Behavioral Studies

by Kaye

 

When he’s tired, Hutch whistles. When he’s tense, he taps. So the fact that he sat frowning, wheezing out a horrific rendition of “Sister Golden Hair”, while at the same time drumming out what sounded like either “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” or “Bad Blood” on the dashboard, let Starsky know that all was not well in the land of the Big Blond Blintz.

 

So he started humming. Low at first, but then he caught the rhythm of Hutch’s thumbs and he turned up his volume. Hutch stopped tapping and looked at him, frowning.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Joining you. Back-up band.”

 

“Were you just humming “Onward Christian Soldiers”?”

 

Starsky laughed and rolled to a stop as the yellow light turned red. He normally might have skated through, ignoring the yellow, but that usually got him either a lecture or a loud throat clearing and he was already entangled in this odd exchange that would either break Hutch out of his funk or send him further into it, so he obeyed the law he had sworn to uphold, and then turned to his grouchy partner.

 

“Yes, Hutch, I was humming “Onward Christian Soldiers”. Whadda ya think?”

 

“You’re weird.” Hutch stared ahead and commenced his tapping.

 

Sounded more like “Bad Blood” this time. So just to be perverse, Starsky started humming “Breaking Up is Hard to Do”. He didn’t really know “Onward Christian Soldiers”.

 

“Now what are you humming?”

 

“Sedaka. Just like you.”

 

“I’m not humming anything. I’m thinking.”

 

“You’re tense.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“Are too. When you’re tense, you tap.”

 

“You’re making me tense with your humming.”

 

“You were tapping before I was humming. I started humming because of your tapping. And your whistling.”

 

“Whistling?”

 

“Yeah – sounded like America. Could have been Joni, though. Except I don’t think you can hum Joni.”

 

Hutch’s mouth twitched and he shook his head. “No, no one can hum to Joni. Not even Joni. And it was America. “Sister Golden Hair”.”

 

“New girlfriend?” Starsky asked as he eased the Torino through the intersection.

 

“Hardly. When do I have time?” Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose. “This stakeout has crushed any hope of finding a new anything. What is this? The third week?”

 

“This, my whistling friend, is week four in the ongoing saga of two bored cops sitting in a car all night watching a gas station which has not been open for business, nor has it seen any human traffic whatsoever for over a year, that is what this is.”

 

“Did you drink an entire pot of coffee this afternoon?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you’re rambling. And you only ramble when you drink too much coffee. And you drink too much coffee when you’re worried. Are you worried about something?”

 

“That is not true.” Starsky turned onto a tree-lined street and pulled to the curb across from the boarded up gas station. He honked at the car in front of them, and the man in the driver’s seat waved and pulled off. “I drank two cups of coffee, I’m not rambling and I’m not worried. So stop picking. You only pick when you’re bored.”

 

“Do not.”

 

“Hutch, we have six hours left here, which will seem like six days if all you do is pick fights with me.”

 

“I’m not picking a fight. I’m merely making observations about your character and your habits that I’ve noticed over the years. Which is how long I think we’ve been stuck on this assignment.”

 

“No, you’re mad because I was making observations about your habits, specifically your whistling and your tapping, and you didn’t like it. You couldn’t sleep this afternoon, could you?”

 

“No, but I don’t know what that has to do . . . “

 

“And I bet your mother called.”

 

Hutch turned sideways in the seat. “How did you know . . .”

 

“Hutch, I know all about you. Everything. You only get this tense when you hear from your mother. Or about a woman. And you said yourself we don’t have time for that, so I knew it had to be Mama Hutchinson.”

 

“Yes, she called. Was in the middle of some major lecture when she had to hang up because my father needed her in the garden. They’re planting tomatoes. Who knows what she really wanted. Who knows what she ever wants.”

 

“So you whistled.”

 

“I guess. I’m just bored. Aren’t you bored, Starsky?”

 

“Not really. I’m with you.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, it’s where I usually want to be. I like hanging out with you.”

 

“Really, Beav? You’re not just giving me the business, are you?”

 

“And that’s why I said usually. Not always. Hate it when you get sarcastic. And that only happens when you’re frustrated.”

 

“Frustrated?”

 

“You know . . . frustrated.”

 

“Oh.” Hutch grimaced and picked up a magazine from under his feet.

 

“Oh?” That all you got?”

 

In response, Hutch flipped open the magazine and started whistling. Starsky rolled his eyes and began humming.

 

“Okay, now that’s just ridiculous. You are humming Onward Christian Soldiers.”

 

“Am not. It’s Blueberry Hill.”

 

“Blueberry Hill?”

 

“Yeah. Like, “I got my threeeiiiill . . .” Starsky sang loudly.

 

“I know the song, Starsky. But that’s not what you’re humming. You’re humming this.” Hutch began humming what Starsky could only guess was Onward Christian Soldiers.

 

“I’ll take your word for it, Hutch.” He grabbed another magazine from the floorboard under Hutch’s feet. “I’m just saying that it sure would make things go smoother if you would find some way to relieve your . . . frustration.”

 

Hutch stopped humming. “That an offer?”

 

Starsky stopped reading. “That a question?”

 

Hutch leaned over and trailed a finger down Starsky’s thigh.

 

Starsky swatted Hutch’s hand away. “Hey. We’re on duty.”

 

“Well, I’m just trying to do what you suggested – relieve my frustration.”

 

“Hutch, will you cut it out.”

 

“I will if you will.”

 

“I’m not doing anything.”

 

Hutch sighed and laid his head against the seat. “Don’t I know it.”

 

Starsky scrubbed a finger over his left eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

 

“Ah ha,” Hutch sat up and turned to Starsky. “You’re nervous. Why are you nervous?”

 

“I’m not nervous.”

 

“Are too. You pull at your eyebrow when you get nervous.”

 

“Do not.”

 

“And I don’t whistle. So I guess we’re even.”

 

Starsky let out a sigh that sounded a little like a growl. “You do too whist- okay, you win.”

 

Hutch scooted closer. “What’s my prize?”

 

Starsky jammed his shoulder into the door. “Get away, you whacko.” He raised a finger to his eyebrow, but stopped, glancing guiltily at Hutch, who was smiling.

 

“Told you. Nervous.”

 

“Go to hell.”

 

“Really? Hmmm, nervous and frustrated.”

 

“Dammit, Hutch, I mean it. Stop it.”

 

“You only curse when you’re frustrated.”

 

“No, I curse when I’m pissed. Now leave me alone or I’ll take a sick day and leave you out here all by yourself.”

 

Hutch sighed and faced forward. “Okay. You started it, though. Remember that.”

 

Starsky eased off the door and rolled down the window. Hutch started tapping on the dash.

Starsky tapped on the steering wheel. Then Hutch started whistling. Starsky recognized it right away. Row Your Boat. After the second time through, Starsky joined him. The whistling got louder and louder. The tapping moved from fingers to feet. Soon Starsky was honking the horn to the beat. His finale toots doubled Hutch over with laughter.

 

The bleep of a siren startled them.  A district cruiser pulled up along beside them and a young uniformed officer, whom neither one recognized, rolled down his window.

 

“You fellas okay?”

 

Starsky straightened up and Hutch ran a hand through his hair. Wiped the tears from his face. Coughed. He leaned across Starsky.

 

“We’re fine. How are you?”

 

The officer frowned. “I’m going to have to ask you to move along.”

 

The badge Starsky stuck out the window silenced any further interrogation. Hutch tried not to grin.

 

“We’re on a stakeout.” Starsky pulled his badge back. “Metro. You can verify it with Captain Dobey if you need to.”

 

“Well, we got a complaint from the neighborhood. Suspicious behavior.  Said someone was out here singing hymns. You sure you’re okay?”

 

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other and burst out laughing.

 

“Well, I don’t know about him,” Hutch managed and pointed his thumb at Starsky, “but I’m tired and tense and bored and apparently very frustrated. That right?” he asked Starsky.

 

“Yep. That about covers it. Thanks, officer. We’re fine. But your cruiser kinda puts a kink in our stakeout. Sticks out like a sore thumb.”

 

The officer frowned and drove off, muttering, “My cruiser? How about that big red boat you wise guys are sitting in?”

 

The squad car disappeared from view and they sat quiet for a moment. Then Hutch grabbed a magazine and Starsky stuck his foot out the window, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Hutch turned and rested his back on the door, and stretched his legs out on the seat, resting his feet in Starsky’s lap. Starsky laid a hand on Hutch’s ankle. 

 

He shifted a bit and then slipped his hand under Hutch’s pant leg and began rubbing his calf. Hutch sighed and scooted his legs further onto Starsky’s lap. Starsky smiled and kneaded the muscle, chuckling when he heard Hutch’s low moan.

 

“That feels great.” Hutch murmured.

 

“Yeah, I know. You purr when you’re happy.”

 

“Purr?”

 

“Like a big ol kitty.”

 

“Do not.”

 

“Okay. Then you sigh like a lovesick moose. That better?”

 

“Starsky, just keep rubbing. Unless you want me to start whistling again.”

 

“Hell, no. You want to get us arrested?”

 

“No, but I want you to do the other leg.”

 

Hutch shifted and Starsky moved his hand to his other foot, massaging the ankle before lightly moving his hand up to caress Hutch’s calf muscle.

 

“You know, Hutch, all you really need is a massage. Relieve all that tension and frustration at the same time.”

 

“You offering?”

 

“Yeah. No. No. Well, maybe. I don’t know.”

 

“I didn’t know it was a multiple choice question.”

 

Starsky stopped rubbing and looked over at Hutch. “It’s a complicated question.”

 

“Not so complicated.” Hutch pressed his feet into Starsky’s lap.

 

Starsky put both hands under Hutch’s ankles to relieve the pressure. “Not here.”

 

Hutch withdrew his legs and sat up straight. “Not here implies maybe somewhere else.”

 

“Not here implies not here. We’re at work. You want Dudley Do Right to come back?”

 

“No. I want you to talk to me. What exactly does “not here” mean?”

 

Starsky tugged at his eyebrow. Stopped. Looked at Hutch. Tapped the steering wheel. Looked out the window. Hummed two bars of Mary Had A Little Lamb. Looked over to Hutch and smiled weakly. Shrugged.

 

“Not here means maybe somewhere else . . .” He held up a finger to stop Hutch’s reply. “But only if you promise not to whistle or tap for the rest of the night.”

 

Hutch closed his mouth. Opened it. Closed it again. Lifted a finger. Ran a hand through his hair. Rubbed the wrinkles out of his pants. Sighed. Then turned to Starsky and grinned. Nodded.

 

“You’re on, partner. You’re on.”

 

Starsky looked over and the smile on Hutch’s face scared him.  He didn’t recognize it. And then he did. And then he wondered just exactly what he had done. And then he knew. And then he looked at his watch and hoped he could wait six more hours for the promise in that smile, which held a future he didn’t even know he wanted. He started to hum, caught himself, and instead looked out the window and down the street.

 

They sat silent for ten more minutes.  Then, just like countless times before, they came to the same decision at exactly the same time. They moved as one – Starsky starting the Torino, Hutch grabbing the handset, calling in for a replacement team. Ten minutes later, they were racing toward Venice.

 

“Not so fast, Starsk. Kind of inconvenient at this point for you to get a ticket.” Hugh white-knuckled the door handle as Starsky took the corner without slowing down.

 

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Starsky ignored the advice and accelerated instead. “You only complain about my driving when you’re happy.”

 

“And you only drive like this when you’re about to get laid.”

 

Starsky slammed on the brakes and the Torino fishtailed, coming to a stop against the opposite curb. “What did you just say?”

 

“You heard me.” Hutch just stared straight ahead, a smile hovering, his eyes dancing.

Starsky obeyed the speed limits the rest of the way home.