Last night, or early this morning, I had a dream about Val Kilmer. I guess it was only because he appeared on Live With Regis and Kelly yesterday morning — because I generally don’t think about Val Kilmer too much. It’s nothing personal. It’s just that I can only focus on one man at a time, and I’m not about to forsake my longtime (and true) love, Johnny Depp, for anyone else. Johnny’s just too … well … dreamy. (Someone who shall remain quite nameless, a devout reader of this page, has recently used this adjective to describe Johnny Depp as he appeared in Chocolat. )
Anyway, I dreamt about Val Kilmer. In my dream he had straight hair, not the curly luxurious mane he was sporting on Monday morning’s show. And in my dream I was sorta kinda backstage at the show, which was also someone’s private party, and Val and I were separated by a few anonymous party people (I refuse to say “partiers”). But there was no mistaking that it was he, in all his 6’6″ (remember, I said it was a dream) golden boy glory (a dream, I said). Other people were clamoring for his attention, but he pushed them away, and they fell back into the white mist *ahem* through which he passed smoothly as if on wheeled feet. His outrageously square jaw dropped at the sight of my unspeakable beauty, and even the simplest of words failed him. I deemed him silly, and improbably tall, and when I finally spoke to him it was with a slight, faux, lilting accent from an unidentified European country of questionable existence. I don’t know what I said to him. I only know that my words enchanted Movie Star Val Kilmer. And even in the dream situation, I was all too aware of my incredible phoniness — and I wondered if he could/would see through my asinine charade and realize that although I was playing it cool, I was actually quite taken by him and his pouty lips and devastating gaze, if only in the dream. Alas, he was none the wiser.
Val Kilmer remained utterly captivated, hanging on my every word. I played hard to get.
He pursued me, pushing his way through the mist. Oh, the boy was relentless! But I, ever the coquette, blinked my eyes slowly in dismissal, turned my head away ever so slightly, and … woke up …
… mad at myself.
Now I know that if I were to run into Val Kilmer on the street (I’m assuming he’s in town for something, through the weekend; I didn’t watch more than one minute of his segment on Live yesterday), I’d feel as if we shared a special something, and if I smiled at him, he’d think, I know I know this captivating stunner from somewhere. But where … where … where??? And I would want to ask him, “Just what did I say in my dream that riveted you so!?