Freudian Slip (21 page)

G
US AND
A
LBERT SAT
eating sushi at a trendy Japanese restaurant in Soho, disguised as soft porn starlets. They were fully clothed, but with that unmistakable porn star makeup and look. Gus wondered if they taught soft-porn makeup, specifically, at cosmetology school.

“I feel like such a tart,” Gus said, ruffling his fingers through his long, flat-ironed locks—he could tell they were a weave. They fell to his ass. ABBA's greatest hits album was on rotation on the sound system, much to the consternation of the head sushi chef.

“It was the only way, Gustav. The Boss won't think it's us, and we were able to keep a close eye on Julian.”

Gus shook his head. “I have never seen Balam so utterly determined to win.” He held up his hand as he counted off Balam's tricks. “He's embodied a chauffeur, a college coed with a twin sister, a
massage therapist who was prepared to offer a happy ending.”

“I never even heard the term before yesterday. I was thinking fairy tale, Gustav, and she was thinking, well, you know.” Albert shook his head.

“And the pièce de résistance, an unbelievably gorgeous, nymphomaniac heiress to a liquor fortune.”

“That was clever, I'll give the evil and despicable demon that.”

“And not just any liquor fortune. A tequila manufacturer. It was a stroke of pure genius.” Gus looked at Albert to see if he was offended by the use of the term for Balam.

“But our boy hasn't bitten yet. He didn't fall for any of it. I thought the heiress would get him, but no. There's a melancholy to him, though. I worry about him, Gus.”

“Me, too.” Gus had not been able to concentrate on his usual duties since that horrible day when Julian begged to be sent back to his body in total anguish.

“And what do our spies report on Kate?”

“Worse.”

Albert bit into his sushi. “Raw eel. Who would have thought of this as a food craze?” He dunked it in his soy sauce dish. “Give me the bad news.”

“According to the angel we planted to work at the bagel place she frequents, her cousin Mallory is leery of the marriage but has agreed to be maid of honor. Worse, David is in such a rush to seal the deal that he paid a reported five-thousand-dollar bonus to a restaurant on the Upper East Side to make arrangements for the reception quickly. Tomorrow, she goes for a dress fitting.”

“What does she really feel, though, Gustav? In here.” Albert tapped his chest.

“She still cries for Julian. She still calls out to him in her apartment, hoping against hope that perhaps he'll return. Mal—against the marriage but not the idea of her ending up with a human being, for heaven's sake—has encouraged her to let go of Julian. But Kate hasn't. Not truly. Not in her heart.”

“Any ideas how to stop a wedding?”

“We're going to have to get creative, Albert. I saved the worst news for last.”

“All right. Tell me.”

“Remember when Julian dictated that ‘proof' to Kate. We were beside ourselves.”

“Yes, yes.” Albert nodded. “Imagine the audacity of that young man. Proving he was real so he could be with her.”

“Well…Kate treasured that piece of paper. She
would look at it at least once a day. Carefully unfold it. Like a ritual, almost.”

“And?”

“And yesterday, Balam stole it. He burned it in a Hell fire, so there's no chance of our stealing it back, Albert. We're going to have to get
very
creative. Look at what we're up against.”

“Embodying this disguise? You don't think this is creative?”

“No, it is. But Balam has his hot little fingers all over Kate's wedding, too.
He
made a cancellation happen at the restaurant just as David was calling the place. He had her try on the
perfect
wedding dress first. The perfect one. It fit her like it was expertly tailored for her body—which of course Balam made sure that it was so. He has that tailor from Hong Kong. He whipped it up and had it waiting on the rack in the bridal salon. Balam even had the catering manager at the restaurant—the very day that Kate and David showed up—add this delightful little chocolate cream puff to the dessert menu. They're getting a pastry table for the wedding, and what is Kate's favorite dessert?”

“The cream puff,” muttered Albert. “Curses!”

“Precisely.”

“Well, then,” Albert said, “we just have to get trickier.”

“Trickier than our current appearance?”

“Trickier, Gus, than even that.”

Gus lifted up a piece of tuna. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the sushi bar. He looked like a hip-hop slut. And his boss. Albert Einstein in drag? If he didn't know any better, Gus would swear the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were going to ride in at any moment.

J
ULIAN SAT ON A PIER
overlooking the black, swirling Hudson River, down by the meat-packing district. He stared at the water as the sun set, an array of oranges and pale purples streaking across the cloudless sky. He had taken a cab to the dock—for some reason, every driver his limo service sent annoyed him.

An autumn wind whipped up, and the water occasionally was dotted with white caps. Sea gulls called out, dipping down to strike the water and then soar again. Julian felt an overwhelming urge to just jump in the water and drown. He knew he'd never do it, but the longing inside of him wasn't going away.

He had never felt this way before. In his life, his most familiar feelings were those of being hung-over, angry, bitter, cynical and horny—yes, all of those. But his anger had made him feel
alive.
It had driven him to the pinnacle of the ratings. Now
what? Who would listen to a depressed cripple talk every day? He thought of even going to see a God damn therapist—not that he thought he could ever talk to a shrink. But he needed something. Because for the life of him, he couldn't shake this feeling. Every time he went somewhere, everything he did, every meal he ate, something was missing.

His doctor told him depression following a coma was common. But his anguish was more than that. He tried to explain it. “Doc,” he had said two days before. “Ever have a word on the tip of your tongue? Or you're trying to remember the name of a song? And it drives you insane? You know it. You know it's
right there.
But you can't pull it out of you. That's what the feeling is.”

His doctor wanted to put him on an antidepressant. And Julian didn't want one. He didn't think a pill could fix what ailed him. It was something in his soul. Even more, he wasn't sure he wanted to take an antidepressant because if he did, he was afraid he'd never find what it was that was missing. Numbing it wasn't going to help.

Julian sat by the water as the sky grew darker. Across the river, lights flickered on the Jersey side of the Hudson, and way up to his right the George Washington Bridge glowed as it crossed from one
side to the other. He saw the lights of cars zooming along like lightning bugs. A Circle Line boat chugged past, people pointing at the sights. People who were alive with excitement. Tourists who came to New York for its energy.

An energy he no longer felt.

Julian heard someone come up behind him. He whipped his head around, expecting a mugger, and raised his cane. But instead, it was a homeless man with a shopping cart of belongings, one wheel on the cart hopelessly bent.

“Oh…sorry,” Julian apologized. “You startled me.”

The old man smiled at him beatifically and bowed like a Kung Fu master. Then he sat down next to Julian, and dangled his dirt-encrusted, sandal-clad feet over the water, too.

“Nice night,” Julian murmured, not really meaning it.

The man nodded. “Glad it's not too cold. I'll be sleeping on the pier tonight.”

Julian looked at the homeless man's face. It was unlined, even happy. Meanwhile, he himself had circles under his eyes that never seemed to go away.

“You look like you lost your best friend,” the man offered.

“Maybe I did.” Julian thought it was ironic. He
lived in the Trump Towers, had millions in the bank—more than he could ever spend—and a guy who carted everything he owned in a metal basket on shaky wheels was offering
him
solace. “Thing is, I don't know what I lost.”

“You're doing the right thing then.”

“What?”

“Sitting here in the quiet, communing with God.”

“Whoa…” Julian held up his hands. “I didn't say anything about God. He and I aren't on a first-name basis.” He hoped this guy wasn't some religious fanatic. That was the last thing he needed.

“Maybe you should be.”

“No thanks, buddy.”

“First book of Kings.
And after the fire a still small voice.
”

“I take it that's a Bible quote?”

“Yes. After the fire—the trials and tribulations—the still, small voice is what remains. That longing you feel, it's God calling you. You listen to that still, small voice, Julian, and eventually, you will find what you're looking for. Trust the still, small voice.”

“You called me Julian. How do you know my name?”

“Recognized you. Think I saw your picture on the side of a bus.”

“Oh…” Julian stiffly climbed to his feet, using
his cane. “Thanks, man.” He pulled out his wallet, peeled off two hundreds and handed them to the homeless man. “For the free advice and the Bible lesson.”

“Thanks, Jules.” The man took the two hundreds, but he stared Julian right in the eyes.

Jules.

He got that buzzing sound in his head again. For the life of him, he couldn't remember who called him that. But he liked it. Maybe in Act II, he would use that name to signify a new chapter.

Only trouble was he still had no idea what Act II was going to be.

Julian walked toward the street to catch a cab. As he walked, he looked up at the dark sky and muttered, “Okay, still, small voice. Show me the way.”

V
ERA
W
ANG
. W
HENEVER
Kate flipped through bridal magazines, she always stopped in awe at the designer's creations. She would turn pages, each glossy display more beautiful than the next. And she had always told herself when she got married she would wear a Vera Wang gown.

She stood on an elevated wooden platform that was covered in soft mauve carpeting and slipped the dress over her head. The gown was white silk satin, with a crystal beaded bodice and a full chapel train. And amazingly, though she was scheduled for a fitting, the gown would need nothing. Not so much as a seam taken in or let out. It fit her body like haute couture, as if it had been hanging on a rack waiting for her. Like some magical princess.

Kate stared at herself in the three-way mirror. She turned to the left. She turned to the right. She pulled her hair up in a ponytail that she secured with a hair band from her purse. She pulled down
some tendrils, as if her hair had been done in an updo on her day. Her wedding day.

She twirled completely around. It reminded her of when she was a little girl and got a tiny jewelry box from her father for her birthday. When she lifted the lid, a ballerina inside twirled around in time to a music box tune, in front of a small round mirror.

The seamstress knocked softly on the dressing room door.

“You can come in,” Kate called out.

“Oh, you look simply lovely, dear.” The older woman spoke with a British accent. Her hair was wrapped in a chignon, and she had a seamstress's red tufted pincushion strapped to her wrist. An assortment of colorful pins protruded at all angles.

“Where's Gabriella?” Kate asked. “I was working with her.”

“Oh, Gabby got a telephone call from her husband. He
miraculously
got two front-row seats—won a radio contest—for a rock concert at the Garden tonight. I told her I would happily cover for her.”

“Oh…well, good for Gabby.” Kate smiled and twirled around again. She had truly never seen such a beautiful dress in all her life.

“You're going to make a radiant bride.” The seamstress came closer to Kate. “My goodness, but
this dress fits you like a glove. I honestly don't think I have to do
anything
to it. How extraordinary!”

“I know.” Kate smoothed the skirt of the dress and stared at the mirror.

“It's a simply stunning gown. Wait until your fiancé sees you walk down that aisle. A vision! I suppose no man—no one—has ever made you feel more beautiful than…what's your fiancé's name?”

“David.” Kate said it softly.

“I bet he makes you feel like a royal princess.”

The seamstress's words sliced through Kate. Tears stung her eyes. She suddenly couldn't stand facing her reflection.

“Oh, dear, my child. I didn't mean to make you cry. Come, come, you sit over here.”

The seamstress pulled a plush velvet chair over for Kate to sit down. “Come over here, darling. It's just nerves. I don't know a single bride who doesn't cry like this at some point.”

Kate sniffled and plopped down in the chair, her dress billowing around her. She felt like Little Miss Muffet on her tuffet—and the spider of doubt had just spun down. “It's just…” She looked down at her Tiffany's engagement ring. She would have accepted a gumball machine ring that made her finger turn green if it had been from Jules.

“What? Tell Gussie.”

“I once felt more beautiful than even this.”

“A special day with David?”

“No…someone else.”

Gussie sat down on the platform where Kate had stood a minute before and leaned in close to Kate, their knees practically touching. “A soul mate?”

Kate looked into Gussie's eyes. They were the most understanding, kind, serene eyes she had ever seen.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Oh, child, you do this long enough, and you learn about soul mates. You hear all sorts of tales of the twists and turns of love. No wonder you're crying. What happened?”

Kate exhaled. “We were from two different worlds. Like
really
two different worlds.” She half laughed to herself, shaking her head. “And he had to go. It's complicated. I really don't know what happened to him. I didn't get to say goodbye. Not properly. Maybe I just need closure, I don't know. I just know I miss him.”

“Let me tell you something.”

“Hmm?” Kate tucked a stray tendril behind her ear.

“A soul mate…that feeling won't ever go away. It isn't possible. I know this for a fact. He could be a million miles away, and trust me, he is feeling
a
deep,
deep, deep longing in his soul for you, too. Whatever it is that is keeping you apart doesn't diminish the feelings. A soul mate is different from earthly love that can be changed by circumstance, time, age. It's very different.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Gussie pulled a tissue box out of nowhere and handed Kate a Kleenex. “When two souls are joined like that, they can spend several lifetimes searching for each other. Plato wrote in the
Symposium
that ever since Zeus cut humans in half, man has been doomed to search for his soul mate.”

“But…” Kate dabbed at her eyes. “What if you spend your whole life waiting and searching, and…it just never happens? What if he never returns to me?”

“To my way of thinking, I'd rather wait forever with just the memory than to settle for less. He's always here.”

Gussie reached out and touched Kate near her heart. When she did, an electrical flash jolted Kate and in an instant, she could
feel
Jules. It reawakened something, a faded memory she had started to believe wasn't so.

He was real. He was real and what they had wasn't gone. It had just changed to something rooted in memory until Jules could come home to her.

But he was real. She felt it. Even if the piece of paper was stolen…he was real.

She stared at Gussie. “I have to go now.”

“Okay, Kate. I understand.”

Kate stood up. “I mean now. Please help me out of this damn dress.”

Gussie's hands were a flurry as she hurriedly unbuttoned what seems like a thousand tiny pearl buttons that traced up Kate's spine.

“Hurry, Gussie. I feel like I can't breathe in this thing.”

Finally, she was free. She pulled on her jeans and sweater, grabbed her purse and cell phone and bolted from the dressing room calling out behind her, “Thank you, Gussie!” Out on the street, a cab was parked—as if it were waiting—by the front door.

“My friend!”

Kate broke into a huge smile. “Mo?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” He clapped his hands together. She exhaled as she slid across the seat.

“It's good to see an old friend, Mo.” She watched as the Buddha bobblehead nodded his approval. It was a sign. She was doing the right thing.

“Where to?”

“Home…” She started to give him the address.

He held up his hand. “I remember. A terrible day. Now, you look…happy, my friend.”

She nodded. “I am, Mo. I am.”

She leaned over the seat. “Thousands of cabbies in New York City, and I run into you.”

“Funny thing. A very old man hailed my cab. Wild white hair all standing on end like he had put his finger in an electric socket. He climbed in and asked me to take him to this bridal shop. He paid me a twenty-dollar tip! Then he said to just wait for a few moments. He walked off down the street and never returned. And then you come out, looking for a cab.”

“What a strange coincidence.”

“I think so, too. What kind of old man needs to go to a bridal shop? No? He had me take him there, and then he didn't even go inside. He just looked in the window.”

Kate looked around Mo's religious sanctuary of a front seat. The Dali Lama's picture was still there, but he had added a Hindu picture—at least she thought it was a Hindu god.

“Who's that?” She pointed.

“Ganesh.”

“And what is Ganesh?”

“The god of overcoming obstacles.”

Kate smiled. “I like him.”

“Me, too,” Mo said and slapped the wheel.

“Can I ask you something, Mo?”

“Yes. Anything, my friend.”

“Do you believe in soul mates?”

“Of course! Two people can wander through several lifetimes searching, always unhappiness…until—” he pointed at Ganesh “—the gods…the gods clear away the obstacles holding them apart.”

“I hope you're right,” she whispered.

“Wait a minute!” Mo exclaimed.

“Yes?”

“You…
you
came out of the bridal shop. Are you getting married?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore, Mo. Not anymore.”

“I am sorry. You are unlucky in love?”

“No.” She smiled. “I was lucky once. And I'm willing to wait until I am lucky again.”

“Wise. If not for my wife, I think I would never have married. Never. Never.”

“Was it an arranged marriage?”

He shook his head. “No. I come to America alone. I meet, my very first day here, an English teacher.” He held up one finger and pointed to the roof of his cab. “We were very blessed. God, in his infinite wisdom, made my English teacher the most beautiful teacher in all of the island of Manhattan.”

“How lovely,” Kate said.

A short time later, they reached her apartment. “No charge, my friend. Not today.”

Kate dug into her purse. “No. Take this.” She thrust two twenties in his hand. “I hope I see you soon.”

She let herself into her building and ran up the flights of stairs to her apartment. She unlocked the front door, and for the first time since Jules left, she felt Jules.

It wasn't him, but his presence. And not his presence the way she knew it, but the comfort that he had been there. At one time, her soul mate had been there and filled her life and her heart and soul in a glorious, extraordinary, full way.

“Jules?” she called out. “I know you probably can't hear me. But wherever you are, you can feel me. I know it.”

Then Kate walked into her bedroom. She lay down on her bed, and for the first time since she could remember, she slept peacefully, sure that Jules, wherever he was, remained her soul mate, even if they were from two separate worlds.