"Mr. Spielberg is on the line"

  The Nyquil wasn't kicking in yet. My head and the entire left side of my face was throbbing. Three pillows, and I still couldn't breathe. Every time I swallowed, my ears felt like I was at the bottom of the leaf pile like when I was a kid; a scratchy, muffled sound.

 Maybe that's why I didn't hear her correctly. My wife's voice interrupted my turmoil from the next room. "Honey... it's Mr. Spielberg. He's on the phone for you."
 My eyes focused on the ceiling fan. Was it spinning? No, that was my head.
 Did she just say, 'Spielberg?'
 She was standing in the doorway now, holding a cordless phone out like a trophy. "It's for you," she said, with a smile. "It's really him!"
 My watery eyes were open wide. I wanted to sneeze, but couldn't. I reached for the phone, hoping I could hear.
 "Hello?"
 "Uh, yes, Mr. Cockroft?"
 "Yes. Who is this, please?"
 "Steven Spielberg here. I just wanted to --- "
 "Steven Spielberg? As in, the movie director?"
 A quiet chuckle on the other end.
 "Yes. The very same. Anyway --- "
 "So, you're actually calling me?"
 Another chuckle. .
 "Well, you didn't call me, did you?"
 I swallowed, despite the fact that it hurt.
 "Um, no sir. I don't even have your number."
 "Well, Mr. Cockroft, I want to extend to you an opportunity to audition for my upcoming movie, Lincoln. Have you heard of it?"
 "Of course, Mr. Spielberg. He's my favorite president."
 "Mine, too."
 "I thought you were a Democrat."
 "What?"
 "Nothing. You were saying something about an audition?"
 "Oh, yes. I saw your clip from South of Black Drink Crier. Very convincing."

 "You saw that? It was a half hour short film produced by college students!"
 "Yes, but your role as a Civil War chaplain was quite impressive. I like your style, Mr. Cockroft."
 "Please, call me John. May I call you Steven?"

 "Let's just stick with 'Mr. Spielberg' until after the auditions."
 "Of course."
 My cheeks are hot with embarrassment. Or am I running a fever?
 "When and where, sir?"
 "A week from this Friday, at 3 p.m., Municipal Auditorium, Kansas City, Missouri. Can you make it?"
 "I'll be there, Mr. Spielberg."
 "Perfect."
 I hung up, wondering if I should have asked for an emergency contact number.
 My eyes flutter open. The ceiling fan is whirling now. My phone is hung up. The entire thing was a dream.
Aaagh.... if only I'd gotten his number in the dream, I could have called Mr.Spielberg and set up my own audition in real life!

 Guess that Nyquil kicked in after all...