Francine's dream of Feb 25

I used to flash dance occasionally for a DJ friend back when I was a hot, broke coed--mostly in underground gay discos or opening for crappy new wave bands.

In the dream, we somehow got the gig for the “The Search for Spock” wrap party. The party’s in a vast soundstage with the set of Kirk’s apartment on one end.

I’m on this tall narrow platform, gyrating my hips real slow with hula hoops that are filled with a liquid that reacts to black light. I look out over the crowd and see Leonard Nimoy dancing with his wife. He looks miserable but he’s a good dancer. I try to get him to notice me but he’s too far away, it’s dark, the backdrop’s black, the platform’s black, I’m black and wearing a black bikini. All he could see was these two hoops going around and around in midair like a special effect.

But Bill sees me. He’s having an argument with Marcy but walks away from her while she’s still talking. He’s still wearing the white turtleneck and black pants from his costume. He stops and stands by my platform and watches me with his arms folded. Even though I’m up on the platform, he does that thing he does with his eyes when he’s about to kiss a woman. (That thing I still can’t describe but other women know what I mean.)

I grin. He grins.

“You look good,” I yell down.

“I don’t really start gaining weight until I’m in my late sixties,” he yells up.

“Fucking tabloids,” I say.

“And the costumes aren’t very flattering.”

I point to the crowd with my chin. “What’s with all the wives tonight?”

“She’s not very nice to me,” he said.

“What about Leonard?”

“You were born too late.”

All of the sudden, the guy who plays Dr. House comes in and starts yelling at me and waving his cane round and telling me that I’m not as smart as I think I am, but I can tell that he’s really attracted to me. I’m pissed because Leonard’s leaving and he looks like the saddest man in the world.

I wake up the next morning with a man sleeping with his head on my hip. I know we fucked because my hips are sore and I could feel what we used to call the morning-after “pussy buzz”. I’m stroking the skin below his ear and behind his jaw with my thumb. He has curly brownish hair and I can’t tell if it’s Bill or if it’s House.