If This Is Hollywood, You Can Have It

I'm a very unhappy woman, surrounded as I am by a dingy retro Hollywood apartment. You know the kind, orange shag carpeting, some vague beige (smoke stained white?) textured wallpaper, and a shabby drab green couch... If this is bad, the kitchen, smaller than any apartment bathroom I've ever had, has avocado green appliances, dark brown cupboards, yellow countertops (which could be cheery, but they are scared with cig marks, cuts and broken corners) and linoleum flooring that looks too much like that horrid wallpaper.

I apparently live here with my movies-in-my-mind dream husband, who is nothing more than a sleeping lump on the sofa thoughout the whole dream, and his two daughters, which I wish would have been similarly so.

I am aware that I am up early, cleaning, scrubbing to make the best of this rat hole. It seems like hours; not so much because of the time factor, but the amount of sunlight that comes in through the dingy butter yellow kitchen curtains varies in some sort of time lapse way... I open the fridge, and see there is nothing but rotting vegetation in a plastic bag, ketchup and mustard packets, and an empty milk jug. I remove all, and clean it out. I begin to write a shopping list. The evil-step-daughters must be awake now, as they are loud. Seems they have their own TV in their dark end-of-the-hallway room -- the light flickers and the volume is on high.

I stand in the hallway, my hands full of shopping list, keys and my purse, and I yell for them to get dressed. They ignore me, and this must be the usual, for I am not shocked, nor am I upset. I leave the horrid apartment, and exit into sunshine. (By the way, the front of this building looks like every old Hollywood apartment complex ever shown on film -- like shodily converted motels and hotels.)

I go shopping, check my watch as I drive the Omni 'home.' As I approach the apartment door, the TV volume is in competition for some loud music -- both coming from my apartment. I unlock the door, drag the groceries to the kitchen counter and proceed to enter the hall to the girl's room where I tell them to turn the volume down or we will be kicked out. The volume decreases, but both the music & TV are louder than needed as they compete for attention with one another. This is apparently the best I can hope for, so I return to the kitchen to put the groceries away.

I walk to the bathroom, and find it a mess. I ask the girls to clean it up 'tonight' as apparently I am going out for the night. I tell lumpy-husband-shape that I am leaving, that I will be late, and the the girls need to clean the bathroom. He grunts. I sigh.

I get back into the Omni & drive. I enter the building from the back, and from a parking structure, so I have no idea where I really am -- but Dream Me does, as she walks with that combination of purpose and boredom, like on automatic pilot. This must be where Dream Me works.

I stand in a hallway, with fine woodwork paneling, a lush, vibrant, carpet with a scroll pattern -- dark with light scrolls that are golden in color. I stand outside double doors made of gleaming wood. One is held open by a doorstop, and I can see a wooden stage with a microphone, and an audience before it. It seems as if I am at a fine hotel, and standing outside its grand ballroom or conference room. I just stand there. Waiting.

Soon there is activity on the stage. Dream Me isn't listening as she is joined by a woman in a dark suit who nods, then enters the doorway to do her waiting. Soon, a cluster of people pass me & enter the doorway. Most block the view of the stage, but one, a woman, walks to the microphone. There is clapping, and some talk of 'thank you' and the muted voice of a woman telling a story. Dream Me apparently knows her place, just standing there, not encroaching at all upon those in the doorway. Eventually, for some unknown reason (perhaps due to the patience of Dream Me?) the folks by the door disburse somewhere off to the sides and I can see the woman on stage: It is Nicole Kidman.

I must stop here and say that other than enjoying her fine performances, esp in 'Moulin Rouge', I don't think of Nicole Kidman. Not at all. I hope that doesn't make me sound like a bad person -- I don't dislike Ms Kidman, but I don't ponder about celebs of any sort. So why she's here, in this dream, I have no idea...

So Nicole Kidman is on stage, holding a plaque, and giving a longish acceptance speech. She exits the stage, to wild clapping, and though she is now clearly in the hall with Dream Me, none of her handlers are joining her. Nor is the woman in the dark suit I perceive to be Dream Me's Boss.

Nicole is wearing a sarong style dress of medium turquoise blue with huge yellow lilies. The flowers are so huge, and she is so slight, it's hard to imaging more then 2 of the lilies on the dress, but there are. She flutters a smile at me. I smile back, then look at my feet. I hear or sense she is crying and I look up and she's trying to dab at her eyes with nothing other than the non-absorbant skin on her fingertips (again, not knocking Ms Kidman -- I know of no one with absorbant skin). I reach into my purse an produce a package of immaculate white tissue. I hand them to her and she smiles. Dream Me remains at a distance, trying to give the upset woman a bit of privacy, but she comes close. Unexpectedly, she begins talking to me. Unforgivably, only Dream Me is privy to her conversation. I cannot hear a word at this point of the dream. However, as Dream Me and I are somehow connected, I do get the gist of the conversation.

Apparently Nicole is confiding in Dream Me about something to do with the trauma of being a parent. Either upset by something they have done, or maybe at just being away from them, but she is upset and it seems as if Dream Me is very good at consoling her. The conversation must have been quite long for Dream Me says she must go; she has children at home to check up on, you see. Of course Nicole says something kind & polite in return "Oh, yes, she must go, and thank you so much for talking with me!" She returns the clean unused tissue, and as she does so, she hands Dream Me a card with her phone number on it, and sincerely expresses her wishes for Dream Me to call her "anytime -- and soon!"

Dream Me waves a good bye to a teary-eyed, but cheering up, celeb turned friend, and walks the long hallway to the garage & the Omni. Neither Dream Me or I are focused on the ride -- I guess we each have other thoughts. I can't speak for Dream Me, but I ponder the vulnerability of Ms Kidman, along with her beauty, and how preposterous it is that Dream Me is paid to silently hold tissue until needed to console... odd for a person who doesn't work at a funeral home, yes?

But eventually we arrive at the dingy apartment. It is filthy all over again. It's dark, and dingy, but I can see lumpy-dream-hubby hasn't moved. The bathroom is still a mess. And the girls are still up (even though both Dream Me and I know it is like 3 in the morning!) Dream Me is upset by what she finds, but somehow, she feels secure and warm in her relationship with Nicole, and while she argues with lumpy-couch-husband over the status of home, hearth and offspring, she isn't really touched by it all.

And that's how it end.

So, what's the moral of this story?