Courting Robin

It's 5:30 a.m. I am trying to convince Robin Williams to be in a film for my brother's production company. He mentions how it would be hard to move away from the big boys with the numbers they are pushing. 

"Look, Robin," I say. "There comes a time to make a choice." 

I look over at my brother. The rest of the production team are in the wings of my periphery. Everyone is anticipating. I can feel my palms sticking like rubber glove, but I'm relaxing into it, like a snake peeling itself to reveal a better version of the truth.

"You're not going to get a better person than Paiman to see you through this. In fact, everyone here in this company is out to make a great film. We're a family here. Now the big boys may be calling to you with promises of dividends, but can they promise the same care and integrity you see here. Take a look at these folks. These faces are hungry and ready. The only thing we need is the perfect lead. That's you, Robin. If you look, you might see it." 

Robin looks over my shoulder at the team. He laughs a bit. 

"I know you know best for you, Robin. You'll make the best choice. I trust that. I also trust that we've made the best choices for us.  Paiman leading this project is exactly right. This production team is an exact fit for him. Now all we need is an ideal actor for this part. I know for me it's Robin Williams. The only question is if it's right for him."

Robin nods. He shuffles a bit and begins to walk off in the courtyard. Paiman follows for the close. They circle around us. We catch the last bit as they come back towards us.

"It's going to be different and exciting," my brother finishes. "It's you."

"Okay," Robin winks. "I'll think about it, boys."

As Robin walks off, the production team files in a circle. Everyone is chatting and smiling. A couple people on the team say it's good to have me back. 

"I didn't know I ever left or was part of anything," I say.

"It's good that you back though," they say again.

My dream trails off. I wake up and start writing in bed with no pen or paper. I draft a couple openings about a non-reality television program. "Reality TV is not reality," I think. "Why not expose that? I could do a satire." 

I stare at the clock on the mantle. It is 7:15 a.m.. I wade back into the dream. I am watching it over again like a film. I think about how I would like to have a family production team and make movies with my brother. I wish he did too. I stand up. I can't tell if I'm dreaming or not. Weezer's "American Gigolo" is playing loudly in the room. There is no one in the courtyard and the credits are rolling.

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