I knew I was going crazy.
I heard his voice all day. Every day. Every where. His beautiful melodious voice. Singing "Que Bella Maria". "Cancion del Mariachi". "No Se Por Que Te Quiero". And selections from "Evita". It wasn't that I didn't love hearing his voice. But all the time? Something had to be done. I had to regain control of my hearing. I checked myself into the Antonio Banderas Obsession Rehabilitation Clinic.
The ABOR Clinic was an exclusive institution devoted to solving the problems of chicas throughout the world. Once you signed yourself in, you put yourself in the expert hands of a vast array of professionals. Specialists who gave their all to easing the pain of hurting chicas. I eagerly awaited the appearance of Enrique Dominguez, my assigned therapist.
I sat in his comfortable office, nervous as a cat and hearing the strains of "Oh What a Circus" tumbling in my brain. It was so loud, I didn't hear him enter the room through the door behind me, so his first words startled me.
"Miss Silver, I see you are suffering from auditory hallucinations." He said looking at my chart.
"Huh?"
"You hear music and there's no one there." A surprisingly young man spoke. A surprisingly gorgeous young man. A man whose face I knew quite well - Ricky! Dangling out of the pocket of his sparkling white lab coat was a soft cloth rope. Was it the same one he used on Marina? I wondered. And then there it was. The music from Atame started up as he began to speak, drowning out his words. With all my strength, I willed myself to hear what he was saying to me.
"Your condition is not all that uncommon, Miss Silver. Oh, may I call you Deena? I find it helpful to interact with my clients on a first name basis. You may call me Ricky, if you wish." He smiled engagingly at me, trying to set me at ease. It was beginning to work. "Si, we find many chicas suffer from this malady. It even has a clinical name - "bandearitis". Simply, in layman's terms, you hear Antonio Banderas' voice singing to you everything you have ever heard him sing. It particularly can flare up if you have not seen a new movie of his for any great length of time. But, I can help you." His voice gave me the strength to confide in him even further.
"Ricky, that's not the half of it. Lately I find myself hearing one particular song over and over and over again. It isn't even one in which he sings particularly well. In fact, to tell the truth, he hardly sings his part at all. But when I hear this song….well, it does crazy things to me. It makes me …hot."
"You mean it gives you a fever?" He interjected incredulously.
"No, no. I mean it makes me.. passionate. I want to make love. In fact, when I hear this song in my head, well. Thankfully, it has never come to me except when I've been getting ready for bed. When the sun goes down and the moon comes up."
"The moon wraps around you?"
"Yes. And a mad thing starts." I looked at him. Suddenly, my heart was pumping for him. I could feel my nipples hardening as the music started to play softly in my head. The air outside the open window became hot, so hot. I unbuttoned the top few buttons of my blouse, fanning myself with the appointment reminder card that I still clutched in my hand. I could hear people walking and talking outside; their voices and steps a quiet accompaniment to the music that was beating in my brain.
"Are you all right, Deena?" He came over to the other side of the desk and knelt by my chair, his face level with my bosom. He leaned into me, and inhaled deeply. "What perfume are you wearing?" he asked abruptly. "I can smell your skin." Boldly, he placed his palm on my heart, on the bare skin that showed above my opened top. "I can feel your breathing. It's quite irregular."
"Ricky," I whimpered. "The song. It's started. I'm dizzy. The world feels like it's slowly turning. I can see your face, touch your eyes." I reached out and gently touched the lids that closed over his sherry colored eyes. "Touch your lips." I leaned further over, my fingertips softly caressed his pouty mouth. I knew he could see deeper in the shadow between my breasts. Knew he could tell that I wasn't wearing a bra. But I didn't care. And he didn't move. He let me touch him.
"Deena, this is crazy! I hear the music, too! Never in my wildest dreams have I ever had this feeling." For a second he seemed to lose control, Then, I could see him visibly collecting himself. "Deena, I think we must take this to a more controlled setting where we don't have to worry about interruptions." Offering me his hand, he helped me into my jacket and asked, "Where is your room?"
"My room?"
"Yes. There is a very special treatment that I sometimes employ for cases that I find exceptionally….interesting. Yours is one of them. This is the first time that I also have heard a chica's auditory hallucinations. Why, I can write an entire paper on this!"
"You seem awfully knowledgeable, Ricky," I complimented him.
"Well, that comes of spending almost all of my life in an institution. Things were bound to, er, rub off."
"Well, as long as you don't mention me by name, you're more than welcome to use my story." [note: Ricky later won the Nobel prize for this piece of scholarly writing.]
Hand in hand, we sauntered over to my rooms. As we walked, I could hear Antonio singing "High Flying Adored". Ricky, his eyes startled, turned to me and asked, "'Evita'?"
"Yes," I nodded. He grabbed my elbow and hurried me along.
We arrived at my spacious suite in record time.
Each of the suites had a theme from one of Antonio's movies. Crazy we chicas were. Obsessed, indeed. But we still wanted to be surrounded by Antonio. My theme was the movie "13th Warrior". The room looked like that of an Arabian seraglio. Ricky stopped dead in his tracks when he opened the door and saw all the festoonings of silks and pillows.
"Perfect," he declared. "Come. Let's get to work."
Leading me over to the enormous bed, heaped high with cushions, he gently pushed me back. "Why don't you get comfortable," he said. As if to demonstrate, he took off my jacket and flung it on a nearby hassock. The rest of my clothes soon followed…as did his.
"Now, we are comfortable, si?" He asked from the middle of the canopied bed. He had taken some of the silken hangings and almost without my realizing it, had tied my hands together over my head, just to prevent me from running away from the therapy he was about to propose, he said. I had absolute faith in him.
"Now, Deena, here is how the therapy starts. It's actually very easy." Ignoring his nakedness, he moved over to the huge painting over the sofa which depicted Ahmad ibn Fadlan on a beautiful white steed, and pressed a gizmo hidden behind the picture. Silently, it slid to the left revealing an elaborate home entertainment system including the latest digital CD player, Large screen TV, VCR and DVD. Arranged neatly in rows were all of Antonio's movies and their soundtracks. Ana Belen's duet was marked and…..Tina Turner's duet "Wildest Dreams"!
"Oh, baby!" I exclaimed.
Pressing some buttons, Ricky filled the air with the pulsating beat of the song that was constantly filling my heart with love and my ears with music. Smiling encouragingly at me, Ricky came back to the bed and explained his novel form of therapy.
"We'll let the music play and while it plays we'll find a place where you can open your heart , figuratively, and we'll fill it full of real memories, filled with love. Whenever you hear the music, you'll be able to look back on this real lovemaking and substitute this for your auditory hallucinations. Thus, these illusions will fade as they are replaced with reality, this reality."
"Oh, Ricky! Let's get started!"
"Not yet."
"Not yet? Why not?" I pouted.
"Impatient chica. First, some wine." Opening up a fragrant bottle of white wine, he poured two glasses and brought them over to me, seating himself next to me on the bed.
"Untie me, Ricky. I can't drink with my hands tied."
"Oh, I'll help you." Bringing the wine glass to my lips, he delicately offered me little sips, kissing the wine from my lips after each one, driving me crazy with the sensation of his tongue delving into my mouth. Finally, I finished my glass.
"Oh, Ricky, you haven't had yours yet."
"I will now." Slowly he poured the fruity beverage all over my body, between my breasts, moistening each nipple, between my thighs dampening the dark auburn nest there, in my navel, the hollow of my neck, my fingers, even my toes. Then, using his tongue he tortured me as he lapped up each drop as the music played in the background.
"Shall I let you go now?" he asked, when every drop was finally gone.
"Not yet!"
"Not yet?"
"Don't let me go. Not yet!" I begged. "Finish it! Please, finish it!"
Turning me over on my belly, he finished me off., bringing me to the hardest, strongest orgasm I had ever had. Filling my mind with beautiful memories and wiping out the imaginary sounds of Antonio's voice. Now, I could control those dulcet tones, hearing them at my command or bringing forth today's beautiful lovemaking instead. At last, he untied my hands. I let them fall at my side. I was cured. And Ricky?
Wickedly he smiled. "Not yet." And a wild thing starts………
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