I had the weirdest dream

I had this dream. I was giving a cocktail party for Yma Sumac, the Peruvian singer. This was odd, I mean I really like her singing, but I had never met Miss Sumac and even in a dream it seems strange that I would be giving her a party.

Anyway, she and I were alone in the living room of my place and we are getting along great. Laughing, talking, any minute other guests are expected. I have no idea though who any of them will be. So I have set out hors d'oeuvres all over the place and on one table I have put a bowl of gloog. The door bell rings, I open the door and there to my awe is Ava Gardner.

"Dahling" she says, "How nice of you to ask me." It's funny, cuz I don't know Ava Garnder either. In my dream, all my guests seem to know me very well, oddly though - none of them seem to know each other.

Anyway, I say "Miss Ava Gardner...I would like you to meet Miss Yma Sumac."
"Ah no, please," says Miss Sumac, "Let us not be so formal, por favor. Introduce each guest only by their first name, that way we all may become friends."
Fine with me, I think, so I introduce the two again.
"Ava...Yma."

The doorbell rings again, the second guest, Abba Eben, the Israeli foreign minister. I introduce him as Miss Sumac asks. I keep things on a first name basis.

"Abba...Yma, Abba...Ava." I start to grin, but no one finds anything amusing. The bell again...it's Oona O'Niel, Charlie Chaplin's wife. I bring her into the room.

"Oona...Yma, Oona...Ava, Oona...Abba."

We're all standing in a circle, smiling at each other, but no one is talking very much. The doorbell rings again. It's Ugo Betti, the Italian playwright. I bring him into the room.

"Ugo...Yma, Ugo...Ava, Ugo...Oona, Ugo...Abba." I quickly fill up everyone's glass of gloog. For some reason, I find myself hoping no other guests have been invited. The doorbell rings again. It's Ida Lapino, the actress, and Ulu Grossbard, the movie director.

I say, "Ida and Ulu, surely you know Yma and Ava. Ida, Ulu...Oona, Abba. Ida, Ulu...Ugo."

Please let there be more guests I said to myself. But the doorbell rings again. Everybody stands stony-faced as I usher in the new arrival. The Aga Khan.

"Folks, I guess you all know the Aga Khan." But there is a dead silence, and I must introduce him.

"Aga...Yma, Ava, Ida, Ulu, Abba, Ugo, Oona." I quickly suggest a game of Charades. They all say no. I ask Miss Sumac to sing for us, she refuses. I begin to wish I have never thrown this party. The doorbell rings and more guests arrive. Three more at the door. Mia Farrow, Pia Zadora, and Gia Scalla.

"Mia, Pia, Gia...Yma, Ava, Oona. Mia, Pia, Gia...Ida, Abba, Ugo, Aga, Ulu." I turn to see if this has made Miss Sumac happy. She ignores me. This is a terrible party. We're all standing in a circle glaring at each other. I begin to feel oddly hemmed in, like a man about to be stoned to death.

"Am I late?" asks Uta Hagen, the actress....breezing in without ringing the doorbell.
"No, of course not." I say.
"Please have the common decency to introduce your guest to one another," says Yma Sumac, angrily. I've begun to hate her.
"OK, OK!" I say. I take a deep breath.
"Uta...Yma, Uta...Ava, Uta...Oona, Uta...Ida, Uta...Mia, Uta...Pia, Uta...Gia, Uta...Ugo, Uta...Aga, Uta...Abba, Uta...Ulu."

And then I woke up. Weird.