You, You, You

THE DREAM

As I swirled my finger around and around to mix a tiny bit of patchouli oil into the dollop of shampoo in my hand, my head swirled around and around as well…

             I am showering…
            So that I can cook…  
            For Eddie Vedder… 
            Who thinks I am beautiful… 
            Who wants to talk to me… 
            Here…
            In California…  
            Where our band just played for thousands of people…
            Because Neil Young asked us too…
            Because he thought we were good…
            Eddie thinks I’m beautiful…
            Eddie…

                I thought of his face smiling at me from across his dressing room… How could he look so powerful and so gentle and soft all at once?  Why did his face glow like that?  And how in hell am I so lucky to be here, in this exact moment, all of this happening to me?  With all the fuck ups I’ve made in my lifetime, how did all of this good fortune come my way?  I wasn’t one for institutional religion, but I was definitely a spiritual person.  There must have been some sort of angel looking out for me from somewhere out there…
                I finished washing the suds out of my hair, stepped out of the shower and carefully wrapped my hair up in one towel, my body in another.  I looked into the steamy mirror and, wiping it clearer with my hand, smiled at the person I saw.  When the knock came on the hotel room door, I nearly jumped out of my skin.  Without even thinking to put clothes on first, I pulled the towel off my head, shook my hair a few times, swung open the bathroom door and excitedly ran to let Eddie in.
                “Hello, stranger…” I kidded as I pulled the door towards me and motioned for him to come inside.  He didn’t move.
                “Come on in,” I smiled at him.  “What’s the matter, did I turn you to stone already?”
                “It’s just… Izzy, you look—you are so… beautiful right now.  Let me just soak this in for a second,” he said quietly as his eyes burned holes through mine.  His gaze wandered around my face, my hair, and then just for a split second wandered down to my shoulders and my chest peeking out from the top of the towel.  He was sure not to linger there too long—so concerned about not being a creep.  It wasn’t bothering me, though.  He was making me feel that what he just said was true…
                “Come on, get in here goofy,” I pulled on his hand to lead him through the doorway.  I shut the door behind us and motioned him toward the couch in my bedroom.  Luckily, I had won when we drew straws for the single bedroom that had the kitchenette attached.  I liked having my own space.  “Have a seat.  I just have to throw some clothes on.”  I walked over to the closet and started sorting through my luggage.

Eddie’s P.O.V.

                This room is amazing, I thought to myself as I plopped down on the sofa.  Look what she’s done to the place.  Apparently Izzy had personalized her room, decorating all of it from floor to ceiling.  There were beautiful flowered sheets of fabric lining the walls, blankets and pillows spread out around the floor where I saw an acoustic guitar and an open composition book, and she must have had about thirty white candles of all different shapes and sizes lit on every free surface.  They must have been scented, but I couldn’t quite place the aroma.  It was intoxicating, like some incense that I’d never smelled before.  There was a large vase full of fresh flowers on the end table—tiny white ones, and loads of them.  I noticed a ridiculously high stack of books in the corner where the couch met the wall.  I saw some of my favorite authors in that pile:  Bukowski, Vonnegut, Zinn.  Next to the books was a smaller pile of what looked like journals.  Then I saw the turntable and the stack of records.  The only one I could make out was The Who’s Quadrophenia.  Get the fuck out of here, man.  She has to be the coolest girl I’ve ever met and I don’t even know her yet.  There must be somebody somewhere looking out for me… This is too perfect, I thought as I stared into the flame of the nearest candle.
                I looked over to the closet where Izzy was noisily rummaging through a suitcase.  My heart leaped into my throat—she had just let her towel drop to the ground.  Now she was standing with her back to me, wearing only a pair of white lace panties.  I watched her, unable to look away, as she gracefully slipped into a white crocheted bra and hooked it behind her back.  Her skin was practically glowing, her back one of the most beautiful sights I had ever laid eyes on.  She looked like something straight out of heaven, so much so that I half-expected there to be angel wings sprouting out from her shoulder blades.  I wanted so badly to walk over there and turn her around.  I kept my cool, though, as she pulled on a pair of bell-bottoms with holes in the knees and yanked a green t-shirt over her head.  She turned around so quickly, I didn’t have time to look away.  She stood, her eyes matching the color of her Led Zeppelin shirt perfectly, grinning at me.  I must have looked shell-shocked.
                “See something you like, Mr. Vedder?”
                “I… you caught me.  Sorry.” 
                “If I didn’t want you to see me, I would have used the bathroom,” she said, coming over and taking a seat next to me.  “So, welcome to my humble home away from home.  Still hungry?”
                “Oh, I’m always hungry,” I answered, which made her giggle.  Damn, that giggle was cute!
                “I know how you feel.  I used to think I had a hollow leg, you know?” 
                “Maybe you do,” I said, bending over and pressing my ear to her thigh, giving it a couple of knocks.  “Hm, nope.  Sounds perfectly normal to me.”  By now she was full-blown belly laughing and leaning slightly into me for support.  She regained control of her laughter and pushed herself upright by putting a hand on my chest for leverage.  My hand was still on her thigh.  We both got quiet in an instant—all you could hear was our breathing—and then we both withdrew our hands in such a hurry that we both started laughing again at how awkward we were being with each other.
                “Okay,” she said, clearing her throat, “I better get started with the mixing and simmering or we will both starve.  Can’t have that.”  She crouched down to turn on the record player and the sounds of Cat Stevens’ Teaser and the Firecat filled the room as she walked over to the corner kitchen.  She began to sing along as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out bowls and bowls of fresh ingredients.  Her voice made me close my eyes.  It was haunting…