I really don’t have a problem. No, really, I don’t. The fact that I have Antonio posters in every room of my house, that I have his voice on my computer, that I have my doorbell rigged to play "Cancion del Mariachi" or that my friends accuse me of having an Antonio Banderas-induced mid-life crisis, still isn’t proof, in my view. No sireee. I don’t need treatment. Nope.
Well, I guess that maybe I do. It must have been the day I hummed the title music from Of Love and Shadows for 24 hours straight, or when I started insisting everyone call me Irene, that convinced me. Yeah, that must have been it. My loved ones brought me here, to the Antonio Banderas Rehabilitation Clinic. It’s for my own good, they say.
I was shown into a richly appointed office, complete with the classic brown leather couch, just like you see in psychiatrist’s offices in the movies. The secretary was really nice (and boy, did she look familiar for some reason!), and told me the doctor would be right with me. I clutched my little handbag in my lap and sat nervously tapping my fingers. I didn’t know what to expect.
At that moment, the door opened. I turned towards it, and felt my heart fall through the floor. Francisco! It was Francisco, from OLAS, and…
"Senorita, it is a pleasure to meet you, I am Dr. Leal," he said, extending his warm hand in greeting as I numbly reached across the desk and shook it. It felt smooth and strong, just as I had always imagined it would be.
Dr. Leal lifted the pages of the form that I had filled out prior to treatment. He sat back in his chair reading, and his brow furrowed as he reviewed my ailment. I could only sit staring, wondering what his hair would feel like, threaded through my fingers while…
"Don’t worry, Senorita." He turned towards me and crossed his arms on the desk, giving me his best bedside manner. "I have treated many, many women with your condition. With work, and with effort, you can be cured. This is becoming a common ailment. I saw a spike in cases around the time of the film releases of Desperado and Zorro, but it seems to be building even during the times Mr. Banderas doesn’t have a film on the screen. Most fascinating."
I crossed my legs, letting my skirt ride up my thighs. I felt rewarded when I received Dr. Leal’s full attention. "Well, actually, Dr. Leal…I rather like my condition. It’s done wonders for me and for my life. I just need help in…controlling my urges."
Dr. Leal cleared his throat nervously and pulled at his collar. "Ahem…your…urges?" he asked, watching as I got up from the chair and circled around his desk.
"Yes…have you ever heard of transference, Dr Leal?" I stopped in front of his chair and put one knee up beside his leg, lightly running my knee up and down his thigh.
"Yes," he said, looking up at me with caution but also interest. "It’s…transferring your feelings of obsession from its source to…ahem…to the doctor."
I leaned forward and took Dr. Leal’s silk tie in my hand, using it for leverage as I straddled his lap in the chair. His hands came to my waist suddenly, but not in resistance.
"I think a bit of transference is just what the doctor ordered," I said, leaning down to brush my lips lightly against his.
"I think I can prescribe that…followed by extensive treatment."
I smiled, and whispered, "Oh, I hope so," as he pulled me to him and kissed me.
So I guess you could say I’ve been cured, chicas…by the doctor of love.
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