Vehicle
by
Starsky stood in the broken asphalt driveway, surveying the premises and not feeling very confident.
Fog dirtied concrete garage; paint chipped doorways and frames; pieces of paper litter scattered across his feet, driven by the dry, dusty air of Bay City .
At first he wasn't sure if this was the right place, but a glance up at the wooden sign above the main garage told him that yes, he was at the custom body shop and garage that his Uncle Al recommended.
Finally Starsky had enough money to buy a “hot” car. Not necessarily a muscle car, but something with a flash, pizzaz.
But what had he found so far? Mustangs re-modified with more sedate engines, Pintos that blew up, Gremlins made of tin, gas hogging Olds and Buicks. Where are the Bosses, the GTOs, the G140s? He wondered.
The Corvette was slung too low that you needed to be a midget to get into one. Which meant he'd have to get a new partner, ‘cause there was no way Hutch would be able to get in, even if he wanted to – which Starsky doubted he would.
Starsky was almost resigned to buying a boring dark green Chevy Camaro, even though the reviews on it weren't the best. Until he mentioned his problem to Uncle Al, who recommended Merle the Earl the Customizing Pearl. “He calls himself an ‘artiste'.” Uncle Al told him. “A whiz with cars both inside and out.”
The custom paint jobs on the cars sitting in the tiny lot looking well done, even flashy. But nothing grabbed at him. Most of these cars were two and three toned with glitter paint, flames, lightening, hell even that one Mustang had clouds painted a bonnet of sky blue. So Starsky didn't expect to find his dream car here.
Until he walked into Merle's large garage. There, sitting in a corner by itself was a glaring beacon of red with a large swoop going from rooftop down the side to end in a point near the headlights. The stunned detective stopped in his tracks, blinked several times, and was in such a trance he didn't even hear Merle himself walk up next to him chattering about “the sweet stuff.”
Starsky answered back with a dazed “Huh?”
“I asked if you was check'in out the sweet stuff? I call her that ‘cause she's cherry painted and cherried out.” Merle led the awe struck cop over to the white striped beauty.
Finally Starsky got around asking, “She for sale?” as he hesitatingly reached out to lovingly pet what had turned out to be a Ford Gran Torino.
“Don't keep the shorts around for my health. The chicken don't jump in the kettle without some green behind it.”
A jangle to keys appeared in Merle's hands, hovering in front of Starsky's eyes to break his trance.
Merle jumped in beside Starsky, the creak of the black leather seats adjusting to both men's derrieres. Starsky's hands encircled the steering wheel in a caress. “Let's rev this puppy up and let her dance,” his passenger piped up.
The moment the engine turned over, the car began to sing to Starsky.
“I'm your vehicle baby.
I'll take you anywhere you wanna go.
I'm your vehicle hot man,*
But I'm not sure that you know…”
“See, she's singing for ya. She'll dance real sweet beneath your fingers.”
Merle's allegory sounded awfully sexual, but to Starsky it was appropriate. The rumble of the powerful engine was enough to get him to orgasm emotionally – possibly physically too.
Out on the roads of Bay City, the Ford's engine settled down under Starsky's firm, but gentle maneuvers, and she began to sing some more.
“Well if you wanna be a move starI'll get you a ticket to Hollywood .
But if you wanna stay just as you are
You know I really think that you should.
I'm your vehicle baby.
I'll take you anywhere you wanna go.
I'm your vehicle hot man,*
But I'm not sure that you know…”
By the time they were headed back to Merle's garage, Starsky was singing back to his red hot lovely.
“I love ya,
I need ya,
I want ya,
I got to have you child.
Great God in Heaven, I think I love you.”
And Merle knew the cat beside him would be leaving with a flashy new ‘short'. “You want I dump that bogue you been haulin' ‘round so's you can take this mondo cool with ya?” He asked, referring to Starsky's mustard yellow 1970 Chevy Impala.
“Aren't you gonna ask me about my credit?” Starsky was curious, if this guy handled his business like that all the time, he'd be out of business soon.
“Nah. Your uncle dude gave me a ring, told me to expect your white self. Said to be looking for a guy with his tongue hanging out and green dollar signs in his eyes.”
Putting down half the money Merle was asking, Starsky made arrangements to get a loan for the balance. He didn't even argue or haggle much; he wanted that car. The car wanted him.
“Just wait until Hutch sees this car.” He mused excitedly as he drove over to his partner's house. Hutch would probably be home. He was between girlfriends and Kiko was out of town visiting family, so his partner would have no excuse but to go for a ride in Starsky's new baby.
He pulled over at a pay phone a few miles from Hutch's cottage to let his partner know he'd be over in five minutes, and with a surprise.
Pulling as close to the cottage as possible, behind the blond's latest dump, Starsky blared the Torino 's horn several times to get his partner's attention.
Before long, Hutch came out on the porch. At first glance of Starsky hanging out the driver's side door, leaning on the rooftop of a garish red monstrous car, Hutch shouted, “Hell, No!”
Starsky laid his arms protectively over the car's roof. “Shh… She'll hear you.”
“Who? Not this…this…”
“Don't…You…Say…It. Not if you wanna ride in my car.”
“Who says I want to ride in this car ?”
“Got news for you buddy boy. This is my new car, and I'm gonna be using her for work.”
“Oh My God.” Hutch was incredulous.
“Get in the car, Hutch. I'll show you what she can do.”
With a pained look on his face, Hutch whined, “Do I have to?”
Growling, Starsky repeated the order. “Get In The Car!”
Sighing and with his best fake ‘why me' look, Hutch reluctantly got in the passenger's side.
The duo drove quietly until Starsky got on the 105 highway. Then he opened up the engine and let her rip. “Ya hear that?” He asked his passenger.
“What?”
“She's singing to me.”
“She's what?” Hutch looked wide eyed over at Starsky. He seriously thought his partner had lost his marbles.
“Singing.”
“Now I know you've lost it. Starsky, that noise – and a loud noise it is – is the car's engine. Even I know that. And so will every bad guy from here to San Francisco .”
“Listen. She's saying that she's mine. My vehicle and only mine. She was made for me.”
Hutch just rolled his eyes and filed the comments away in his memory bank for future use and teasing. Right now he didn't think Starsky would appreciate it.
Lost in thought for a few moments, Hutch suddenly sat up straighter and listened intently. “Are you singing to this monstrosity?”
Sheepishly Starsky ended his refrain without answering his partner.
“It sounded like you said ‘I want you'. I sure hope you were singing to the car and not to me. Though even that is bad enough.”
No response was necessary, Starsky's blush gave him away.
Pulling off the highway and into a ‘Jack In The Box', Starsky announced that he was hungry. But he didn't want to leave his new baby, so he convinced Hutch to go get them something to eat. “With all the works, Blintz!” He shouted after a retreating Hutch.
Unable to get anything he liked from the fast food joint, Hutch carried Starsky's snack of one double burger with the works, large greasy fries, and strawberry shake out to the parking lot. Though it was beyond him how Starsky planned to eat and drive. There was no way he was getting behind the wheel of that car. He was probably worrying needlessly since Starsky probably wouldn't even allow food or drink in the car, much less opened containers.
As he approached the Torino , Hutch saw that Starsky had gotten out and was standing with his back to him. It appeared as if his brain-damaged partner was caressing the hood of the Torino . The closer he got, Hutch realized that Starsky wasn't just caressing it.
Starsky was singing the Partridge Family's ‘I Think I Love You'.
*Lyric changed from ‘woman' without permission
Song originally performed by Ides of March (not Bo Bice version)
