"It
started out as an average crush on a movie actor," I said. "That's
common enough, everyone has their favorite star, you know. But then . . ."
"Yes?" said my therapist. I had not looked at him since he entered the office, I'd had my eyes closed the whole time. I had eyes for only one man anyway. There was something very familiar about this one's voice and accent, but I figured that was my lunacy talking. EVERYTHING reminded me of Antonio anymore. "Then what happened, roZita?"
"Call me Rose, please. It got way out of hand. I think it began with Interview with the Vampire. After seeing that movie for the umpteenth time, I bought a coffin and slept in it instead of my bed. When guests came over I would offer them cherry Kool-aid and say, 'Care to join me in a glass of blood?' But it really came to a head when I proposed at a meeting of the Fine Arts Council that we set up a Theater of the Vampires. That's when they threw me off the committee."
"That IS very bizarre, my dear Rose. What next?"
"Then I saw Desperado. Before long I had taken my guitar out of its case and filled it with toy guns. Then I tried jumping backwards off one building onto another, fracturing my pelvis. After I got out of the hospital, I really lost it. I got jealous of all other Banderas fans, and began sending threatening messages to them with letters cut from newspapers, posting their obituaries, sending dead flowers…
"Dead cats too?" His sweet voice sounded apprehensive.
"No, I draw the line there. Then I saw The Mask of Zorro, and…
"Let me guess. You donned a cape and mask, and set about righting wrongs and so forth?"
"Yes. I even tried picking a fight with a gas pump, thinking it was trying to steal a car. Then one day at the mall, I saved an elderly man from a couple of muggers. The security guard was too busy staring at some chicks in short shorts to do anything. I jumped all over those bastards and kicked their butts, and I was the one who got arrested. The cops told me that it is never appropriate for citizens to take the law into their own hands, and…well, to make a long story short, they sent me to this clinic. So . . . whatdo you think?"
He was silent for a long moment, then said, "Hmmm…I am afraid they are right. You, my dear Rose, are, how you say, a major nut job."
"Hey!" My eyes popped open. "Aren't you supposed to say something reassuring, like…"
My voice trailed off as I saw who my therapist was. It was HIM! Barely recognizable in those glasses and buttoned-up shirt, the dweeby haircut, but it was him all right. "I'm even crazier than I thought," I whispered. "No, it can't be…"
"Ah, but it can, senorita," he said in a deliberately cheesy take-off on the "Latin lover" stereotype. "It's me, Carlos…"
"From Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown?" How appropriate, I thought. He stood up. What a bod, I couldn't help thinking. He was the most adorable nerd I ever saw. He lifted a pitcher from his desk and poured some of the contents into a Dixie cup.
"Come here, Rose," he said in his soft, seductive voice. I rose and went to him as if in a trance. He held out the cup to me. It appeared to be full of blood.
"Gimme!" I tried to snatch it from him, but he held it back.
"Careful, my dear," he said. "It's not blood, it's gazpacho. Sort of a Spanish version of, how you say, V-8. But not ordinary gazpacho. So, chiquita, you must drink slowly."
"Whatever!" I seized the cup and sipped. It was very spicy, and it must have been spiked because immediately it began to make me feel deliciously giddy. Carlos poured a cup for himself, drank it, then took my hand. With his free hand he removed his glasses and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. And even as I watched, his dark hair began to grow until it was about the length of his collar, curly and wet looking. His face was like an angel's, eyes like dark jewels, and before I could get my breath he pressed his beautiful lips against mine, hard.
I threw my arms around him, what else could I do? Then we floated upward so fast I thought we would crash into the ceiling, but it was no longer there. Still lip-locked, we soared up into the sky, snagging at a cloud or two but not stopping. The birds gave us a wide berth.
"Rose," he whispered, then kissed me again, and said, "Yo te quiero mucho, mi paloma loca. I can never resist a totally mad woman."
I
removed his shirt, saying, "Carlos, guapito!" then kissed him once
more. Then we began to sing as we hurtled through space, "I want to spend
my lifetime loving you…
If you don't believe this story, amigas, just look out your window. We're still
up there!
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