Disclaimer: I don't intend to step on any legal toes; just want to have a little fun. After all, girls just wanna have fun…oh, wait a minute, that's been taken, too. Thanks: Smiles to Karen-Leigh, for her sharp eyes and excellent 'fiction ear.'  For Ellis M. and Sue D., who have encouraged me to spread my wings
Comments about this story can be sent tol: kam2003sh@excite.com

Come Inside, Love

By

Kaye Austen Michaels
January 18, 2002

   He sat on the brand-new, green and white striped patio chair and listened to the squeaking of the plastic beneath his weight as one hears the opening notes of a concerto. The night sounds only increased the pleasure. Somewhere a squirrel chattered. A breeze rustled through the trees spotting the tiny backyard and a late-roosting bird informed all of nature's creatures that bedtime had long since come. He set the open can of beer on the equally brand-new and equally plastic patio end table at his side and crossed his ankles, stretching his legs down to the very end of the chair, lounging back, exulting in the peace and the golden quality of 'silence.'

   He was alone. So rarely was he alone anymore. He'd been a bodyguard/physician's assistant for months. He'd gone through the coaching phase…had even teasingly bought a whistle on a rope chain and a clipboard to carry around during the at-home physical therapy sessions. He'd taken his turn at psychotherapy and threatened to buy a long leather fainting couch to go with the whistle and clipboard. His stint as long-term care strategist also included moonlighting as a real estate agent. He hadn't bought a fainting couch; he'd bought a small house. Now those hats all hung happily on the memories-rack and he didn't know what he was.

   But he was alone. For a few minutes, he faced a world that didn't beat human beings down beyond what they could bear. And he—selfishly, his guilt impulse screamed—enjoyed the chance to soak in that fantasy. The breeze turned into wind and picked up his hair, longer now than ever before, and he laughed at the tickling sensation. The laughter joined the squirrel's chattering and seemed a perfectly coherent conversation.

   Then he saw it…the hint of light glistening under a shrub just ten feet away. Tiny gold-green glints more feline than canine, though he knew it was a dog. The dog. The stray he'd only seen in snatches of fur and trembling under shrubbery and in shadows. He'd never been able to do more than approach within ten feet of the animal, coaxing and whispering kindly words with more sincerity than he'd used with anyone—save for one notable exception-- in the last two months.

   He knew not to attempt making contact tonight. The eyes glittered at him, a poignant warning in their flickering back and forth between the patio's soft lighting and the night's darkness.

   Then the lighting changed, grew harsher as the back door opened halfway, and the glittering eyes disappeared amid a switching of tiny branches.

   "Hutch, you comin' in?"

   He didn't move. He folded his hands across his stomach. "Why?"

   "Just wondered. Uh…Never mind."

   The jagged bright triangle of interior light vanished as the door closed, banging in the stillness. Hutch sighed and let his head droop. Simultaneously, he reached down and tugged at his jeans' zipper, petting the developing ache. So passed Night One. He couldn't hear his conscience's ranting. The self-condemnation had turned into a buzz of noise in the back of his mind that he studiously ignored. What was so wrong with his plan? Had anything else worked? Decide on a set of circumstances. If 'A' happens, execute 'Action A. If 'B' happens, resort to 'Action B.' Certainly that was more scientific and acceptable than those accounts of WWI battle strategies determined by the results of card games over cognac.

********

   Clouds hid the starlight. He sipped at his coffee and smiled at the warmth radiating in waves through his body, more tangible in the autumn air's faintest nip. Southern California never allowed one to truly appreciate coffee, but on the rare occasion he felt a hint of the pleasure he'd known on wintry Minnesota mornings, savoring the first swallow like fine vintage wine. His mind took that image and manipulated it. How would the first moment of a different kind of warmth feel? The warmth that came from transforming moans and whimpers into music, of lighting fires in dark blue eyes turned to black, erasing pain and self-doubt with blatant desire. What human could honestly say being desired, worshiped, adored, needed meant nothing? No, but lies were easily told and walls even easier to build.

   Panting broke his concentration. He leaned forward in the patio chair and peered at the clump of bushes across the yard. Ah—movement. His friend had returned. He smiled and collected the bit of steak from the napkin on the end table. Clucking his tongue in the universal language recognized by animals, he rose slowly and as noiselessly as possible. A whine from the bush indicated fear and impending flight. He froze in mid-step and dropped the piece of steak onto the ground. He lingered for a moment, listening, his own heart pounding. Briefly, he felt that their heartbeats had found a joint rhythm. Then, he began backing away. As steadily as he retreated, the animal emerged from his hiding place.

   Ignorant souls would call the dog a mutt. Hutch knew better. This was a warrior, and he carried the scars. One leg, an odd tan color in contrast to the mixture of gray-and-white in the majority of the dog's coat, lagged behind in a pitiful limp. He stopped just a foot short of the meat. Hutch resumed the tongue clucking and took a tentative step forward. The dog quivered, whined, and ducked his head, backing away from the steak. Hutch raised his hands to convey his harmlessness and moved backward again. The lowered head and distrustful stance remained in place until Hutch reached the patio chair. Suddenly, the dog sprang forward; snatching the meat, he scurried for cover, dragging the injured leg behind him. Hutch sighed heavily and collapsed on the chair.

   The back door opened.

   "Hutch?"

   He ordered himself to keep still and quiet. Not for long. "Yes?"

   "I'm…" A gruff laugh. "You're gonna spend the night out here?"

   Hutch glanced at his pajama bottoms. Shook his head. "No. Why?"

   "I'm turning in. You lock up." The door closed.

   Hutch swallowed hard. "Night two," he whispered in the solitude.

********

   The storm subsided in fits and spurts. A patch of drizzle here punctuated by a clap of thunder there. When the drizzle gentled to a soft mist, he wiped the patio chair with a bath towel and stretched out on it in bliss. He drained the soda in his glass and smiled at its bite on his tongue and in the back of his throat. He was tempted to gargle it. Laughing, he set the glass down on the table and watched the lightning in the distance.

   He'd plucked at his guitar and sung to the sound of the thunder when the storm was raging. He fielded strange looks and finally a sharp comment, but the urge to join in the vibrant natural spectacle would not abate. The monotony was broken; let there be sound and fury!

   He heard a soft whine. "Ah, fellow, good to see you again. Guess what I have?"

   The dog quivered on the very edge of the shrubbery. Ears perked, body strained and prepared for escape. His nose wiggled expectantly as if he understood Hutch's words perfectly.

   "Veal: the food of the victorious. You going to come my way or do we have to still meet in the middle?"

   The whine gave way to a bark. Hutch took that as an affirmative and jumped from the lounge chair. He crossed the lawn reverently, bearing the veal as homage to a higher being. As the distance closed, the dog lifted his head and woofed, taking a few halting steps of his own. Hutch felt his heart start up an a cappella praise anthem, the likes of which he'd heard little Rosie Dobey lisping as she prepared for her next children's choir practice.

   Hutch held out his hand, offering the veal as though on an English bone china plate. The dog sniffed warily, nuzzled the hand and finally licked at the fingers. Hutch laughed, resting back on his heels. The teasing licks of the dog's tongue as he devoured the meal from Hutch's hand reminded Hutch of days gone by, of a puppy named Wilkins—who had named him Wilkins? —who followed him around and would lap bits of hamburger from his little boy hands.

   Lulled by the dog's gentle submission to his offer of friendship, Hutch extended his other hand to scratch at one of the short, lopsided ears. Too much, too fast: the dog reared back, snarled, and braced for conflict. Surprised, Hutch fell back on his rump and sprawled on the wet grass. He smiled with his signature softness and rose an inch at a time. One more whine and the dog was a white-and-gray blur merging with the green landscaping.

   "Hutch?"

   He continued righting himself at the same pace. He turned to face the figure standing in the bright light of the open door. "Yeah?"

   "You—uh—comin' inside soon?"

   "Do you want me to come inside?"

   "I—well, dammit, why do I have to want you to come inside? It was just a question. Never mind. Sheesh."

   "Shhh, it's okay," Hutch said, voice as light as the returning mist. "I'll be in soon. Promise."

   "Yeah, fine, whatever."

   Hutch sank back down on the grass as the door slammed shut. Optimism he had not experienced since his youth flooded through his system and brought a twenty-year-old's grin to his face. "Progress."

********

   Rare fog draped the back yard and transformed it into a mythical land. He settled down in the lounge chair and gulped down half the lemonade in his glass. The extra spoonful of sugar coated the tang and made both tastes pleasurable. His taste buds registered the combination with childish delight. He smacked his lips and started to hum. He tried to pick out a few stars through the fog, but gave up when his neck complained of the craning. He rested his head against the chair's three-quarter raised back and closed his eyes.

   Snuffling cut short his brief snooze. He jerked awake and nearly fell out of the chair. Three feet away from his toes the dog waited, head down, eyes pleading, tongue lolling in the unspoken request for food. Hutch frowned. "I'm sorry, fella. Didn't have anything to bring out tonight. Went to a restaurant for dinner. Vegetarian…didn't think you'd approve."

   The dog tossed his head and barked; limped closer. Hutch's frown lines deepened. "Are you ever going to let me have a look at that leg?"

   The dog barked more forcefully and backed away.

   "Easy; easy. Okay, you don't want to be nurse-maided. I read you loud and clear. How about a man-to-man chat?"

   The animal crept closer and curled awkwardly on the patio tiles beside the lounge chair.

   "Don't suppose you'd care to introduce yourself?"

   A whine.

   "All right. If I called you Mikey, would you run away?"

   Exuberant barking.

   "He likes, he likes," Hutch smiled. "Mikey it is."

   The door's sudden opening startled both man and dog. Hutch clung to the chair as he rolled to face the door and when he glanced back to check on his friend, he found Mikey had fled the premises.

   "Hutch…was that a—"

   "Dog? Yes. Stray…wounded." Hutch mentally kicked his shin. Why had he attached that bit of news? "Named him Mikey."

   A smile. "That some kinda whatchmacallit…subliminal message?"

   "No-o-o. Pulled it off the top of my head."

   "You gonna burn the midnight oil out here?"

   "Something going on?"

   A shy smile. "Thought you might want to—there's a good flick on channel 9."

   "Okay. Sounds good. I'll be there in a sec."

   The door closed slowly, softly…as if not quite ready. Hutch found he could make out a group of stars; the fog was lifting. Friendship. Was that the verdict then? He smiled to himself. One more night to go.

********

   The full moon was bright and inviting. He sipped at his water and relished the quenching purity: fresh spring water--much better than the tap and worth every penny of the extra cost. Not a cloud in the sky to mar his view of the heavens. He could identify constellations as easily as he had in his college astronomy class. A song from a more carefree time bubbled up from his heart and danced around his mouth until he opened his lips and set it free.

   "'It's too late…to turn back now…I believe, I believe, I believe I've fallen in love…. Oh, it's too late…to turn back now…'"

   A howl interrupted the melody. Hutch burst out laughing. "Now, thanks a lot. You know, a few people have actually told me that I can sing. Got to be a critic out there somewhere; guess you're it."

   A whine was followed by a bark as the dog limped hurriedly toward the patio.

   "Anyway, I mean it, even if I never get to say it."    

   Joyful barking. Mikey wobbled on his one healthy hind leg and scratched his forepaws on Hutch's leg. Hutch grinned.

   "Is that a request…or an order?"

   Mikey snuffled. Hutch laughed and turned to reach for the dog. He lifted the gangly animal onto his lap and laughed louder as the dog tried to squirm for a better position. Then his laughter shifted to concern. "Mikey…is that hurting your leg? Let me see…"

   Pitiful whining delayed his action. "Shh…Okay, no problem. No doctoring. Just hang out with me and I won't even sing. That suit you better?"

   Mikey calmed immediately and rested in Hutch's arms.

   The door swung open and connected with the side of the house. Hutch jerked in the chair but retained equilibrium and his hold on Mikey.

   "Hutch…."

   The voice was different. Hutch recognized the tone even in the one word. Body heat that had nothing to do with a dog draped over his lap brought a flush to his cheeks. He shifted in the seat and focused on the man standing in the doorway. "Yes, Starsk?"

   "Come inside…."

   Hutch reined in his emotions and sought clarification. "You want me to come inside?"

   The curls, diamond-studded in the moonlight, captivated him as Starsky nodded. "Come inside, love. I—I need you."

   Hutch spared a moment for his newfound friend. "Mikey…."

   Mikey needed no coaxing. He scrambled as best he could from the chair and waited, tail wagging, on the patio. Hutch smiled and turned to the man who also waited.

   Starsky stepped onto the patio. Even in jeans and a sweatshirt two sizes too big, he wove a spell around the night. Hutch walked up to him and grasped the sides of his face lightly. He breathed deeply and tilted his head to touch Starsky's lips in a fragile, questioning kiss: a brush of lips, lingering on the top one, and then a soft kiss on his chin. Starsky wrapped loose, still weakened arms around Hutch's back and breathed against his partner's neck.

   "Is it because of what I said? Or did you know?"

   Hutch whispered, "I knew."

   "Then…you know, you coulda—"

   "I knew the way the wind was blowing…for me at least. Have for some time. You were throwing out some really mixed signals though, so I thought I'd back away and give you some space. Let you figure out what you wanted."

   Starsky digested that news. He kissed the warm neck, threaded a hand through Hutch's long hair and tickled the scalp. "That why you've been camping out here on the patio the last…how many nights?"

   "Five," Hutch laughed, "counting tonight."

   Starsky pulled back and swept a suspicious stare past Hutch's eyes. "Sounds like somebody had a plan."

   "You know me too well. Yes, I decided I'd give you five nights to—uh…invite me in."

   "It's your house too, Blondie."

   "Right; I mean, invite me in as more than a roommate."

   Starsky frowned and stepped out of the embrace. "What were you gonna do if I didn't? Huh? Walk away. Pack up and leave?"

   Hutch strode forward and grasped the dear face in his hands again. "No, no. I had Plan B all figured out."

   "Oh, yeah?"

   "Yeah. I decided if you didn't come on to me in five days, I'd just—I'd just climb in the shower with you on the sixth night and see what happened."

   Starsky burst out laughing. "Kinda makes me wish I'd waited to offer you my charms…." He sighed. "Such as they are."

   Hutch caressed both cheeks with his hands and kissed first one side of Starsky's nose, then the other. "Your charms are considerable. Always have been. Biggest charm of all is the person I've had in my life for a decade now."

   Starsky's smile shed all hints of grief and anxiety. The nightmares, the fragments of memories retreated into the darkness. Hutch could almost hear them slithering into the bushes from whence Mikey had come. "I think I love you, Hutch. I mean, love you, love you. Not just--"

   "I know what you mean. I love you too, Starsky."

   "So, you gonna spend the night out here?"

   "You kidding? Didn't you just invite me in for a nightcap?"

   "No," Starsky said, all seriousness. "I invited you in for a life cap."

   "Oh, my God. Don't—don't say that…unless you mean it."

   "I mean it, blue eyes. On one condition."

   "What's that?"

   "Can we please buy another lounge chair?"

   "Sure…and until we do, we can share that one."

   "Oooh, on second thought, let's not buy a second lounge chair."

   Hutch pulled Starsky close and kissed his way across the curls. "Let's go inside."

   "Finally."

   Hutch turned and patted his leg. "Mikey?"

   Mikey whined.

   "You want to stay out here?"

   Mikey walked around in a circle three times and curled up beside the lounge chair.

   "All right. Suit yourself. Night, fella."

   Starsky leaned around Hutch, still loosely clinging to the embrace, and stared at the dog. Mikey stared back at him, unperturbed.

   "Hutch?"

   "Yeah, Starsk?"

   "You'll think I'm batty—"

   "So what else is new?"

   "Twerp. I'm serious, though…I could just swear that dog's—"

   "What? What's wrong with my dog?"

   "I think he's smiling."

THE BEGINNING

Song lyrics: "Too Late to Turn Back Now" (1972) by the Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose (and may they forgive me for changing 'I'm falling' into 'I've fallen'….Hutch is singing the altered words on purpose! Hee hee hee)