Baby when I get down I turn to you And you make sense of what I do I know it isn't hard to say
But baby just when this world seems mean and cold Our love comes shining red and gold And all the rest is by the way
Why worry, there should be laughter after pain There should be sunshine after rain These things have always been the same So why worry now
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Paula entered Star Fleet Singers’ Office and found Garcia hard at work, his fingers moving across his
ergonomic keyboard as if it were a musical instrument. His typing was rhythmic and steady and he didn’t
look up as she entered, but he did acknowledge her with a greeting.
“I found him,” Paula said.
Garcia quit typing and turned to Paula. Trini looked up from her station in the office and inquired,
“Found who?”
“You sure you want to meet him?” Paula asked.
“Yes,” Garcia said. “When?”
“Tonight, nine PM?” Paula said.
“Twenty One hundred hours,” Garcia said.
“Yes, so it’s a date?” Paula asked. “I’ll pick you up at twenty fifteen.”
And so she did. She pulled up to the curb just as Garcia came out of the building. The window on the
passenger side powered down. “You ready?”
“Want me to drive?” he asked.
“No, silly, just get in,” Paula said.
He climbed in and fastened the restraint.
“I thought you don’t like the restraint,” Paula said.
“I don’t, but it’s the law,” Garcia said.
“The windows are tinted. No one will know,” Paula said.
“I would know,” Garcia said.
Paula smiled at him and then accelerated the car. Garcia studied her driving technique as she
navigated traffic, but didn’t offer her advice on how to improve her efficiency. It wasn’t his place. He also
studied the archaic traffic patterns and wondered at the macro social dynamics created by the communication
styles for vehicles lacking computer controlled anti collision devices. He was amazed there weren’t more
accidents. A commercial for Tommy Guns caught his attention.
“Hey, can you play that back?” Garcia asked.
“Tam, it’s a radio, it doesn’t play back,” Paula said.
“But the voice of the guy doing that commercial, it sounded like the guy that played Scotty,” Garcia
said.
“I can look into it if you like. Tommy Guns are subsidiary of Mann Enterprises,” Paula said. Before too long, Paula brought them to their destination, secured a parking place for the vehicle, and
then, taking Garcia by the arm, led him into a dimly lit, quaint diner. She ordered coffee for the both of them. “Would you like something to eat or drink?” Paula asked.
“Coffee’s good, thank you,” Garcia said, absorbing the information from his environment. There was the scent of vanilla in the air, a scent distributed by the burning of scented candles. There
were a few couples, but most of the patrons seemed to be college students, in groups or by themselves. One
of the students noticed Garcia and Paula as he paused from his reading, did a double take, smiled, and then
went back to his book. Garcia tried reading into the smile, wondering if the young man simply was happy to
acknowledge that Paula and Garcia shared his space. He was rather amazed that he and Paula weren’t mauled
by the patrons, as they seemed to all fit into the demographic profile of viewers for their shows. As if reading his mind, Paula addressed his concerns. “Don’t worry. Most of the people that come
here tend to leave the celebrities alone. I visit here every now and then.”
The waitress returned, placing their drinks in front of them. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked,
holding her tray against her, as if it were a shield against her sudden insecurity of serving stars. Her eyes
lingered on Garcia for a moment longer, before she diverted them, looking down.
“We’re good, thank you, Sheila,” Paula said.
The waitress smiled, nodded in such a way as to suggest bowing, before excusing herself. Garcia
returned the gesture and then took up his coffee, smelling it, enjoying the warmth of the cup in his hands. “So, what do you think?” Paula asked.
“About?” Garcia asked.
“The atmosphere?” Paula asked.
“Well, it’s not Casablanca, but it’s nice,” Garcia said. “New age kind of feel.”
“I guess that means you approve?” Paula asked.
“I’m comfortable,” Garcia said, reclining in his booth that put his back to the wall so he could easily
survey the comings and goings of the place. “So, where is he?”
“He’ll be here,” Paula assured him.
“Okay,” Garcia said.
“Don’t you trust me?” Paula asked, playfully.
“Implicitly,” Garcia assured her. “I admit that the atmosphere has caused me to wonder if you brought
me here on other pretenses.”
“And if I had, would that be so bad?” Paula asked.
Garcia smiled. “No,” he answered.
“You’re very focused on your work, and your ‘mission,’ whatever that is, and that does have me a little
concerned for your health,” Paula said. “It is in my best interest to see that you take care of yourself, and
taking care of yourself does mean you need to take time to relax and play. You can’t be so serious all the
time. I thought you might enjoy being off camera for just a moment so you can be yourself.” “You’re assuming that I would be different off camera,” Garcia said. “Though I am capable of acting,
I am not an actor. I am what I am, to quote a popular Earth song.”
“Yes,” Paula said, reaching out to touch his hand across the table. “You’re very intense. I don’t think
I have ever met someone so… I don’t even know the words to describe what I feel in your presence. It’s
almost like you generate a magnetic field or static electric field, and I get this shiver down my back…” “Paula,” Garcia said, gently, prepared to tell her the reasons why he shouldn’t be romantically involved
with her, while simultaneously trying to convince himself that he would like to be romantically involved. He
flashed back to one of his holo-suite sessions where the holographic version of her taught him to dance,
among other things and he really wanted to know how much of the simulation resembled reality. He also
wanted to know if she was a clone or a robot, and being intimate with her, mind melding with her, would
provide him with so many of the answers he wanted. The only thing that had stopped him was him
questioning his own motives.
“Tam, don’t say anything,” Paula said. “I know we’re friends and I am happy with whatever time fate
allows us to share.”
Garcia leaned closer to her across the table with intentions of kissing her, but someone shouted,
interrupting the moment. The shout came from a performer who suddenly and unrepentantly occupied the
stage. His full presence and demeanor was overwhelming, almost disturbing, as he demanded the attention of
his audience. And “demand” was the right word. It wasn’t a request, or listen to me if you want. His
mannerisms, wild gestures, his peculiar rhythmic style, the unnatural pausing as if he had forgotten what he
was going to say, grabbed your attention and would not allow you to turn away from him in the same way that
it was difficult to turn away from a train wreck. However, the next poem, which was read to the back ground
of piano music, wasn’t too bad.
It Hasn’t Happened Yet, performed by William Shatner I was crossing the snow fields
In front of the Capital building.
It was Christmas, and I was alone. Strange city.
Strangers for friends.
And I was broke.
As the caroller sang its song
I dreamt of success.
I would be the best.
I would make my folks proud.
I would be happy...
- It hasn't happened yet
- It hasn't happened yet
- It hasn't happened
Yes, there are nods in my direction
Clap of hands
The knowing smile
But still
I'm scared again
Foot slipped
Pebbles fall and so did I
- Almost
(Oh my)
On Yosemite
The big grey wall
(Fear of falling)
Where to put my foot next
(Fear of failure)
I'm afraid I'm going to fall
(Be at one with the mountain)
I whispered in the air
(Fear of falling, fear of falling, fear of failure...Failure) Fear of losing my hair
(Falling, falling, falling...)
When is the mountain scaled?
When do I feel I haven't failed?
I've got to get it together, man
(It hasn't happened yet)
- It hasn't happened yet
- It hasn't happened yet
- It hasn't happened
People come up and say hello
OK
I can get to the front of the line
But you have to ignore the looks
And... yet
I'm waiting for that feeling of contentment That ease at night when you put your head down And the rhythms slow to sleep
My head sways
And eyes start awake
I'm there not halfway between sleep and death But looking into
Eyes wide open
Trying to remember
What I might have done
Should have done
At my age
I need serenity
I need peace
- It hasn't happened yet
- It hasn't happened yet
- It hasn't happened yet
- It hasn't happened
The audience applauded. Garcia simply set with his mouth agape. The man on the stage presented several more dialogues, including Hamlet’s famous soliloquy, “To be, or not to be.” He ended his performance with two songs, “Rocket Man,” and “Tambourine Man,” both versions of which grated on Garcia’s nerves in the same manner that the songs, “They’ve come to take me away, ha ha,” and “Mother,” by Police from the ‘Synchronicity’ album did. There was, actually, an artistic rational behind the way that William had performed the selections, but it grated hard on Garcia’s ears to have to listen to it. Garcia barely had the presence of mind to meet the man amicably when he came to their table seemingly uninvited. Garcia’s ears were still ringing with the chaotic, manic rhythms of the song. “Tambourine Man” was secret code for a drug addict getting his fix and that was what William represented in his variation. Garcia shivered.
Paula greeted the man with a kiss. “Hello, Bill. How are you doing?”“Surviving,” Bill said. He turned to Garcia. “So, this is Tammas Garcia the Great. Funny. You look just like an average man to me.”
Garcia opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. There was no doubt that Bill was endowed with talent and a genius creative energy that allowed him to mentally connect the dots that he did. There was also no arguing that the man had a passion for entertaining and expressing himself clearly, but there was just something a bit grating about his presence. Garcia blinked as he suddenly realized that he, himself, had some of these ‘grating’ characteristics that Bill freely and unashamedly lavished on anyone in ear shot. Was this genius? Was this unparalleled brilliance? Is this what it would feel like to stand before Captain Kirk himself, who Bill greatly resembled in appearance and presentation?
“What’s wrong with him?” Bill asked Paula.
“I think he’s star struck,” Paula said.
“I understand. I do that to people,” Bill admitted, taking Garcia’s coffee and drinking from the mug. Had anyone else stolen Garcia’s coffee, there would have been a verbal back lashing at the least. He