to realize that there was more to a successful marriage than great sex…

Hutch caught sight of the bike first, purple bodywork polished to a sheen, the helmet hung from one of the handles.

Starsky.

It didn’t come as a surprise to him that Starsky was here. They had a knack for finding each other when trouble brewed. It might’ve just been through letters or phone calls, but the support always arrived at the right moment when it was needed the most.

He scanned the beach. Sitting with arms folded on drawn-up knees was the antidote to all the angst and frustration that filled his life. Hutch climbed over the concrete wall onto the sand. Walking towards his friend, a gentle breeze off the sea stirred the dark curls, and Hutch knew that the eyes fixed on the horizon would be the same deep blue he remembered.

“Hi, Hutch,” Starsky greeted as Hutch drew near, the unspoken bond between them undeniable. They simply knew when each was nearby.

Hutch laughed and sat beside his friend, noticing the bruises that colored his face. “Did you get the number of the truck that hit you?”

Starsky shrugged. “You should see the other guy. How’d you know where I was?”

“Process of elimination. Van said you’d stopped by. Johnny Blaine said you’d taken off on the bike. I remembered where we used to come, thought it was worth checking out.”

“You should be a detective,” Starsky told him.

They fell into a comfortable silence and watched the westering sun gild the ocean. Hutch had a knack for knowing when it was the right moment to speak and when to be patient. He understood that sometimes, Starsky needed his space, but when the time was right, he’d be there, ready to listen and talk.

“I lost the job.”

“John said.”

“Blabbermouth,” Starsky grunted sourly, not looking at him.

“That where you got those lumps?”

“Nah, walked into a door, whaddya think?”

“Whoa.” Hutch held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry, I asked.”

He got a smile in response. “What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be hitting the books? And won’t your lady be expecting you back for dinner?”

Hutch shuffled uncomfortably. “We fought.”

“About what?”

About you, Hutch answered silently, thinking about the argument with his wife. “Nothing important,” Hutch finally answered.

Starsky nodded, and the conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence.

After a while, Hutch stood up. “You hungry?” he asked, brushing the sand off his pants.

Starsky hesitated for a moment, glancing down at his attire. “I’m not exactly dressed for fine dining…” He brought up another option. “Hey, I know; Huggy’s uncle has that new place on Third called Dino’s. Made Huggy the manager and head cook…”

Hutch raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know Starsk, that last place gave….”

Starsky chuckled. “C’mon Hutch, it’s got character, and Huggy’s food is out of this world. He learned from the best. Remember his aunt? Plus, it’s more our style, not one of those fancy-schmancy places you and Vanessa prefer.”

Dino’s had undergone a festive transformation for the Christmas season. As Starsky and Hutch stepped inside, Hutch was immediately enveloped in the warm and inviting atmosphere of holiday cheer. Twinkling multi-colored lights adorned the bar’s wooden beams, casting garish colors over the patrons.

Red and green streamers crisscrossed the low ceiling, and a large, decorated Christmas tree stood proudly in one corner, adorned with an eclectic mix of ornaments and tinsel. A pair of oversized stockings hung by the bar, each bearing the names of employees and patrons alike, adding a touch of humor to the decor. A jukebox in the corner played classic holiday tunes, filling the bar with festive jingles.

Huggy greeted them with a grin and escorted them to a vacant booth, placing a basket of mini-pretzels between them while they waited for their order.

“So,” Hutch said. “No job. What’s next? You got any ideas?”

Starsky, occupied in licking the salt off his pretzel, mumbled something unintelligible.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

“Astronaut?”

That suckered Hutch into a laugh. “Get real!” And Starsky cocked an eyebrow at him, blue eyes brilliant, as he selected another pretzel.

Clearing his throat, Hutch asked, “Didn’t you tell me once that you were thinking about the Police Academy?”

Starsky scowled, “Yeah. John reminded me.”

Hutch nodded and reached into his pocket, retrieving the envelope Blaine had given him when he stopped by Blaine’s house looking for Starsky. Hutch tossed it onto the table. “He also said you left this.”

Starsky looked at the envelope and then back at Hutch with a sigh. “I don’t know, Hutch…. What if…?”

Hutch responded with a reassuring smile. “What if you fail? I’ve never known you to back away from a challenge, pal.”

Starsky sighed, his gaze fixed on the envelope. “Well, maybe you don’t know me too well, then. A lot of water has passed under the bridge in the ten years since I met you. A lot of things change…”

Hutch leaned forward, his voice soft and sincere. “Starsky, you’re still the same guy who’s never been afraid to stand up for what’s right, who’s never backed down from a fight, and who’s always had the heart to make a difference.” Hutch tapped the envelope. “That hasn’t changed.”

Starsky looked at the object of their discussion, then met Hutch’s gaze, but didn’t have a chance to speak as their food was delivered. The conversion moved onto other things; the atmosphere was friendly, and the company… right now, Hutch wouldn’t trade it for the finest filet mignon. There was that connection between them forged so many years ago, that had never left. It had strengthened since Starsky’s return, and he would not give it up.

“How are your studies going?” Starsky said idly, snaffling the last of the fries.

“Okay, I guess.” Then, because he knew he could talk to Starsky, “But to be honest, I’m not sure it’s what I really want to do with my life. Three-piece suits and stuck behind a desk all day?”

“I dunno. C’n kinda see you as Atticus Finch, defendin’ the downtrodden.” Starsky sounded absolutely serious.

Hutch blushed. “I’m no kind of hero, Starsk.” He took a drink from his beer to cover his embarrassment. “I’d just like to — help people, I guess.”

“Just like I want to do, help… make a difference.” Starsky gave a short laugh. “Hey you can go to the academy, too, I mean if I get accepted and all…”

“No ifs, Starsk, I know you will be,” Hutch stated, mulling over what Starsky said. Signing up as well… but he couldn’t picture it, or maybe he could.

“Johnny says it’s like shoveling shit against the tide. But y’have to keep on shoveling.” Starsky’s voice broke into Hutch’s thoughts, and he realized he missed half of the conversation.

“Now, that’s an image,” Hutch quipped with a playful smile. He reached over and pushed the envelope closer to his friend. “So, speaking of choices and doing what’s right, are you going to open that up?”

Starsky sighed and wiped his hands off on his jeans before picking up the envelope. Staring at it for a moment, he took a deep breath and opened it, carefully pulling out the single letter inside and reading its contents.

Hutch watched his friend’s face closely for any sign of what the letter said. After a pause, Starsky silently folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.

Hutch’s patience was wearing thin. “C’mon, what did it say, Starsk?”

Starsky couldn’t hide the grin any longer. “Well… pal, you could be looking at a future Bay City cop. So, I guess I’ll be fighting crime on the streets while you’re in the courtroom.”

Hutch nodded, his smile wide. “Who knows what the future may hold, buddy.”

The waitress dropped off the check, and Starsky began to reach for his wallet, but Hutch placed a hand on Starsky’s wrist to stop him. “Hey, my treat, okay? For getting into the academy and making the right choice.”

“Thanks, pal,” Starsky said, his voice sincere. He took a moment before adding, “And… Merry Christmas, Hutch.”

“Merry Christmas, Starsk.”

As the Academy cadets entered the hall for Orientation, Starsky joined the bustling crowd, determined to secure a seat. His stubbornness won him a spot, and as he settled into his place, he couldn’t help but glance around at his fellow cadets.

Amid the sea of unfamiliar faces, there came a familiar tap on his shoulder, and a smile broke across his face. Starsky would recognize that tap anywhere, and somehow, it didn’t surprise him, even though it probably should have. When he last spoke to Hutch right after Christmas, there had been no mention of any changes to Hutch’s plans.

However, when Starsky looked up, he was met with the sight of that bright sun-blond hair and the ever-engaging Cheshire-cat grin of Ken Hutchinson standing right before him.

“This seat taken?” Hutch asked.

“Only by you, partner.”

“Partner?” Hutch took the seat, tilting his head to one side, as if thinking about the word. “I like the sound of that.”

“So do I…. So do I.” Starsky returned the grin.

It was karma. Fate. Written in the stars. Whatever.

He couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have alongside him, shoveling the shit.

 

 

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