Who doesn’t love Cher? At one point or another we have all enjoyed one of her songs, one of her movies, or one of her scathing tweets. Personally, I’ve done all three, multiple times. She’s one of those pop culture constants that has nothing left to prove but still manages to make a splash or marker in each of the last five decades. Pretty impressive body of work.
As much as I adore her, I’ve never dreamt about her until last week. It was a remarkably happy dream (most of mine are not). We were in the audience watching Bette Midler in ‘Hello Dolly!’ – don’t ask how we got tickets, or how I happened to be seated next to Cher, but there we were. Strangely, it was Cher who donned the traditional Dolly Levi garb – big feathered hat, tight bodice, flaming red velvet dress – and I was so star-struck by her and her proximity to me that I babbled some nonsense on how big an inspiration she has always been. She seemed touched by my genuine fandom, and grabbed my arm, pulling me through time and space as can only happen in a dream, and suddenly we were inside her beach-house.
A couple of younger guys, who seemed to be transient son figures with their own rooms and section of the house, looked at me warily, annoyed that I had come. Cher was suddenly missing, so I walked around alone, looking out all the windows at where the house was situated on the beach so I could locate it the next day and tell all my friends I had been in Cher’s house.
Eventually she came back, in more casual garb, her dark hair down in loose waves, running a little longer than shoulder-length. A good look for her. I told her how beautiful her house was and she beamed, joining me in looking out at the beach. It was night, but we knew the ocean was there. All we could see was the sand in the immediate house light. What was beyond extended into darkness. It would be brilliant during the day.
She took me on a quick tour of other rooms, but my eyes stayed on the windows, fixated on the beach. I tried voicing my lifelong adoration for her, which I was certain she’d heard a million times before. Still, we each want to connect to our celebrities, to make it known how much they really meant to us, how long and how hard we have loved them. She was gracious, and seemed genuinely touched. I want to believe that. And I wanted to believe the dream.
A fallen bottle of Tylenol in the kitchen woke me to Andy’s late-night maneuvers, and the dream dissipated into darkness.
