peg22 | Panto Chronicles Part Four

                                                     A little last minute Christmas shopping, a nice breakfast with a
                                                    friend - how does it always turn into an odd adventure?
                                                     Don't ask me - I just report the stuff . . .

  More Cracktmas fic
RP-s-ish
  Starring the boys I love

The Panto Chronicles Part 4: Star-Strucked

David watched as Paul pulled a twenty-pound note out of his pocket and paid the waiter, who had been hovering like a stalled Zeppelin all through breakfast. He fingered a cigarette, dying to head out into the sunshine so he could smoke.

He smiled as Paul chatted with the ladies behind them, who had leaned in to ask if it was “really you?” and slid his chair back to stand. He wondered how much this bothered Paul – always the reluctant celebrity. He caught the slight eye roll as Paul got up and headed out in front of him.

They hit the sidewalk and Paul leaned over to share David’s match.

“Jesus, how do you do it over here?” Paul took a deep breath and headed down the street.

“It’s worse in L.A.”

“No way – in L.A. no one ever gawks anymore – well almost – there were those Brit chicks who bought me some fish sticks in that bar – but that doesn’t count.”

“Fish sticks in a bar? You had fish sticks with Brit chicks in a bar, and you don’t tell me?”

“I don’t tell you everything, Davey.” Paul nodded at the two men who had stopped to stare. “See? What is it over here?”

David nodded as well and put his arm around Paul, steering him into a side street. “It’s because my dearest Paulie – number one – I am a great big fucking star over here. And number two – it’s not just Paul actor turned director turned writer turned used car salesman Michael Glaser walking down the street– it’s Starsky and Hutch. And that’s a big fucking deal – whether you want to believe it or not.”

They were walking by a small boutique and two girls rushed to the window. David shot his two fingers at them and then pulled Paul in for a hug. Paul struggled, but David held on and was rewarded by the two girls bursting through the door.

“Starsky! I heard you were in town. And Hutch. Jane, get on the mobile and ring Franny – it’s Starsky and Hutch!”

David released Paul and took one of the girl’s hands. “Hiya ladies.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across the girl’s hand and felt Paul’s elbow dig into his rib. He turned. “Paulie, do you think these ladies can help us find what we’re looking for?”

Paul shot him a look and then smiled at the girls, who were now both on their mobile phones, whispering, “Davey, I am going to kill you. Seriously.” He smiled between gritted teeth. “What are we looking for, David?”

“Well, girls, I hate to drop names, but ol Starsky and I are headed to a Christmas party with lots of celebrities and we have to buy a present for-“

“Huggy Bear?” one of the girls practically shouted.

David was almost giddy when he saw Paul’s face contort. The man was the easiest target in all of London. And these girls were perfect.

“No, dear, although he may be joining us. I don’t know if you know Hugh

Laurie . . ."

“Oh god . . .” the other girl whispered and dropped her phone. Paul reached down and picked it up and then pointed it at David before handing it back.

David chuckled when he saw Hugh Laurie staring back at him from the phone. “So we need your help in picking out a present for him in your shop – if you don’t mind.”

Thirty minutes later, they escaped back out onto the street with two bagfuls of “perfect presents for Dr. House”, plus a “little something for Huggy Bear’s stocking,” which Paul assured the girls they would deliver.

Paul lit his own cigarette this time. “You are an ass, you know that, right?”

“Ah, where’s your Christmas spirit? We just made those girls whole year.” He stopped as Paul had stopped moving and was just standing, looking at him. “What?”

“Where’s my Christmas spirit? Where’s my Christmas spirit?” Paul held out the packages, eyebrows raised. “Where do you think it is?”

David fingered the cigarette out of Paul’s mouth, stuck it in his own, and then took the packages. “Sorry Paulie – I forgot. No stockings for you. I'll get you some matzo balls later, if you know what I mean . . .”

Paul took his cigarette back and headed out onto the busy street. He flipped open his phone.

David caught up with him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling a taxi – I have to be at the theatre this afternoon, you know. I don’t really want to be hauled into every shop from here to Brixton on the way.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake – don’t call a taxi. We’re two blocks from my flat. I’ll get my car and drive you down. Plus you could use a good massage. You seem tense.” David shifted the packages to one hand and squeezed Paul’s shoulder.

Paul gave him a look and then leaned into the touch. David chuckled and sat the bags on the ground and used both hands to knead the knots from Paul’s shoulders. They were standing under a little awning, away from the traffic and David closed his eyes and wished they were two blocks away, in his flat, away from the world . . .

“Fucking poofters.”

The voice startled them both and Paul stepped away.

“Oh, bloody hell, it’s bloody Starsky and Hutch.” A man stopped and turned around. “Sorry, mates – I thought it was . . .”

“Fucking poofters?” Paul stood with his hands on his hips.

David frowned. Paul in confrontation mode was never a good thing. He gathered up the packages and bumped Paul’s shoulder. “Hey, let’s go.”

Paul didn’t hear him, just took a step towards the man. “So, you feel you can insult people on the street unless what? You’ve seen them on TV?”

David grabbed Paul’s arm, but Paul brushed him off and took another step toward the man, who was looking around for an escape. “No, man, I’m sorry – I just. . .”

“So what if we were poofters, which I hate that word by the way? What business is it of yours? What kind of person are you that you think that love has to be categorized into the narrow confines of a narrow social order, which, by the way, has been obsolete since the fifties? Huh?”

David stopped trying to persuade Paul and just stood back and watched as the guy got squirmier and Paul got more indignant and did that little thing where his voice gets very soft and very controlled. Made David’s skin crawl – that voice.

“I love this man. I’ve loved him for most of my life and I will continue to love him until I die. What form that love takes is up to him and me – not you, or your friends, or any church, or government or legislation designated for the sole purpose of discrimination. Okay?”

The guy, leaning as far back as he could since Paul had leaned so far into his space that the guy was a half step from falling into an oncoming bus, held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I said I was sorry. Okay?”

Paul stepped back and straightened the guy’s shirt collar. David shuddered, knowing he was heading in for the kill. He wondered how Paul had survived this long – this kind of thing can put a bullet through your skull fast these days.

“Now friend, I’m going to leave you with some advice. You can take it or you can leave it – that’s up to you.” Paul leaned in again and David started looking up and down the street for paparazzi. That’s all they needed – he could see the headline, “TV Star Roughs Up Innocent Christmas Shopper – Bah Humbug Starsky and Hutch.”

“Don’t walk around in judgment – because the gavel could land on your head.”

David stifled a chuckle – where in the hell had Paulie come up with that one? He breathed a little easier as he watched the guy finally break away from Paul’s spell and take a little hop that turned into an all out sprint down the street, flipping them off as he rounded the corner.

David walked up next to Paul. “Okay, so can we go now?”

Paul turned and smiled at David. “That felt good.”

“You could have gotten the shit beat out of both of us.”

Paul took one of the bags. “We could have taken him. Easy.”

“Yes, but why? I’m too fucking old and you’ve got a show this afternoon, remember – can’t mar that pretty face of yours.”

They resumed their walk to David’s flat. He looked over at Paul more than once and was glad to see he had calmed down and was actually enjoying the occasional gasp and pointed finger. Maybe he should push him into a fight more often . . .

“So, I think we got interrupted back there – my shoulders are like rocks.” Paul stood on the bottom step leading up to David’s flat. “And I’ve got at least two hours before we should think about heading down to Bromley . . .”

“What do you have in mind?” David fished in his pocket for his keys. “My gym’s just around the corner – Hans gives great massage.”

“So do you.” Paul held his hand out and David tossed him the keys. “If I remember correctly . . .”

David looked at Paul and Paul turned back and looked at David.

“Oh, I’m sure you remember a lot of things – how correctly is anyone’s guess.”

David wondered if he should be trying to be coy at his age, and then he saw the look that crossed Paul’s face and he didn’t care about how old he was and he took the steps two at a time and they disappeared into the house and as David kicked the door closed with his foot, they both heard, “Hey, I told you Starsky and Hutch still lived together!” and collapsed into laughter.