A long, two-story professional building and its reflective windows–the kind you can see out of but not into–cast a perfect reflection of my car as I slipped into a space in the near empty narrow parking lot. It served as a perfect mirror to check my lipstick and hair. It was unexpectedly warm as I stepped out of my car and began walking to my destination: not in an office inside the building, but towards a grassy field to its left.
A series of colorful directors chairs lined the edge of the field, and dotted in between those, vanilla-canvased tents provided shade from the invasion of too bright a sun. It was just before noon.
I scanned the mini army of people, sitting and standing and scurrying to get their jobs done, looking for the familiar face. I finally saw him, Mel Gibson, laughing infectiously and obviously making sport of those around him. It was the camaraderie of friends, not a pedestalled superior.
He saw me, his old friend (having met in another place and time, a story for next time) and motioned for me to join this circle of friends, co-workers.
Smiling, I walked over to greet him, excited for this collaboration. Having recently decided to return to work in public relations and freelance writing, I had been specifically requested by Mel to promote his next film (title yet to be determined, a police comedy of all things!).
Confident in my ability to deliver a substantive campaign, nerves were surprisingly (and probably blissfully ignorantly) calm.
And then I met the producer, who seemed oddly out of place in his black suit, starched white shirt, flamboyantly prismatic tie, and shoes shined so bright, if he stepped just a little bit closer to me, would've told him whether I "wore boxers or briefs", metaphorically speaking.
I should've worn pants.
He was slightly irritated, insistent he had scheduled our meeting at an earlier time; I was equally certain we hadn't. He pulled out his Blackberry (not an iPhone), and began scrolling through our email correspondence to prove his position (I could tell he was going to be a fun one to work with), when he received a call. As he discussed business, we continued walking back towards the parking lot, where we were met by the crew who were catering lunch, already setting up more tents and tables.
With them was a man known only as The Candy Man; he had an orange trash bag, the type I typically associate with roadside trash pick up by minimum security convicts, and it was stuffed with every kind of chocolate bar I could recall–not miniatures or fun size, full size versions of Twix, Snickers, 3 Musketeers, M&Ms (plain and peanut), Mounds, Almond Joys, Milky Ways, Butterfingers, Kit Kats, Hershey Bars, Whatchamacallits and Baby Ruths–and I thought "This is sooo Hollywood, only actors would 'need' the indulgence of a candy man." It was a primary-colored rainbow vat of guilty chocolatey pleasure.
Producer-guy was wrapping up his phone call so we could get to the business of promotional strategy about the time I was reaching for the Baby Ruth with my name on it, when I heard someone say, "Robin, wanna go to breakfast? It's been a long time since we've done that…"
And I'll be dayemed, if it wasn't my husband, nudging me awake from one of the most fun, memorable, wishable dreams I've had in a long, long time!
Aw, Robin, I was SOOOOO excited for you – although the candy man DID seem a bit odd….lol. Great dream tho!!!
that was great. Loved it.
Perfect! Doncha just love it…and it was a “dream job”!
you so funny
Girl, you crack me up! I was trying to figure out how you’d never mentioned your close, personal relationship with Mel Gibson. 🙂
You had me going there for a sec Robin…I’m too gullible!
Girl, I was really thinking this was REAL! You have such contacts, I just KNEW you knew Mel Gibson.
I totally fell for it. Very well done. 🙂
What a wild dream!
Now that’s quite a dream! What fun & a bummer to wake up from that one. At least you got breakfast with a great guy, huh?!
You rock! In real life and, why would we expect anything else, in your dreams.
I can’t believe you chose a baby ruth! that would have been my last choice. ha h aha
Oh my..go to sleep and find out what happens!
Okay, but why is your dream not half as bizarre as the type I have? Mine are SO far off-the-wall. It that had been MY dream, the guy would’ve been Tigger or PeeWee Herman or someone else totally out of place. Yours was obviously quite vivid, though! Great writing. 😀
Got to the punch line and decided a Snickers was in order.
How in the heck do you actually REMEMBER what you dream?
That was awesome – especially the part with the Baby Ruth with MY name on it 😉
Have a great weekend!
Candy bar dreams. I would very much like to have a candy bar dream. *sigh*
Just think – there probably is someone LIVING that dream.
“I’ll have what she’s having!”
That was the most entertaining recollection of a dream I have ever heard! I’m glad its nearly midnight here in Australia, I’m going to get myself one of those!
Ha! Do you always dream in such detail?
I like the way you dream!
I don’t remember many of mine anymore. I used to have such vivid and realistic ones. I’d swear I’d actually been bitten by a snake and start searching my bedcovers, etc.
Look on the bright side – your hubs was asking you to breakfast – how sweet is THAT!? =)
How sweet that you didn’t mumble “Go away!” and drift back into your dream, lol. Lucky you; lucky husband!
Ok, you totally had me! I love it. That would be a dream job wouldn’t it?
Deborah @ Comfort Joy Designs