Back to Taylor’s Point of View

             My sleep was pretty dreamless. Usually I remember them, the Freud ones. I used to always annotate them for manifest and latent content. They usually were with people snogging, and I was the only one without someone. I tried to remember, as I was being pulled out of the stream of unconsciousness, by my Revolver CD.

            Let me tell you how it will be...

            I didn’t want to get up, considering last night. Julie tends to hold grudges, like when Victoria and I ditched her at the movies because she was too busy having a John and Yoko moment with her current beau.

            Then suddenly, a light shinned through.

            “Good morning!” announced Julie in a chipmunk like voice. I woke up to the sight of her opening my blinds.

            I groaned.

            “Come on, wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” Julie pulled me out of bed and led me to the kitchen.

            “I made you a nice breakfast, to give you a jump start for your important day!”

            She smiled, grinning practically.

            “What did you do to the food?”

            “Nothing.”

            “Then why are you smiling?”

            “Because you made me feel good last night, like I was appreciated. Plus, Victoria called and said that Ryan called her. He asked her who the hell was I with at the restaurant ‘cause he was there an’ he was jealous!” Julie declared, manically.

            “Does she know?” I asked, wondering how the hell Ryan has Victoria’s phone number.

            “I told her, and she said it was a very Taylor thing to do!”

            I ate the bacon, more like nibbling because I was anxious, like I was about to perform at Shea Stadium. Julie even made me my favorite drink, limeade, and popovers with strawberry butter. I attempted to enjoy them.

            “C’mon!” said Julie as she pulled me into my room. “Open your closet!”

            The outfit was on a hanger, the Chelsea boots under it. The wig and facial accessories were on a neatly prepared Styrofoam head.

            “Gear,” I exclaimed, “Did you do this?”

            Julie nodded her head.

            “Now it’s medieval torture device time!” she perkily announced, holding the boob girdle, and closing her eyes.

            “You get used to it after a while. Done!”

            Julie opened her eyes. I put on the outfit, and the boots. I sat down in front of my vanity applying the identity: the nose, teeth, wig, eyebrows, sideburns, and mustache, and was finished. Julie gave me a thumbs-up.

            “You don’t think it’s too much, do you?” I asked.

            “Gear!” she exclaimed, mimicking me, “Of course it isn’t. Besides, it’ll come in handy if….”

            “Come on, Julie,” I said, putting on the light blue coat, “They aren’t sexist, it’s a woman’s world.”

            As we walked down the apartment building, several of the residents gazed at us.

            “Wasn’t that the man who went into her apartment last night?”

            “They’re no good, both of those girls. That one is always bringing in men, the other, well, I plain just don’t like her.”

            “Middle-aged couples. What can you expect?” I muttered as we finally escaped and made our way to the garage, “Stupid parents’ car!” I muttered once again, trying to get it to unlock.

            “You’re obviously nervous,” smiled Julie, placing the hat on my head, “Don’t be. You’ll be fine.”

            I shrugged my shoulders.

            “Thanks for the wonderful time last night, George,” she said giving me a hug, “And kick some ass at the audition!”

            “Don’t worry,” I said, putting on my sunglasses and hopping into my car, “I will.”

            I started the engines and waved to Julie. I about to greet my destiny, my life-long aspiration.