LITTLE BOY BLUE
By TLR
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX++
He met her at the beach. We had just met with Huggy there for some information on a case, and after Huggy left, we saw her reading a book under her big red umbrella with her shades on. Long blonde hair, long legs, a nice one-piece, a generous smile.
"No ring," Hutch said as he poked me in the side. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"
"Very," I murmured as my eyes fixed on her. She was closing down her umbrella and putting her things in a beach bag to leave. "So what's your move gonna be, Romeo?"
"Observe," he said smugly as he moved toward her and tripped over a piece of driftwood.
I shook my head at him. Sand went everywhere.
His face got red.
"Oh, sorry," he apologized to her as he caught himself and put his hand out to her. "I didn't mean to get sand all over you."
She took her sunglasses off and smiled up at him. "No problem," she said, and looked over at me.
I gave her a little wave. (I didn't mean to get sand all over you?) What a pick-up line. But she seemed to like it.
"I'm uh . . . " He helped put her things-tanning lotion, radio, snacks (Oh God, dried fruit. Please not dried fruit. He's a goner) into her beach bag. "I'm uh . . . Ken Hutchinson."
She held a long, slender hand out to him. "Francine Gayles."
He looked at the snack bags in his hand. "Dried fruit, huh? I love dried fruit. Nothing like a natural snack."
("Nature's own goodness," I was waiting for him to add. But he didn't)
And that's how they met. Small talk on the beach.
I don't know exactly when the small talk led to big talk, but they must have seen each other every night for three months after that, and evidently had a lot to talk about.
Every morning he'd pick me up and tell me what a good time he'd had with her the night before.
Francine Gayles.
Single. Nursing student. Quiet. Little-girl quality. A little like Jeanie, he said.
But there was something about her that didn't sit quite right with me, and at first it was hard to put my finger on. It wasn't like I thought she was out to hurt him or anything. Because she wasn't. She hung on his every word. If he said he was thirsty, she'd get him a drink of water. If he said he was tired, she'd massage his shoulders. She couldn't hide the infatuation in her eyes. And he was head over heels in love with her too.
"She's never been to an art gallery before," he told me in a bewildered voice. And he was determined to show her some good times.
She loved the attention. Opened up like a flower. Really was a sweet girl. Maybe vulnerable, needy, but she made his armor shine brighter.
But there was a little something. That grew into a big something. A look in her eyes. On her face. Like she'd been around. Seen too much. Done too much. Of the wrong things in life. Not enough of the good or decent. My suspicions were groundless, of course. I didn't know that much about her. Just what Hutch told me.
And like Hutch had read my mind, or she had, he showed up at my place one night without her, wanting to talk, just roaming around the living room really excited about her.
"Things goin' good with you and Francine, huh?" I asked handing him a beer.
"Oh, man . . . " He held the beer without even opening it. "Yeah. Things are going fine, Starsk. We had a nice dinner tonight. I took her for lobster and . . . "
"Let me guess. She never had it before."
He smiled. "How'd you know?"
I rolled my eyes. "Gee, a little birdie told me, I guess."
"She told me some things tonight, Starsk. That . . . I don't know. Makes me love her even more."
I waited. And listened.
"She uh . . . " He shrugged. "Has a past. Did some things she's not proud of. But who hasn't, huh?"
I knew it. A damsel in distress. He can smell them. Gravitates toward them.
(God, it better not be another Gillian. We can't do that again)
"She's come a long way, Starsk. She really has."
There was more, I could tell. I just waited till he could get it out.
"She used to use heroin, Starsk. Years ago. Five years ago. But she's clean now. Making something of herself. Putting all that behind her. She wants to move on and help other people by being a nurse."
God, I knew there was something, but I had no idea.
"I think I'm going to propose," he said as he set the beer down.
This was the part where I was supposed to be happy. But instead all I felt was heavy-hearted.
It's funny. What he liked about her, I found unsettling.
But what was I supposed to say to him? Or about her? She hadn't done anything to hurt him. If he asked for the moon she'd try to get it for him. She was smart, charming, easygoing. Wasn't into playing games. Seemed honest enough.
But still . . .
A recovering drug addict? Did Hutch need that in his life?
He looked so happy about it. What could I say?
"Congratulations, Hutch," I said shaking his hand and putting on my best phony smile. "You deserve the best."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX++
When I showed up at Venice Place the next morning, they both met me in their bathrobes. Their tousled hair told me they hadn't been up long. But long enough to start breakfast. I could smell a fishy aroma from the kitchen.
"Hey, Casanova," I said as I walked in. "How come you're not ready for work? We're gonna be late."
"Sorry, Starsk," he said as he pulled the blonde to him and smelled her hair. "I'm not going in today. I tried to catch you at home, but you'd already left."
"Playin' hooky?" I teased as I winked at Francine. "You're corrupting my pure-as-the-driven-snow partner."
"I know," she said as she slid her arms inside his robe and around his middle. "But it's fun."
I saw her nurse uniform on a hanger in the bathroom. "Won't your instructors be upset with you missing classes?"
"Classes cancelled today," she said with a smile. "Broken water pipes in the labs or something. And with Thanksgiving break, I won't be going back to school for at least a
week. Lucky break, huh?"
"Come here, Starsk," Hutch said as he took my arm and led me to the table. "Just sit down and have some breakfast with us."
"Breakfast? I gotta go to work."
"How can you with a raging fever?"
"Raging fev-"
Hutch picked up the phone and dialed a number. He waited for the other party to pick up, then he said, "Hey, Cap? Got some bad news. Starsk isn't going to be able to make it today."
He winked at me. "Oh no. He's got a terrible fever. I'll have to baby him at least through Thanksgiving.. You know he regresses to a three-year-old when he's under the weather. Yeah, I know. If he had a terminal disease we'd never hear a peep. Why, that's very generous of you, Captain. Yes, I'll tell him. Thanks a lot."
He hung up and smiled at me. "Cap says take as long as you need."
"So, I can be sick through Thanksgiving?"
"Looks like it."
"Cool."
Francine put on an oven mitt and pulled down the oven door.
"Salmon soufflé," she announced as she and took a dish from the oven.
I made a face. "Fish for breakfast?"
"Goes great with scrambled eggs," Hutch assured me as he handed me a fork.
"It's delicious. Trust me."
Fork in hand, I cast a doubtful eye at the puffy dish on the table. "I trust you with my life. But with my stomach?" I looked imploringly at him. "Didn't I leave some bagels over here last week?"
"You did," he said as he poured some goat's milk for us to drink. "But Francine ate them all."
I gave her an evil look. "Gee, thanks, Fran. I'll remember that."
She spooned some of the salmon soufflé onto my plate.
I looked at Hutch. "Why am I gonna be sick for so long?"
"Because," Hutch said as he helped himself to Francine's homemade breakfast. "I'm taking Francine back to Minnesota to meet the folks and I want you to go with us. Don't want you spending Thanksgiving holiday by yourself."
Uh oh. It was getting serious. He was taking her to meet his parents.
(God, Mr. Hutchinson, if you thought I wasn't good enough for your son, what would you think about Francine Gayles?)
(Is that why you want me to go, Hutch? Reinforcements?)
(You're gonna need it by the time your dad gets done with her)
"Sorry," I said shaking my head. "You two go ahead. I think I'll go spend some time with Ma."
(Oh, is that right, Sergeant Starsky? Aren't you secretly hoping Richard will do his she's-white-trash-you're-white-bread number out there in Minnesota and it'll blow up, and they'll break up, and then you won't have to worry about Hutch marrying a . . . )
(A what? What is she? A nursing student? How harmless do you want, Sergeant Starsky? If Hutch likes her, isn't that all that matters? You have absolutely no reason to feel uneasy about this girl. Absolutely none. It's not like she's a . . . )
(She's a prostitute. And nothing you do or say is gonna change that fact)
(Is that what you're trying to tell me? Buddy? Friend? That my girl is a . . . )
(Nursing student? Recovering user? Beautiful? Loving? Tender? Deserving of a second chance?)
Hutch looked at me, but I wasn't looking back. And it was right then that I knew he saw reservation on my face.
"Well," he said quietly as he picked up his fork. "Okay. I guess it's just me and you, Francine."
I didn't know what to say, because I didn't know what it was I was feeling. So I just kept
my mouth shut to keep from saying something weird.
Me and Hutch weren't mad at each other, but it was the quietest breakfast we ever had.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
They went to Minnesota without me. I had Thanksgiving with Ma. She did most of the talking. I didn't feel like it. She asked me what was on my mind, but I didn't want to tell her. So she just went on with the holiday like nothing was wrong, trying to cheer me up, trying to keep me full of food and chit-chat.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hutch came back from Minnesota in a silent mood. But his relationship with Francine was still intact. He had weathered Hurricane Richard without me. Which told me just how much he loved her.
I tried to make small talk with him but it didn't feel right. Then I tried making big talk with him about how things went with his dad, and that didn't work either. He just shrugged and looked the other way.
"It's okay," was all he would tell me.
So much he wasn't going to tell me now. Wedding plans? Honeymoon? Would he even invite me? Would they stay at Venice Place or hers?
Why did I have to ruin it for him?
And then one day in the squad room, out of the blue, he brought it up.
I guess, like me, he couldn't take the awkward air anymore.
We were sitting across from each other at the desk and he looked at me.
"Okay, Starsk. What is it you don't like about her?"
"I don't dislike her, Hutch. She's a great girl."
"A great girl? You really think she's a great girl? Dad thought she was a great girl too. You should have been there. You two would've made a good team. I told her not to bring up her past, that it was none of his business, but she wanted to be honest about it. He told her she was a great girl for latching onto a family with money."
I didn't want to do this here. It wasn't the time or place. But Hutch was too mad to care.
He leaned across the desk to me and quietly said, "She hasn't used in five years, Starsk. She's clean, she's beautiful, she's going to nursing school, making a fresh start." And he put a sardonic twist to the rest: "Isn't that what we want for recovering drug addicts? What do you want? If they're using, they're trash. If they get cleaned up, they're reformed trash? When do they kick the label, Starsky?"
"I just think you should think it through, that's all. Just give yourself some time."
"I thought you'd be happy for me."
"I'd be happier if . . . "
He sat back and threw his pencil on the desk. "What are you saying, Starsky? Somebody has a past, makes some mistakes, they're not good enough for me?"
"No, I'm not sayin' that-"
"-She has to stay with her own kind?"
"Not sayin' that either."
"Then what are you saying, partner?"
"That you deserve the best, Hutch. Not some . . . "
Too much. I said too much.
He stood from the desk. "Go on, Starsky."
I looked down.
"Say it, Starsk. Not some what?"
I shook my head no.
"Not some . . . " Hutch flung a mug book against the wall. "EX-JUNKIE?"
I laced my fingers in my lap and still wouldn't look up.
Hutch leaned over me, seething quietly into my ear. His temper was simmering like quiet lava and the cops in the room were looking. "You think between me and Francine, there's a good chance one of us will end up relapsing? Isn't that what you're trying to say? That she'll bring me down? Once a junkie, always a junkie, right?"
Not waiting for an answer, Hutch slammed out of the squad room.
I followed close behind.
"Hutch, I never said that. You did. And if you'd stop walkin' away every time we get close enough to the subject, maybe we could-"
Hutch spun and put a finger in my face. "You sound just like my father."
Officers in the hall were beginning to stare.
Hutch stalked down the hall toward the elevator.
I followed him again. "You're identifying with her. I remember the day when you would NEVER have considered sleeping with a woman like her. You see yourself as 'one of them' now. That's what gets me."
Hutch spoke without looking at me, walking so fast I could hardly keep up. "Oh, it's 'us' and 'them', huh?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it is. There's a big difference between you and Francine. You didn't choose your addiction. She did."
Hutch's finger jabbed the elevator button. "Why don't you say that 'addiction' word a little louder next time?"
"That's what makes you different from her. And better than her."
Hutch grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the wall, holding me there. "That's enough."
Tears came to my eyes. "What, you want to punch me? Go ahead. If hittin' your best friend is gonna make you feel better, you go right ahead."
Hutch's glare lingered on me. "Remember Sharman, Starsk? I never told you, but I admired you for going out on a limb to help her."
"I didn't love Sharman."
"Could you have loved her? Could you love anyone like her?"
I rammed my elbow against the wall. "I loved YOU when you were like her, didn't I?!" I cried at him.
Hutch stared at me for what seemed like ages, then he just turned and walked away.
I watched him go. But didn't follow him this time.
XXXXXXXXXXXX++
We went our separate ways that day. He did his thing and I did mine.
I overheard his and Francine's conversation at her car in the police parking garage when she came to pick him up. I walked past him to go to the Torino and he completely ignored me. Their voices were low but I still heard them.
"It doesn't feel right, Ken."
"What doesn't?"
"Us. Me. Causing trouble for you and Dave."
"He's just going to have to grow up."
It was Francine who followed me to my car. "Dave, I'm sorry. Let's talk, okay? I hate this. I want you to know something. I would never come between you and Ken. I'd walk out first."
I opened my car door and got inside. She swung around in Hutch' direction.
"Ken, stop him. This isn't right. I don't want to come between friends. I know how much you mean to each-"
But Hutch was getting into Francine's car, and he was waiting for her under the steering wheel.
She stooped by my door and put both trembling, perspiration-damp hands on my arm. "Dave, please. What is it I can do? What can I say? I don't want to be the one to . . . "
She was crying now, and Hutch was getting out of the car, stomping over to me like I was the one who made her bawl.
"Oh God," she choked, and ran off.
Hutch ran after her, but a patrol car turned in front of him and cut him off.
Cussing under his breath, he walked toward Francine's car.
"Thanks, buddy," he growled over his shoulder to me, and peeled out of the garage with a squeal of tires.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Days went by.
Me and Hutch were getting more distant with each other, less talkative. I was just thankful no heavy cases were coming our way, because I don't think either one of us were mentally up to it.
Dobey gave us strange looks but didn't say anything, and I wondered how long it would be before he gave us a lecture about keeping our personal lives out of police work.
But he knew as well as I did, that where me and Hutch were concerned, it was all one and the same. And a distant partner could be dangerous on the street.
XXXXXXXXXXXX+
"Starsky, in my office."
Hutch went to the commissary for some yogurt. I shuffled some papers at my desk and pretended like I hadn't heard.
(Well, Hutch? What do I tell him?)
"Um . . . okay, Cap. Comin'."
He held the door open for me.
I went in and braced myself for some kind of chewing-out. But when he closed the door and motioned for me to sit down, I knew it was something else.
I took the seat.
"What is it, Cap?"
He planted himself on the edge of his desk and scrubbed at his mustache with a handkerchief. "Has Hutch been seeing a girl by the name of Francine Gayles?"
I wasn't sure how to answer. I didn't want to say anything to get Hutch in trouble, and this felt like trouble. It had to be something big for him to ask about our personal lives.
"Um . . . he just went downstairs to get some yogurt, Cap. You can ask him when he gets-"
"Just yes or no, Starsky."
I leaned forward, all prepared to help Hutch out, even if I didn't understand it all. It didn't
matter. I'd defend him to the end. "Well, um, Cap, y'see . . . he knows she has a past, and they talked about it, and she's goin' to college now, to be a nurse, and, you know how Hutch is, he's always one to give somebody another chance, and well . . . um . . . "
"She's dead."
I stared at him. "What?"
He picked up a file and opened it. "Just got the call. Her ex-boyfriend got out of jail and the two of them were at a party last night. She died from a fall. From the rooftop. Everybody was stoned or drunk. Nobody really saw what happened. Or if they did, they're not saying."
My body went numb. "Ex-boyfriend?"
He heaved a heavy sigh. "Raiff Hamilton. Was doing time in San Fransisco for dealing heroin until last night. Childhood sweethearts."
"Did he see what happened?"
Dobey shook his head no. "Said they had an argument about her new cop boyfriend, he left her crying on the roof, and thirty minutes later she was dead." He looked at his watch. "But that's his story, and nobody's disputing it. Thought you should be the one to tell Hutch."
But I heard Hutch's voice-a yell of pain out in the squad room-swearing- thud of furniture against the wall-and knew one of the cops had just told him.
I flew out of Dobey's office but Hutch was already gone. One of the senior officers stood in the doorway with his hands in the air. "Hey, Starsky, I'm sorry. I thought he knew. I was just giving my condolences."
I moved past the cop and ran down the hall, but didn't see where Hutch had gone. The hallway was empty and no one was at the elevator.
"Hutch!"
I took the stairs, but he wasn't there either.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX+
I went to his place but he wasn't there.
And wasn't at Huggy's.
Wasn't at Francine's.
Wasn't at mine.
So I checked one more time at the station, and, still not finding him, went back to his place again. And that's where I found him, pacing the floor with a half-empty bottle of Scotch in his hand. He wasn't crying. He was way past that.
"Hutch, I'm-"
"Don't say it! Don't say you're sorry!"
He didn't look at me. He just kept pacing around the living room. "No more Francine, right? Problem solved, right? Dad'll be happy too."
"Hutch, I'm not happy she's dea-"
"Go ahead, Starsky. Go ahead and say I Told You So."
I grabbed him and shook him hard one time. "Okay, I will. And I WILL say I'm sorry, because I am. Any time you get hurt, I'm sorry. She didn't tell you about her ex-boyfriend, did she, Hutch? Or about her baby that was stillborn from all the drugs in her body? Or that she had done a little time too?"
His eyes were cool blue crystals. "You ran a check on her?"
"Yeah, I did."
"When?"
"An hour ago."
"You ran a CHECK on her?"
"Her old man got out of jail and she went runnin' back to him. It had nothin' to do with me, Hutch. Or you. Or us. It was her. Them. Birds of a feather. They partied, they shot up, and she either fell, or jumped, from the roof."
Hutch raised his head. "She wouldn't do that. She loved me."
"She loved him."
"She loved ME!"
"She thought she loved you. She wanted to."
He pulled away from me and kept walking. "Starsky, he probably pushed her because she was seeing me. But nobody's going to be too concerned about how she died, because she was just a USER!" He drank the Scotch like it would give him strength to get through the conversation. Or strength enough to pretend like it wasn't as bad as it seemed. "He probably gave her the dope too. Probably talked her into it."
"Hutch, she was a grown woman. She chose that needle. And does it really matter if he gave it to her, or she gave it to herself? She was there, at the party, with him. Either way, she wanted it. And him. She knew what she was doing."
Hutch stopped pacing and slumped onto the sofa. "Why would she do that? I thought she loved me."
I shook my head and sat down in a chair across from him. "Maybe she knew, Hutch. That she wasn't good for you. That her past may have been dead, but not buried. I think she went back to him because she knew there was a difference between you and her. Like there was with you and Gillian. And she was making it easy for you to break it off."
Hutch's voice was suddenly a slow whisper. "Starsk . . . " He raised his confused eyes. "What's become of me?"
My head slowly shook no. "Don't say it like that, Hutch."
"I have to. I mean . . . look who I fell in love with. For the first time in years. Did I see myself in her? Did I?"
My arm reached across the coffee table and rested on his forearm. "You saw your good stuff in her. Strength. Beauty. Fight. Resilience."
Hutch's tone was not bitter. "And you saw the bad."
"I saw . . . " I tried to keep my voice gentle. "Her wanting you to save her, instead of her saving herself. I saw her running from her past, not dealing with it. I saw you wanting to help her. I saw you forgiving her and accepting her. But it would have been a one-sided marriage, Hutch. With you doing all the giving, and her doing all the taking. And yes, you do deserve better than that. You deserve all the good things in the world. You've had enough of the bad. You were too much for her, Hutch. Too good. She couldn't handle it. She had to go back to what she was comfortable with. What she knew." I squeezed his arm. "Buddy, that's not you."
Hutch looked away with tears in his eyes. "I've got to know, Starsk. How she died. Accident. Suicide. Murder. I have to know."
I came around the coffee table and put an arm around him. "I know, buddy. I know. But
don't worry about that right now. That part will come."
XXXXXXXXXXXX+
Hutch didn't really cry at her funeral. I think he was too mad, or too confused, or too hurt.
I knew it would be a different story later, though. When he was home alone, looking at the things she'd left behind at his place, when he was boxing them up, it'd hit him, and he'd break down.
He had to be far away to do it.
Far away from me-("you deserve better, Hutch")
Far away from his father's eyes-("how could you love someone like her, Kenneth? Did you know all that about her when you proposed? I can't believe you'd sink that low")
Far away from the officers who were starting to talk about him behind his back-("party girl, been around, truck-stop tramp, uniform groupie")
I had hurt him with my words, and there was no getting around it
This was one time I couldn't comfort him. Because I was part of the pain.
I was grateful that he let me by his side during the service. It was all he could accept from me at the time.
We stood together at the casket. They had veiled her face.
He placed a small gold locket in the pillowy satin beside her. "Rest now, Francine," he whispered to her.
He didn't have to tell me the locket held their pictures. He bought it for her and I watched him trim down their photo for it at the squad room desk before putting it inside.
"It's not like you were married to her," Mr. Hutchinson's voice said behind us. "It'll get easier with time."
Hutch didn't say anything. I knew he didn't have the power.
"He loved her," I told him quietly in Hutch's defense, and my fingernails cut into the palms of my hands where I was squeezing my fists so hard.
Nobody could push my buttons like Richard Hutchinson. He could be as cold, but as solid, as stone. He could cut you down and build you up in the same sentence.
"He would have spent the rest of his life with her, Mr. Hutchinson. Haven't you ever loved anybody so much that you didn't care who they were or where they came from or how much money they had? Haven't you ever loved someone so much that that person is the only thing in the whole wide world that mattered?"
He looked at me for so long that at first I thought he hadn't even heard me.
But then, for some reason, his eyes got a brighter, mistier shade of blue, and there was a look like sadness, or regret, or a yearning in them that I didn't understand.
Maybe he'd never had real love. Maybe he'd always wanted that and was so unhappy because he'd never found it.
"David, let me see your hand."
"My what?"
I could almost see him smackin' it with a ruler like a stern school master.
But not really. The look in his eyes had softened too much for that. So I held my hand out for him to see, and I saw for the first time that I'd actually drawn blood.
"Here," he said as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around my hand. "I see a lot of love in your hand," he said as he tied the ends of the handkerchief together. "I think my son's going to need it."
With that, Hutch turned around and moved into his father's outstretched arms.
End
