My Wildest Dream

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."

Her words stopped me cold. This was my wildest dream and already there seemed to be a glitch.

"Well, then, would you care to come back to my place for a night cap?" I was impressed with myself for sounding so suave. No woman could resist me like this, not even in real life, but within my own dream they were defenseless.

"No, but I appreciate the offer."

I was stunned. I didn't understand. I thought this was impossible.

"Please?"

"What?" she answered, looking confused.

"Please will you come back to my place for a night cap?"

"Do you really believe I said no only because you hadn't said please?"

"Well," I mumbled. "This is confusing."

"Why?"

"This is my wildest dream. This isn't even real. How can you refuse?"

"How do you know this isn't MY wildest dream?" Claire replied.

"Okay," I said, trying to follow her line of reasoning. "Your wildest dream is sitting in a bar and rejecting older men?"

"Good point," she answered.

"So why won't you come with me? I want to make passionate love with you all night long."

"Ewww," she winced, making a face that looked like she had just eaten a cock roach.

"You're not supposed to say that. This is MY dream."

"Is it?"

"Yes!"

"Well, maybe your subconscious is telling you that your real fantasy is to be rejected by young female movie stars."

"I don't think so."

"Either way, I just don't want to go to your place. I'm sorry."

"My wife was right. This is humiliating."

"What did your wife say?"

"In my wildest dreams, I couldn't get you. I went to bed thinking I would have sex with you in my dreams, but it looks like she was right."

"You could always try again tomorrow night," Claire responded.

"Hey, yeah," I was suddenly excited once again. "Would it work?"

"No, probably not. I don't plan to be here tomorrow night."

"It's my dream! How can you choose to be somewhere or not be somewhere when it's MY dream?"

"I dunno, this place wears on me," she stated, looking around the room. "Too loud, too many weird lights."

I was exasperated. "It's my dream. I can make this place anything I want."

"You should have picked more classic songs or something. This new stuff doesn't do much for me."

Suddenly, the entire night club changed and took on a cowboy theme. The band on stage was playing a catchy country western song that I didn't recognize. I was wearing a cowboy hat, to go with my vest, jeans and boots.

"Nice," Claire smiled, looking around the room. "Not really a country fan, but this does look like more fun."

"See? I did this. My dream."

"Okay," Claire admitted. "You've proven your point."

"Will you please come back with me to my place?"

"No, thank you."

"Why?"

"You're not my type."

"What?! See, for you, this isn't real and will never, ever happen. You are in Hollywood or something, not here. This is just a dream. My dream."

"Hate to tell you this, Howie," Claire shook her head at me. "That's not a pick-up line that's going to work on too many girls."

I leaned over the bar and gave up. My wife was right. I couldn't get Claire Danes, even in my wildest dream.

"What's wrong?" Claire asked.

"I just don't get this. Here you are, in my dream, and I can't do or say anything to woo you. I got nine straight royal flushes, for crying out loud, and I can't have you."

"Maybe," Claire looked me in the eye then. "Maybe your wildest dream is not really to go to bed with me. That would be so contrived. Fake. Maybe your wildest dream is to spend time with the real me, and maybe that's why I'm responding to you realistically."

I looked up at her and considered her words. She was a beautiful woman, with a cute smile and bright eyes. She was observant and intelligent as well.

"No, I'd rather have sex with you."

Claire rolled her eyes and laughed. She thought I was being witty, but I was actually serious. I chose not to tell her that; better to appear witty, probably.

Then, my wife walked into the bar. I saw her step inside and look around. I had no idea what she was doing here, because I was quite certain that my wildest dream did not include her showing up at this moment. It irritated me to no end that people in my dream were becoming self-aware and making independent decisions.

"Oh my god, my wife is here. I'm never going to hear the end of this."

"Your wife? Which one is she?"

I pointed her out. Unfortunately, there was no hiding from her. The cowboy bar I had created in my dream was small, and it was too late to convert it to a corn maze.

"There you are, you silly man," Chelsea scolded. "You should come home."

"This is my dream, Chelsea. I can do what I want."

"See? If you don't get your sleep, you're cranky."

"Chelsea, this is Claire Danes. The actress. Claire, my wife Chelsea."

"Oh, nice to meet you. We just saw Stardust and loved it. Oh, wait..."

Chelsea stopped. She was deep in thought, trying to recall something. After a second or two, the light bulb went on in her head.

"I remember! Howie told me he had a crush on you. I told him that he could never have you, even in his wildest dreams. Is that what all of this is about?"

I put my head in my hands and tried to blot out the entire world. My degradation was complete. That is, until I felt a pair of hands turn me around.

It was Claire. She gave me a single deep, hot, wet kiss directly on my lips. I was in heaven.

"You," Claire announced. "Are the sexiest man anywhere. You gave me the most powerful orgasm I've ever had. Thank you, you hot hunk of beefy man."

Claire turned and left. She had covered for me. I had, in fact, not been able to bed Claire Danes in my wildest dream, but my wife didn't know that. Or, at least, my wife in my wildest dream didn't know that.

So, I woke up the next morning and considered all of the implications. Was my wildest dream to have sex with Claire Danes, or just to make my wife think I could? I thought about it for awhile, scratched my head, thought about it some more, then sat down to watch Scrubs. Man, that show is funny.