Not
Precisely Cupid
by
Verlaine
When the number lights on the clock tell me
it's quarter to five, I finally give up on the idea of sleep and ease out of
bed. I'm not ready to deal with Dave and Hutch yet, so I don't bother to look
for any of my clothes. My robe is in the bathroom—it'll do. I freeze for a
second when the door creaks as I close it, but neither of them so much as
twitches. They're still tangled up the way they fell asleep, and I don't think
either of them has moved a muscle since.
There's
enough street glow coming through the front window that I don't need to turn on
any lights. That's fine with me—I'm comfortable with the dark. Ever since I was
little girl, I've made a point of being able to find my way through any place I
live even when it's pitch black. You never can tell what kind of emergency
might come up.
I'd
like my slippers—the kitchen floor is a little chilly on my bare feet—but
they're in the bedroom, and I still need time to think before I go back there.
I've learned something tonight, something that could have a big effect on my
future plans, and I need to be absolutely sure about how I want to use it
before I make my next move.
I
put the kettle on the stove, and take the tin of Keemun out of the cupboard.
I'm in the mood for a strong and bitter cup of tea. I need a clear head.
I
don't understand how I could have read Hutch and Dave so completely wrong. I
would have sworn I had them figured out in the first five minutes. Best
friends, yes, but with enough competition between them to put an edge to it.
Everybody had told me how tight they were. "Closer than brothers" is
what I kept hearing, but from what I had seen it looked like a lot of that was
the kind of exaggeration you get about people who have a reputation. People
always want to believe their heroes are better, stronger, more loving and
beautiful than real life. They don't want to see the feet of clay.
That
kind of blindness always gives me an advantage. I look for the things other
people don't want to see, because those are so often the things that are most
useful.
***
The
expression on Hutch's face when I said "Sure, why not?" was priceless.
He'd actually thought they could intimidate me. It was all I could do to keep
from laughing out loud. I've faced down thugs with guns, and played
departmental politics in the BCPD A
couple of pretty boy detectives in black leather jackets? No contest.
For
a second, Dave looked sick. He really did care, and I felt a flash of sympathy for him.
But I held the thought: if he was going to play hard-ball with me, he needed to
get one thing straight: I don't ever back down.
And
I don't lose.
***
I
have to struggle to get the tin open, and then of course, when the lid comes
off, tea-leaves go all over the counter. I force myself to stop and take a
couple of very deep breaths. I need to get hold of myself. Okay, so things didn't
turn out the way I planned, but it's not the first time. I've always been able
to think on my feet, and there's no reason why this can't work to my advantage
in the long run. The key to success, I've discovered, is having firm long-term
goals, but being very flexible in how you achieve them.
After
all, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, right?
***
I
made sure we were going to my house. When there's an issue of control,
especially for a woman, the person who holds the turf has an advantage. I also
made sure to drive my own car. I didn't want to have to depend on anybody for a
ride in the morning. This wasn't really a date, after all.
Dave
had stopped looking sick, and he was being a gentleman—smiling, opening the
door for me, polite hand on my back. But none of that reached his eyes. That
was when I first started to feel a little uneasy. Dave had gone back
undercover, only this time what he was playing was my boyfriend. I always knew
they were good: there isn't a cop in the city who doesn't have a whole file of
stories about outrageous set-ups Starsky and Hutch pulled and got away with.
But seeing it directed against some street scum loser, and seeing it focused on
you—that's a whole different story.
Hutch
just looked scared. I think he would have backed down if Dave hadn't been
acting so completely cool and in control.
***
I
haven't let the tea steep long enough. It's too weak, and the bite I was
craving isn't there. With a shrug, I take the tequila bottle down, and pour a
splash into the cup. It's five-thirty—the cocktail hour in New Zealand. Or
Tahiti. Somewhere, anyway.
Sitting
here with chilly feet, in the ice-pale grey just before dawn, there's a part of
me—not a very big part, I have to say—that wouldn't mind going back into the
bedroom and waking one of the them up—doesn't matter which one—and seeing if I
can play the game a little longer. But the truth is, I've had enough. Of both
of them. I've got some long-term plans, and being Mrs. Poor-But-Honest-Cop
isn't part of them. If I play my cards right, there's no reason why I couldn't
be the first woman police chief in Bay City. I'll probably have to shoot that
old bastard Ryan to get the job—he's the kind they'll have to carry out feet
first. But a good arrest record, and knowing the right things about the right
people should take me a long way.
Good
sex won't take me anywhere.
***
They
were always very good in bed, in completely different ways. But tonight Dave
was just going through the motions. Undercover—I almost laughed out loud when
that thought surfaced again. Technically, he was as good as ever, but all the
warmth and love that had been behind even the slightest touch was gone. He was
fucking me like I was a ten-dollar whore. I could have told him not to waste
his time—nobody's been able to make me ashamed of anything in bed since I was
twelve.
Poor
Hutch could barely keep it up. Whether it was because he felt guilty doing it
with me in front of Dave, or because he felt sorry for me, I couldn't tell, but
it was frustrating as hell. If a man's going to try to pull something like this
off, he should at least be able to do it right.
***
I
have some more tea. There's no reason why police chief has to be the last step.
A trusted public servant with a good reputation can always take a shot at
politics. Mayor? State legislature?
Provided I can hang onto my looks into my fifties, why not?
I
don't talk about those plans. A lot of the time it's useful to have people
focus on your looks, assume you're maybe a little cunning but not really smart.
Men don't like women with ambition. And right now, it's still fun to have men
like me. Once I move up in the ranks, I'll have to be more careful. Can't have
the underlings gossiping about the lieutenant, or the captain.
Not
that there won't be that kind of talk anyway. People usually assume that when a
woman gets somewhere, she slept her way there. Provided it doesn't get out of
hand, it's not a bad thing to have them think. It makes them underestimate me.
I
take another sip of my jazzed up tea, and suddenly find myself laughing. Be
honest, Kira. Sure, I got about as much out of Dave and Hutch as I reasonably
could. But that's only part of the reason I don't feel like going back in the
bedroom. Because, just between me and the teapot here, I don't think there's
any point.
***
When
Dave stretched out his hand, I wasn't sure what he was reaching for, but what
he got was Hutch's leg. He ran his fingers up along the knee, stroking gently,
almost absently.
I
couldn't see Dave's face, but Hutch was looking straight at him, and I could
see the expression on his face clearly. Hutch was scared again.
And
hungry.
The
truth hit me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly all the stupid crap these two had
been pulling on each other ever since this case had started made sense. I could
have kicked myself for not seeing it before; it could have made everything a
lot more interesting.
Then
it occurred to me that things might get too interesting now. Hutch hadn't been able to
hide his reaction to Dave's touch, and if Dave's reputation was even half-way
true, I might just be watching the last minute or two of a famous partnership.
I took a quick glance around to make sure the way to the door was clear, in
case I had to make a fast exit.
Both
of them had frozen in place like kids playing statues. I shifted back an inch
or so, ready to jump off the bed before the punches started flying.
Then
Dave whispered, "Hutch?" and reached up and ran his hand very
tenderly through Hutch's hair. "Babe?"
He'd
never called me "babe". Sweetheart, honey, a couple of other things.
But never babe. And never in that tone of voice. The scared look on Hutch's face slowly
went away, to be replaced by—I'm not quite sure what it was. Wonder? Hope?
Dave reached up with his other hand, and slowly pulled Hutch down and
kissed him.
I've
done three-ways before, and I can tell when guys have been playing on both
sides of the fence. It was painfully obvious these two hadn't. They kept
bumping noses, and neither of them seemed to be able to figure out where to put
their hands. I was all ready to laugh, and move my way into the middle before
it got totally embarrassing for both of them, when something—clicked.
I
could practically hear the sound as everything that was wrong and awkward and
out of synch between them just got blown away like a pile of sawdust in a
windstorm. All the passion and tenderness that neither of them had even been
able to try to fake with me came pouring out, wrapping them up in an almost
tangible blanket of love.
I
watched for maybe five seconds, and then rolled over. They never even noticed.
***
I
keep thinking I should have seen this. Are they that good at being undercover,
at hiding all their real feelings and thoughts from everybody? Or did Dave
truly and honestly not know it about himself until he knew it about Hutch?
Or—and
this is worrying—am I losing my touch? Did I miss it? Or did I not want to see
it?
No.
Definitely not. I did not buy into Dave's little love-and-marriage
fantasy. Some people may be meant for domestic bliss, but it has no attraction
for me. Hutch probably hasn't realized it yet, but his tomcatting days are
over. Dave's staked his claim, and I suspect all Hutch will get any say in is
what color the paint on the picket fence will be.
Well,
better him than me.
The
sky's finally starting to show some peach and pink over the trees. It'll be a
good day, I think. I can wrap up the paper work for Captain Dobey, get on with
my next assignment. It won't hurt to throw in a little comment about how much I
learned working for him.
I'll
let the guys sleep another half hour before I roust them out. I think the best
way to play it will be woman-of-the-world: a little amused, a little chagrined,
but willing to concede gracefully to the better man—whichever one he is.
They'll remember that, once they have the time to get some perspective on all
this. After all, it could be useful in the long run to have some allies among
the street cops. Especially if they've got a reputation for being honest.
But
I draw the line at breakfast.