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Blame it on the Rum

By

Keri T

   Sun? Is that sun? Oh, God, is it? What time is it? Eyes more red than blue opened cautiously to see what the malicious light was. That was his first mistake of the new day.

   My head! Oh, my God-- my head! It’s gonna explode and it weighs fifty pounds. What happened to my head? It took some coordination to feel around the perimeter of the offending object, before gently laying it back down on a slightly damp pillow. It’s huge. I have a huge head and it’s lying on a wet pillow. Why is it wet? What’s that noise?!

   From the other room came the sound of an enthusiastic baritone singing happily and loudly.

   Brain cells collided inside the aching head as he tried to make sense of the sun shining, the wet pillow and now this singing.

   As if the singer heard the silent thought, the joyful voice raised higher still, nearly crushing the head of the sufferer.

   The groaning from the bed was no longer silent.

   Bright pinpoints of light were impossible to extinguish since his eyes were already closed. The singing was impossible to extinguish, too.

   The sufferer sat bolt upright in bed. Buried in the rum? "Starsky! That’s wrong!"

   Heavy footsteps preceded the entrance of the depressingly cheerful, bright-eyed detective. "Hey, g’mornin’! Wasn’t sure you were wakin’ up today at all. Now what’s wrong? "

   The blond head resumed its reclining position. "The rum." Hutch mumbled. "The rum is wrong."

   "Well, babe, so was all that tequila, but there was no stopping you." Starsky stepped a little closer to the bed. "Okay, this may be the worst you’ve ever looked."

   Hutch groaned again and grabbed his rolling stomach. "Thank you so much, Starsk, and that’s not what I was talking about! The rum in the song is wrong."

   "The song is wrong? Hutch, I was playing Simon and Garfunkel and they’re geniuses. I think they can write whatever lyrics they want to write."

   "You were singing it wrong."

   "I was singing with the record, so I was singing it right." Starsky smiled down patiently at his hurting partner and tried to get some of the tangled blond hair in some kind of order.    

   "Don’t touch that!"

   "Your hair?"

   "Yes, my hair!"

   "How come?"

   "It hurts."

   "Your hair hurts?"

   "Yes, my hair hurts!

   "I didn’t know that was possible."

   "Well, it is and the rum is wrong."

   "The rum is always wrong the next morning."

   "Is it really morning?"

   "’Fraid so. Why don’t you try and get a little more sleep?" Starsky started backing out of the room.

   "What happened last night?"

   "I better tell you later."

   This can’t be good, Hutch thought miserably, trying to turn on his side at the same time. The movement caused the blankets to fall off, revealing a smooth and naked hip. He stared at it and then at his partner. "Do I want to know why I don’t have any clothes on?"

   "I don’t think so," Starsky replied with a heavy headshake in the negative.

   The covers were quickly drawn over the nude torso and then the hurting head. Starsky grinned at the quilt-covered lump before trying again to leave the room. He didn’t get far.

   "Did I do anything illegal?" came a muffled voice.

   "Not while I was there, but you got there way before I did, so let’s hope not."

   A solid moan was issued. "Did I do anything embarrassing?"

   "Oh, yeah."

   "Oh, God. What? What did I do?"

   "We better talk about that later, too."

   "Come on, Starsk!" One bloodshot eye appeared from under the warm cocoon. "I have to know."

   "Well, it’s going to be a while before you can go back to The Pits." Starsky spoke quickly, seriously wanting to leave the room.

   "Why? " Hutch asked, fear and suspicion both present in his husky voice.

   "’Cause Huggy banned you for two weeks."

   "What?! I’m banned from The Pits?"

   "Only for two weeks," Starsky said in a soothing voice. "Hug felt bad about it, too, but he said he had to make an example of you, or everyone would think they could do--well, that."

   "What?"

   "What you did."

   "What did I do?"

   "You danced."

   "Badly enough to be banned? Isn’t that kind of harsh?" Hutch tried to remember dancing, but nothing came to mind. He also couldn’t feel his tongue, and that concerned him. "Does my tongue look normal?" The numb muscle was proffered for Starsky’s perusal.

   Starsky stepped up to the bed again and peered at the pink, waggling tongue. "It looks normal to me. And you weren’t banned for dancing badly, although…" Starsky vainly tried to smother a laugh.

   The red-blue eyes opened wider and the tongue disappeared. "Although, what?"

   "Nothing, buddy…I think you should try and get some rest, now."

   "Oh, no. No you don’t." Hutch sat up and moaned. "Oh, God, my head!"

   "Do you want some more aspirin?"

   "I’ve already had some?"

   "Of course. what kind of partner do you think I am? I gave you aspirin before you threw up the second time, and then I gave you more later, since I figured the first weren’t gonna do you any good anymore."

   "I threw up twice?"

   "Nope, three times," Starsky clarified.

   "While I was dancing?" Hutch squeaked out.

   "Luckily for all concerned, you saved that for me when we got home."

   Relief was sweet but fleeting; there was still the matter of his banishment. "Okay, I have to understand this. I was banned for dancing but not because I was dancing badly?"

   "No, you were dancing pretty bad."

   "You just said I wasn’t."

   "No, I didn’t." Starsky spoke slowly and clearly. "I said that wasn’t what got you banned. The bad dancing, I mean. Maybe if you’d taken your shoes off, none of this would have happened."

   "What do my shoes have to do with anything?"

   "You left them on," Starsky explained patiently. "You know, I just thought of something. I’m pretty sure I left your shirt there."

   Hutch’s eyebrows took up residence in his hairline. "I had my shirt off? At The Pits?"

   "While you were dancing, you…uh…removed it."

   "Oh, well good. as long as it was only my shirt that I took off and not my shoes! Wouldn’t want my little tootsies to shock anyone." Minnesota. That’s the only answer. I’ll move back home.

   "You do have cute toes," Starsky observed.

   "You’re not going to tell me why I was banned, are you?"

   "I thought I just did."

   "You did not!"

   "Okay, okay. I’ll go over it one more time." Starsky pushed the agitated blond back against the pillows and pulled the quilt up under his chin. He took a deep breath and began. "You were banned for dancing with your shoes on, on top of the bar."

   Again with the shoes. "I danced on top of the bar?"

   "Yes, you did."

   "With my shoes on?"

   "That’s right. now you’re seeing the whole picture."

   "But without my shirt?"

   "I knew you’d remember everything eventually!" Starsky crowed triumphantly. "Huggy didn’t mind the bare chest, but he said the shoes on top of his clean bar was just unsanitary, and he could get a health code violation if anyone reported him."

   "And where were you when I was doing this striptease?"

   "I wouldn’t call it a real striptease or nothin’, babe; it was more like you got hot all of a sudden and just yanked it off."

   Can he really be trying to drive me insane? "But where were you?"

   "Well, at first I was kind of in shock, ya know? I mean, when I got there you were already really toasted and downing double shots."

   "Why would I do that? I never do that!" Hutch was shaking his temporarily enormous head in confusion.

   "That’s what I was trying to figure out, but by the time it hit me, you were already on top of the bar, bumping and grinding to ‘Feelin’ Groovy.’ and since it’s not every day that my partner does something like that, it maybe took me a few minutes to get you down." Starsky sat on the edge of the bed, gazing fondly at his prone friend. "Hey, maybe that’s why I chose the Simon and Garfunkel album to clean to? That song must have been in my head, and I subconsciously wanted to hear it again."

   "That’s good to know. I sure would have been worried about why you picked that record if you hadn’t figured that one out."

   "There’s no need to be sarcastic, Hutch."

   "There was no need to get drunk either, but I did."

   "That wasn’t really your fault."

   "You said I was drinking double shots!"

   "True, you were, but I think it was the pill that made you do it."

   "What pill?"

   "The antihistamine you took for your allergies before you left, remember?"

   A coherent memory started to form. "Oh, no. I did do that."

   "Yeah, you did, and you shouldn’t have drunk any alcohol at all, but Huggy said you were nursing a complimentary glass of champagne one minute, and the next minute downing shots of rum, tequila and vodka. That pill must have made you react funny to the champagne, and, well, you know the rest."

   Hutch snuggled a little further into the still damp pillow. "I don’t know why this pillow is wet."

   "I’ll tell you that later, too, okay? I wanna finish cleaning the living room before you see it. Think you can try and go back to sleep for me? I’ll keep the music low." The messy head nodded once, and the tired eyes closed as Starsky left the room.

   He was just drifting back into a light doze when Paul, Art and Starsky began crooning again. Paul and Art were getting the lyrics right, but not Starsky.

   Hutch began to giggle helplessly…a one-eyed man? "Starsky!"

   The stereo was turned down immediately. "What?" his partner shouted back. "I thought you were sleeping?"

   "Can you skip ahead to another song?"

   "Sure, now go to sleep. Let the music soothe you or something."

   Hutch closed his eyes again and waited for the next song.

   Hutch sat bolt upright again; this time, holding his belly to keep from laughing out loud. It sounded to him like Art was confused by these vocals, too. The singing went on.

   "Starsky?"

   The footsteps were back, and then the brown-haired vocalist was in the bedroom. "You’re supposed to be resting."

   Hutch reached a hand out and beckoned Starsky closer. "Come to bed and sing me to sleep, okay?"

   Starsky smiled and nodded, quickly kicking off shoes and jeans and sliding inside the cool sheets. "Hey, did I even wish you a happy New Year, yet?"

   "No, you didn’t. Hutch laid his head against the strength of Starsky’s chest, finally comfortable. "Happy New Year to you, too, Starsk. Maybe tonight we can really celebrate."

   "No alcohol," Starsky said emphatically while stroking the no longer painful hair of his partner.

   "No alcohol. Now sing to me."

   Starsky gathered his treasure a little closer and started to softly hum…then he began:

THE END