Ray Liotta won’t let up about the dream. “John doesn’t think it’s that weird,” he says, handing me a bowl of crab bisque.
John Lithgow looks smug. He’s engaged in a heated competition with my sex dream. He’s been talking all day about stretchy legs and terry cloth. I scoop some of the bisque and think it looks a little thick.
It looks a little thick, I say.
“It is,” says John Lithgow. He holds his bowl upside-down. The contents plop out onto the table with a kind of sucking slap noise. “But I guess it’s not that thick.” Ray Liotta looks as though his feelings might be hurt. I taste the bisque. It’s like crab-flavored tapioca pudding.
I make a noise that I hope sounds like “delicious.” It was one of those dreams like I used to have when I was a kid, where all the parts are played by other people, I say, and my penis is some kind of narcissistic main character.
“Penises are naturally driven toward narcissism,” Ray Liotta says, “It’s part of the patriarchal construct.”
“Right!” John Lithgow is sopping up thick crab bisque with a baguette.
In the dream, I’m being evaluated by a council of coworkers and students. They are played by the cast of Friends, mostly, but also include people I went to high school with.
“And you’re naked,” John Lithgow asks.
No, but my pants are around my ankles. I’m trying to recite my CV from memory, but I keep making mistakes. Every time I make a mistake, food pops out of my penis. Each item is plated on bright white dishes–sauced and garnished. I am ejaculating cover images for Food & Wine. Everyone at the meeting is noisily eating, making it harder to concentrate, which means more food.