Tell Me Your Dreams

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled. “A Pimm’s would be lovely.”

“My pleasure.”

And it would end the same way. Her date would lean close to her and whisper in her ear, “Why don’t we go up to my flat and have a shag?”

“Buzz off.” And Toni would be out of there. She would lie in her bed at night, thinking about how stupid men were and how bloody easy it was to control them. The poor sods did not know it, but they wanted to be controlled. They needed to be controlled.

And then came the move from London to Cupertino. In the beginning, it had been a disaster. Toni hated Cupertino and she loathed working at Global Computer Graphics. She was bored with hearing about plug-ins and dpi’s and halftones and grids. She desperately missed the exciting nightlife of London. There were a few nightspots in the Cupertino area, and Toni frequented those: San Jose Live or P. J. Mulligan’s or Hollywood Junction. She wore tight-fitting miniskirts and tube tops with open-toed shoes having five-inch heels or platform shoes with thick cork soles. She used a lot of makeup—thick, dark eyeliner, false eyelashes, colored eye shadow and bright lipstick. It was as though she were trying to hide her beauty.

Some weekends, Toni would drive up to San Francisco, where the real action was. She haunted the restaurants and clubs that had music bars. She would visit Harry Denton’s and One Market restaurant and the California Café, and during the evening, while the musicians took their break, Toni would go to the piano and play and sing. The customers loved it. When Toni tried to pay her dinner bills, the owners would say, “No, this is on the house. You’re wonderful. Please come back again.”

Did you hear that, Mother? “You’re wonderful. Please come back again.”

On a Saturday night, Toni was having dinner in the French Room at the Cliff Hotel. The musicians had finished their set and left the bandstand. The maître d’ looked at Toni and nodded invitingly.

Toni rose and walked across the room to the piano. She sat down and began to play and sing an early Cole Porter number. When she was finished, there was enthusiastic applause. She sang two more songs and returned to her table.

A bald, middle-aged man came up to her. “Excuse me. May I join you for a moment?”

Toni started to say no, when he added, “I’m Norman Zimmerman. I’m producing a road company of The King and I. I’d like to talk to you about it.”

Toni had just read a glowing article about him. He was a theatrical genius.

He sat down. “You have a remarkable talent, young lady. You’re wasting your time fooling around in places like this. You should be on Broadway.”

Broadway. Did you hear that, Mother?

“I’d like to audition you for—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

He looked at her in surprise. “This could open a lot of doors for you. I mean it. I don’t think you know how talented you are.”

“I have a job.”

“Doing what, may I ask?”

“I work at a computer company.”

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll start by paying you double whatever you’re getting now and—”

Toni said, “I appreciate it, but I … I can’t.”

Zimmerman sat back in his chair. “You’re not interested in show business?”

“I’m very interested.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Toni hesitated, then said carefully, “I’d probably have to leave in the middle of the tour.”

“Because of your husband or—?”

“I’m not married.”

“I don’t understand. You said you’re interested in show business. This is the perfect showcase for you to—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t explain.”

If I did explain, he wouldn’t understand, Toni thought miserably. No one would. It’s the unholy curse I have to live with. Forever.

A few months after Toni started working at Global Computer Graphics, she learned about the Internet, the worldwide open door to meeting men.

She was having dinner at the Duke of Edinburgh with Kathy Healy, a friend who worked for a rival computer company. The restaurant was an authentic pub from England that had been torn down, packed in containers and shipped to California. Toni would go there for Cockney fish and chips, prime ribs with Yorkshire pudding, bangers and mash and English sherry trifle. One foot on the ground, she would say. I have to remember my roots.

Toni looked up at Kathy. “I want you to do me a favor.”

“Name it.”

“I want you to help me with the Internet, luv. Tell me how to use it.”

“Toni, the only computer I have access to is at work, and it’s against company policy to—”

“Sod company policy. You know how to use the Internet, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Toni patted Kathy Healy’s hand and smiled. “Great.”

The following evening, Toni went to Kathy Healy’s office, and Kathy introduced Toni to the world of the Internet. After clicking on the Internet icon, Kathy entered her password and waited a moment to connect, then double clicked another icon and entered a chat room. Toni sat in amazement, watching rapid, typed conversations taking place among people all over the globe.

“I’ve got to have that!” Toni said. “I’ll get a computer for my flat. Would you be an angel and set me up on the Internet?”

“Sure. It’s easy. All you do is click your mouse into the URL field, the uniform resource locator, and—”

“Like the song says, ‘Don’t tell me, show me.’”

The next night, Toni was on the Internet, and from that time on, her life changed. She was no longer bored. The Internet became a magic carpet that flew her all over the world. When Toni got home from work, she would immediately turn on her computer and go online to explore various chat rooms that were available.

It was so simple. She accessed the Internet, pressed a key and a window opened on the screen, split into an upper portion and a lower portion. Toni typed in “Hello. Is anyone there?”

The lower portion of the screen flashed the words “Bob. I’m here. I’m waiting for you.”

She was ready to meet the world.

There was Hans in Holland: