Vienna, Austria, 12-29-2015
Then she showed up at my big house that looked like a Swiss chalet with green moss and vines all over it, and manicured hedges out front and a green hill that descended to the tree-lined street. At the bottom of the hill, right now, looking all forlorn, was Reba. She told me she was on tour with her new protégé, a guy named Tommy Thomas (in my dream I knew exactly who this was, as he was one of my Facebook friends). She said that Seth Rudetsky was their musical director, to which I replied that I wasn’t sure about him as a radio host, but that I heard he was an excellent musical director and that he certainly has the gift of gab, but that didn’t make me any less jealous of his career, and then she stopped me and said that he is wonderful; that at every tour stop he met her and Tommy and took their bags and took care of everything. And that that was the problem. Seth took care of everything. And she felt obsolete. And before I could feel jealous again, she asked me If I could help her feel needed again. I didn’t answer because suddenly Tommy Thomas was there saying hello.
Tommy was there and he wanted me to hear the new music he and Reba made. I wasn’t jealous of him. I wanted to hear it.
And then we were listening to it on his iPhone and I was in bed with my partner. And the music was loud and I removed the nose pillows of my CPAP machine and I said, “maybe we should listen to this in another room.” And my partner, whom I thought was sleeping, said, “yes, maybe you should.”
The next thing I knew, we were sitting at bar stools in front of a cut-out at my large kitchen counter, happily listening to Tommy’s album. My partner came in and asked how we were. He was wearing his hair in a bun, a white frilly blouse, and white pearl earrings. Seeing him like this, so agreeable and fashionably-1950s-lady-like, woke me up.
I’ll probably never be able to give Reba what she needs.