Song for this chapter: “Broken†(Elisa)
Stolen
Jet-lagged and fuzzy-headed from the premiere frenzy of the previous day – the opening of “Jack Ryan†in London had been epic – Chris emptied the pockets of the latest in a long line of tan suits. He needed to hand it over for dry-cleaning. The tweed was lovely; such a luxurious fabric, soft and warm, but not stifling. However, he couldn’t wear a premiere outfit in public twice, so there was no sense in keeping it.
He pulled some odds and ends out of the various pockets: sunglasses, tissues, cigarettes (no lighter), three pens (one of them broken), a condom (not used, thank god), a small, smiling crocheted orange (or was that supposed to be a tribble? but as far as he knew, tribbles didn’t come with green leaves and stems – though of course with Star Trek you could always be wrong about things like that), a key card he didn’t recognize, a spoon (a spoon?!) … and a notebook.
A notebook?
He frowned. He couldn’t remember taking a notebook with him. Of course he also didn’t remember the key card or the cigarettes or the spoon. Or the amigurumi. Though it was a safe bet a fan had given that thing to him at the premiere. A fan. Out of the sea of faces he’d drowned in yesterday, a group of awestruck young women stood out in retrospect. They’d been remarkably good-natured when his publicist had told them he couldn’t take photos due to time constraints. He’d tried to compromise with a vaguely hopeful “I’ll come back aroundâ€, only to hear the top security guy behind him snap: “No, he won’t.†But despite the disappointment, and although the girls had to be freezing after waiting in the cold for an ice age or two, they had just smiled and gasped and giggled and held out things for him to sign. He actually remembered signing this notebook. Because the lined paper had made him think about notebook preferences. How he liked blanks, and Zach liked lines, and how much it sucked that he wouldn’t make it to Zach’s show after all. Then his publicist had tapped him on the arm and told him to hurry up, and he’d turned around and …
… never returned the notebook.
Damn.
Uncomfortable, he stared at the notebook. What now? Open it, he told himself. Maybe there’s a name and an address. Then you can give it to the PR people, tell them to put the notebook and a few extras into a package as an apology, and … Of course the flyleaf was blank. The one at the back, too. Maybe there’d be a clue inside. Or one of those horrible love letters. Or worse, fan fiction.
Should he just hand it over to his people, never mind what the notebook contained? So at best an intern would make fun of its contents, and at worst it would get lost in the constant chaos that constituted his public correspondence? He frowned. That didn’t seem right. After all, he had stolen the notebook. Even if he hadn’t meant to. Now it was his responsibility. Also, notebooks. Perhaps his thing about notebooks was a legacy of his days as an English major. There was something sacred about notebooks. He was terribly tempted to chew on his thumb nail. Worse, he was pushing the tip of his tongue between his lips again. He was ready to give up and admit defeat on that front; obviously, he’d never manage to rid himself of that particular habit.
Taking a deep breath, he flicked open the first proper page and couldn’t stifle a sigh of relief. Just some technical gibberish. Some kind of computer stuff, he guessed. At once he felt even worse. What if the notebook was important for the woman’s job? Shit, he had to find a way to return it. He paged through it. Oh yes, these notes were definitely work-related. But he caught nothing that told him anything about the owner. And after twenty pages or so, the notes stopped.
However, he hadn’t yet come across his signature, and the pages in the second half of the notebook looked well-thumbed. Chris flipped to the middle of the book. It fell open easily. The left page was empty. The right page sported a single line of text right in the middle. Beautiful, looped handwriting. Almost calligraphy. And a quote:
Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.
Huh?
Okay. That was unexpected. But at least it wasn’t a love letter. Or bad porn, written or drawn. On the other hand, it was a seriously strange quote. He couldn’t place it. And that? That bugged him. Another throw-back to Berkeley. He always had to discover the origins of a quote. It was a compulsion. An obsession. In college, it had been a useful skill. Now it was a weird quirk his friends made fun of.
He read the quote again. Power and love and shadows. Suddenly, he remembered one of Zach’s hipster Instagram images. A picture of Zach’s shadow on a wall, complete with emo light-effects that would have made JJ proud. The caption had been about shadows, too. About shadows and … identity? No. Not identity. But … something. Chris groaned. Zach would recognize the quote. Maybe he should call Zach and ask him. What time is it in New York? he wondered. But these days they weren’t really talking to each other. They were only talking about each other in random interviews. And if his stomach kind of twisted at that thought, it was probably just the jet-lag and too much champagne at the premiere yesterday. Besides, in a few months they’d start filming the last Star Trek movie they were all contracted for, and they’d basically live in each other’s pockets again. Maybe he’d simply Google the quote. But somehow that seemed like cheating.
Several frantic knocks executed in a frantic “Big Bang Theory†rhythm interrupted his musings. “Chris? I need that suit, and you need to get going.†The muffled voice of his assistant filtered through the closed door. “Chris? You’re already running late again. Get a move on, man.â€
Cursing under his breath, Chris stuffed the notebook into his jacket and did as he was told. But before he headed to his next appointment, he ordered his assistant to get him a ticket for Zach’s show, never mind how crazy his schedule currently was. And if it took the creation of an alternative universe, he didn’t give a damn. He was going to New York, and he would see that play.
Author’s Notes
The quote “Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.†is an allusion to the “Captain Spanky†series by Medeafic.