As my wife and I left the film Stardust, a recent film starring Claire Danes, we discussed how much we enjoyed everything about it. There was great visual imagery, a fun story, strange and wondrous characters and excellent acting. Oh, yes...and Claire Danes.
"You really think she is pretty hot, don't you?" Chelsea asked cynically. Chelsea is my wife of over twenty years now, and I guess she knows me better than anyone. I didn't really know how to respond to her question. The simple answer -- oh yes, she is VERY cute and sexy -- was one I didn't dare utter if I expected any affection in the near future.
"Oh, well, I suppose she has her charms."
What!? My brain rebelled at the wording I had used, which made me sound twenty years older than I was. Chelsea chuckled at me.
"Her charms?"
"Sure. I mean, you know..."
"Admit it, you think she's hot."
"Okay, I admit it."
"Well, I won't feel jealous. In your wildest dreams, you couldn't get Claire Danes."
Well, I knew that, of course. Pointing out that fact was...pointless. Except, I found myself focusing on the phrase she used.
My wildest dreams, huh?
We walked home, holding hands, continuing to discuss the film. As we grew older, we found great solace in spending time together. We had become good friends.
Yet, I stopped to ponder her phrase. My wildest dreams. I thought that it would not be cheating if, in fact, I were to have sex with Claire Danes in my dreams. They are just dreams, after all. Dreams are fun and harmless, an innocent way to let your fantasies run wild with no repercussions.
So, I brushed my teeth, fluffed my pillow and prepared for bed. Tonight, I was determined to prove my wife wrong. Tonight, I would have hot, nasty sex with Claire Danes.
I smiled. Muttered unintelligibly. Readjusted my pillow.
There she was. Across the night club, standing at the bar ordering a drink, was Claire Danes. She looked radiant, as always. She smiled brightly and flipped her hair flirtatiously. Her eyes sparkled, even in the dim light. Every man in the place was watching her every move, but tonight was my night. I couldn't wait to meet her.
I was sitting at a table, playing cards with several of my friends. I had an enormous stack of chips in front of me. I looked at my cards. Royal flush. I raised the current bet, of course, and won the hand.
"Another royal flush?" Dan said, looking completely exasperated. He was finished now; all of his chips were mine.
"Yeah, boys, when you got the touch, you got the touch. What can I say?" I announced proudly.
Of course, this was my dream. Indeed, it was my wildest dream. The men were helpless playing cards with me. None of this was real, but that fact didn't take away from the enjoyment I had winning all of their chips.
I left the table to go find Claire, feeling an awful lot like James Bond. This was going to be good.
I flipped the bartender a chip. "A drink for the lady, Miss..."
"Danes," she responded with a smile. "Claire Danes."
"Charmed," I replied, kissing the back of her hand tenderly.
"Your name, sir?"
Egads, I thought, my name doesn't necessarily roll off the tongue. I tried to come up with a new name, but I chose not to -- this was my dream and, by god, my real name would be sufficient.
"Moskowitz," I responded. "Howie Moskowitz."
"Do you come here often, Howie?" she asked as she accepted her drink from the bartender.
"No, but your beauty called to me tonight," I responded, looking her straight in the eye. "I could not resist."
"Oh, really," she said. "That's sweet. Sort of."
"Would you care to dance, Miss Danes?"
"No, thank you."
