Two Guys: A Stakeout Dialogue

by Rae ©2005

"You know how you said two guys spending twelve hours a day together every day could be considered gay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I've been thinking about it."

"Yeah, well, you just keep thinking, Butch, that's what you're good at."

"I thought you were Butch, and I'm Sundance."

"I thought . . . oh, never mind."

"But seriously, Hutch, do you think people think we're gay?"

"Why on earth would anyone think that?"

"Well, we do spend an awful lot of time together."

"It's our job, Gordo."

"Not after work, it isn't. We hang out after work, too. Go on camping trips and stuff."

"When did we ever go on a camping trip?"

"At Dobey's cabin? Remember the crazy guys in bathrobes, and the lovely ladies who left snakes for calling cards?"

"That wasn't camping, Starsky."

"If I sleep in red underwear in a sleeping bag, that's camping. If there's a snake in my refrigerator, that's camping."

"Oh, yeah, those red longjohns. What'd you ever do with those, anyway?"

"Why? You liked those?"

"Well, yes. I did like those."

"That why you hugged me when I wore em?"

"I never hugged you when you wore them."

"Yes you did. Right in front of those girls, too."

"I wasn't hugging you, I tripped and fell on you. You have selective memory."

"Oh I have selective memory? You said I hugged you that time when someone tried to blow us up and I got blown into you. What was so different about that?"

"I wasn't wearing longjohns."

"What? That makes no sense at all. The point isn't what I was wearing, the point is, we hug a lot."

"So?"

"So, do you hug any other guys?"

"I really don't see the point of this whole conversation."

"Why does there always have to be a point to a conversation?"

"Why do you always have to answer a question with a question?"

"Why are you avoiding answering my question?"

"No, then."

"'No' what?"

"Oh for crying . . . No I don't think other people think we're gay."

"What do you mean 'other' people? Why'd you say 'other' people?"

"That's what you asked me. You asked if I thought other people think we're gay. I said no."

"I said 'Do you think people think we're gay?' and you added in other people. What do you mean by other people?"

"I don't mean anything. I don't know why you're always so damn picky."

"I'm not picky. You're the one who's picky. You're the one who changed the whole meaning of the question. Why'd you say other people, Hutch?"

"Starsky, what's the point of this anyway? What do you think people think? Isn't that what the point of this is?"

"Now you're trying to put this back on me.

"Now you're trying to make this into an argument."

"Now you're trying to put words in my mouth."

"I don't need to. You have plenty of words in your mouth all on your own."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you think it means."

"You think I—oh, now, wait a minute. I get it. You're defecting me."

"Deflecting."

"What?"

"Deflecting, Starsky. Not defecting."

"That's what I said."

"No, you said defecting. Different word altogether."

"Did you know what I meant?"

"Yes."

"Then what difference does it make?"

"It makes a difference because it was the wrong word. Don't you care about correct usage?"

"Not particularly. Don't you care what other people think?"

"Not particularly."

"You hungry? I'm hungry. This is the most godawful boring stakeout in the history of the planet."

"There's some trail mix in the back somewhere. I'll get it."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

"What? Trail mix? You aren't talking about trail mix, or did I doze off for a while?"

"No, dummy, I meant, that."

"That what? Starsky, are you deliberately trying to make me crazy?"

"There was a movie about that, these people were trying to make this woman think she was crazy. Gaslight."

"You're trying to gaslight me, Starsky."

"No, I'm not. I meant, when you leaned over to get the trail mix, which by the way, couldn't you have brought something you know I like, just for once, but anyway, when you went to get it, you put your hand on my shoulder. Would you have done that if you were sittin here with, say, Dobey?"

"Of course not."

"But you do that with me all the time."

"Sorry. I won't do it anymore."

"No, Hutch. No, come on, that's not what I mean. I mean, you don't even think about it. I don't even think about it. Just seems normal. Natural.

"I never really thought about it before."

"Well, think about it."

"Okay. I thought about it."

"Well, what'd you think about it?"

"We touch each other a lot. I like that about us. I don't have to give it a thought, and it's nice. Normal. Comfortable."

"That's what I think, too."

"So what's the big deal then?"

"I just got to thinking . . ."

"I could have sworn we've been down this road before. Here we are, right back at the same fork in the road."

"Yeah, despite all your attempts to get me to take a different one."

"So, we take the road less traveled."

"What?"

"The road less traveled. It's a poem. We take a road that others don't take. As long as we like the view, what does it matter what others think?"

"What's the poem say?"

"It's about two paths, one well traveled, one all overgrown and not so traveled, and the speaker decides to take the path less traveled, and it ends with, 'And that has made all the difference.' Robert Frost wrote it. It's called The Road Not Taken."

"So us being all touchy and hugging each other and stuff is a road less traveled, and that makes a difference to you?"

"Yeah, I guess it does."

"Why? How does it make a difference to you?"

"Starsky, what is this? What do you want to go down this road for at all?"

"It's your road. You decided to take us down it."

"I'm not the one who started this whole thing."

"No, but you're the one getting all worked up over it."

"I'm not getting all worked up. I'm trying to make a point."

"No you're not, you're trying your damnedest to avoid making a point."

"Yeah, I guess you're right, maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I guess I don't really want to question it. It's not something that needs to be questioned or thought about or made into a thing. It's just what we do."

"Why do we, though, that's my point."

"I thought your point was to worry about others thinking we're gay because we don't think anything of patting each other and hugging, and showing our affection for each other in public."

"You feel affection for me?"

"Of course, Starsk. Don't you feel affection for me?"

"I never thought of it in that way, really. Not sure I ever really thought of it at all. Not sure affection is even the right word anyway."

"What, then?"

"God, this is just too weird. Let's change the subject, OK?"

"You started it, buddy. You can end it. What do you want to talk about then?"

"What did you really think when we first found out John was gay?"

"I thought we were changing the subject."

"We are. I did. Now we're talking about John Blaine."

"What about John Blaine."

"What did you think about him being gay?"

"What did you think?"

"Here."

"What the hell are you doing, Starsky?"

"Take my gun and shoot me. This whole conversation is killing me slowly anyway. Just do it now and get it over with."

"I wouldn't shoot you, Starsk."

"You wouldn't, Hutch? That's the nicest thing you ever said to me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Oh. This is your car."

"Exactly."

"Okay, then, we can put it off for a while."

"Thanks."

"In which case, you can go ahead and tell me what you thought. I really wanna know, Hutch."

"Okay. Seriously. I thought pretty much, poor guy, having to live two separate lives like that, and feeling guilty all the time, and probably sleazy, too. And constantly afraid someone would find out. I felt really sad for him. What did you think?"

"Honestly, the first thought I had was that I should have known—what kind of a friend was I and didn't know. And then I felt betrayed because he hadn't trusted me, hadn't told me. And then later I realized he couldn't trust me, because I wouldn't have reacted well if he had told me. And then I felt like I'd betrayed him. Even his wife understood that he was a good man, and that's all that really mattered. If she could deal with it, I could deal with it. And she was right. He was a good man."

"You're a good man, too, Starsk."

"So are you, Hutch."

"You gonna get all mushy on me now?"

"You wish."

"Starsk."

"Yeah?"

"What if I told you I was gay?"

"I'd laugh. . . . Oh come on, Hutch. Are you gonna tell me that?"

"No, Starsky. Unclench your fists. It's a philosophical question. What if I were to tell you I'm gay? What would you think of me? Of us? Seriously."

"I don't really know. I don't think I'd believe you."

"Why not?"

"Well, you like women."

"How do you know that isn't all an act because of my job and my family? And my partner?"

"I would know. I know everything there is to know about you."

"Everything?"

"Yeah. Everything. I really don't think you could pull off an act like that with me, not for years, not every single day like we do, for years."

"Yeah, you're probably right. But just for the sake of the conversation, let's just say, I could, what would you do if I told you this and you believed it."

"I think I'd be shocked and I'd feel like I should have known, and I'd feel angry that you hadn't ever told me, and it would take a while, but eventually I'd get over all that, and things would just go back to being the same as they'd always been."

"What about all our hugs and touching each other, and taking care of each other when we're sick or hurt?"

"Well, at first I might feel a little weirded out, but really, if we've been doing like that all this time, what difference would it make just knowing something that was there all along anyway?"

"What if I started going out with a guy?"

"What if you did?"

"Would you hang out with us?"

"Hutch. I really think you're trying to tell me something."

"I'm not really. I'm really not. I just want to know for the sake of the discussion."

"Well, what if I told you I was gay?"

"Same thing you said. But I think I might be jealous if you started dating a guy."

"Yeah, jealous."

"Can you please explain that to me."

"Do I have to? Wouldn't you be jealous if I were with a guy?"

"Are you jealous when I'm with a girl?"

"To tell the truth, there have been a few I was jealous of."

"Who?"

"Well, Terry. And Rosey. Helen."

"All those?"

"Yeah, all those."

"Not the others?"

"Nope. Just those."

"Why those?"

"Because those are the ones you might have stuck with, been happy with."

"Do you think any of those women could ever have been more important to me than you are? Is that why you were jealous?"

"Haven't you ever been jealous of any of the women I've gotten serious about?"

"I never really thought of it as jealous. There've been times I felt lonely because you were out and I was home alone. And I've thought about what life would be like for me if you got married or something and I didn't. I didn't like the prospect. And then I felt really mean."

"I get it."

"You do?"

"Yeah. And sometimes I kind of resent the fact that if I ever did fall for a woman, and she didn't die and she didn't leave, how could I ever give her everything she would deserve? Because if I did, then there wouldn't be anything left for you, and that would be just, well, unacceptable."

"Isn't that the way it really should be, though? Whichever one of us goes down that road first, the other will have to do a lot of letting go."

"What if we never did."

"Never did what?"

"Let go."

"What if we never let go of what?"

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Oh never mind."

"Doing what?"

"Confusing the issue by not getting it."

"I don't get it. What if we never let go of each other? You mean, gave up women?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, now you're scaring me. What the hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying, what if we just decided to give up on women? What is there about being with a woman that we don't already have?"

"Well, I can think of one big thing."

"Well, aside from that. And I think you mean two big things don't you?"

"Funny."

"So, aside from the Big Thing, what is there about a woman that is so necessary? Talking? We talk. Hanging out? We hang out. Playing board games? Bowling? Camping? We do all that."

"You said we never went camping."

"Starsky."

"Okay, okay. I get what you're saying. But women are, well, you know, women."

"That's the best you can come up with?"

"Oh, you know what, I get it now. You're gaslighting me. Right?"

"Sure Starsk. That's what I'm doing."

"Hutch, you ever been with a guy?"

"Nope. You?"

"You're kidding, right? No."

"Never even thought about it?"

"Never."

"Well, I've thought about it."

"What'd you think?"

"Just wondering what makes a guy want to be with another guy, and not want to be with a woman, what makes that happen, and what it would be like, and why it isn't as appealing."

"As appealing? As opposed to why isn't it completely unappealing?"

"Is it so unappealing? Don't you ever feel love for a guy?"

"Not the same kind of love as I feel for a girl, no."

"Starsky, when you were dying, I thought I would die. I thought, if he dies, I'll die, because I won't be able to live. Literally, I wouldn't be able to. There's never been a woman I felt like that about."

"There's never been a woman I felt like that about either. When you were so sick, and I thought you would die, I thought the same as you, that I wouldn't ever be whole, could never live a normal life. You hear guys all the time saying how they had a partner, their best friend, killed in the line of duty, and there they are, still working, still living their lives, and I always thought, if you were dead, I'd be dead. Might still be walking around, but I'd be dead."

"Isn't that love?"

"Is it?"

"You're doing it again."

"Sorry. Hutch?"

"What, buddy?"

"What if we did give up women?"

"You trying to tell me something, now?"

"No, I'm just following along on your road less traveled. What if we gave up women? What about sex? You wouldn't want to give that up, would you?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, would we, then, well, you know . . . "

"I don't know, Starsk. I never thought that far down the path."

"Do you want to think about it?"

"Do you?"

"Oh, come on, Hutch, don't play Starsky on me."

"Sorry. Okay, then, yeah, let's think about it."

"Okay. You hungry?"

"Starsky, don't tell me you're hungry again. You just killed off half a pound of trail mix."

"Didn't you bring anything else?"

"Sorry."

"Next time, I'm in charge of rations."

"Next time I'm in charge of conversation."

"Good."

"Fine."

"You wanna hug me now, don't you?"

"You first."

"Don't think I won't."

"Wasn't thinking that."

"Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate stakeouts."

"Me too, babe. Me, too."