Freudian Slip (3 page)

The two of them wandered Manhattan's streets, unseen. Julian kept looking at people, stepping in front of them at times, but no one acknowledged him. Finally, he and Gus arrived at an apartment building in Greenwich Village, which they entered as a resident left, slipping through an open door, and then ascended a flight of stairs to an apartment door.

“Come along,” Gus said.

“What? Do we ring the doorbell?”

“No, we walk through. Just don't hesitate—that can get messy.”

Gus took him more firmly by the hand and half pulled him through the door. The two of them were now invisible visitors in a small one-bedroom apartment near Washington Square Park. Two policemen in uniform stood in the middle of the messy living room.

“There she is,” Gus gestured toward a brunette with hair to the middle of her back, neither thin nor plump, with rosy apple cheeks and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She clutched a tissue and looked around her apartment as if in shock.

“Can you see anything immediately missing?” the female officer asked, a notebook open, pen poised.

The brunette shook her head. “The TV. But other than that…it's just the mess. My jewelry box is gone, but my good jewelry I kept in the freezer—I saw it on a TV show once and always have done that. I just checked. It's still there. They didn't take much. My dog must have scared them.” Then she started crying. “And now she's gone.”

“Your dog?” The second officer looked down at the ground. “I'm sorry. That's difficult.”

“When they left, they must have…let her out. Will you guys look for her?”

“Realistically…this is New York City. We have hundreds of break-ins. Thousands. What kind of dog?”

“A little Yorkie. Just the kind of dog someone would scoop up and keep.” The woman sat down and started sobbing. The two officers shifted on their feet, looking uncomfortable.

Julian stared at Gus. “You're telling me I have to solve a dognapping? Give me a break. This isn't a crisis. You know how many people get robbed a day?”

Gus shook his head. “You need to pay attention. This is just the end of a very, very horrible day.”

Julian and his Guide watched as the officers handed the woman a form and a card with a number to call to follow up on her case. The cops let themselves out. Julian watched as the woman wandered into her bedroom and tried to fix her mattress, which had been tossed on the floor. She started crying harder, the sounds changing from sniffles to guttural sobs. She unbuttoned the back of her skirt to change out of her work clothes. While she was undressing, Gus tugged on Julian's arm. “Give her some privacy.”

Disappointed at missing a free peep show,
Julian followed Gus to the living room. The woman emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, in a black sports bra and gym shorts. She straightened up a bit, returning knocked-over lamps and a spilled basket of magazines to their rightful positions, then opened a bottle of white wine with a shaking hand. Soon, she was lying on the floor of her apartment, a box of tissues and a now half-empty bottle of white wine next to her.

“She's beautiful,” Julian said, moving closer to her. “But she's a
mess.
What's wrong with her? Why is she crying? Besides the break-in? What happened to her today? This can't all be over a Yorkie and a television set. So what is it?”

“That's for you to find out, my boy. And solve. Julian Shaw, meet Kate Darby.”

K
ATE
D
ARBY LISTENED
to Stevie Nicks's plaintive wailing on “Beautiful Child” for the hundredth time. This had to be the worst night of her life. Only, she knew it wasn't. There had been worse nights. Worse weeks. Worse years. But this ranked up there with one of the most colossal bad days ever.

“Okay, God…what do you have against me?” she said aloud. “It wasn't bad enough to walk in on them in bed together? Lose the love of my life. And my best friend. In one day.” She rolled over on her belly and flopped her face against her forearm and started crying all over again. “Apartment robbed. Place trashed. But the dog, God? My little Honey? Christ…this is the worst night of my life.” Then Stevie finished her ode, and Kate pressed the button on her remote control, starting the song all over again. A hundred and one and counting.

You'll meet someone better.

“Ha!” she said to herself, shaking her head at
the voice she heard in her mind. “Meet someone better.” She looked at her coffee table, staring at a picture of her and David on the ski trip they took to Aspen over New Year's. He was like that, the king of grand gestures. He'd put plane tickets in her Christmas stocking. He gave her a pair of diamond earrings for her twenty-seventh birthday in May, in a blue box from Tiffany's, which he'd presented her while they took a horse-and-carriage ride through Central Park. For God's sake, they'd talked about getting engaged for Christmas this year. Just like the cabbie telling her his love story, his surprise of roses, Kate thought she and David were writing their own love story.

Kate sat up and blew her nose—loudly—in a tissue, which she then crumpled and threw on the floor next to the twenty or so other tissues. Next to the spilled contents of a box of old photos the robbers had upended.

“It just hurts,” she whispered aloud. The whisper turned to a prayer. “God…it just hurts, and I don't know if I can take any more. My father died—well, you know that, God. I miss him so badly sometimes it's an actual pain in my heart. And now this. Not to mention my mother remarrying to that investment guy with the comb-over. God…this just sucks. It sucks. And I can't take it anymore.”

She stood up and walked to the maple bookshelves next to the tall windows that opened onto the fire escape. She picked up a photo of her and Leslie in a silver frame.

Kate had never felt beautiful her entire life, except maybe when she was with her father. But who believes their father? Aren't all fathers supposed to say their daughters are beautiful? In a size-two world, she was built just a little large, and in a city of little-black-dress sophistication, she was always just ordinary. At least, that was what she told herself. She wasn't beautiful, she was pretty. She was girl-next-door. Sweet faced, more than sexy. Until she met David, who swept her off her feet. He finally made her feel as if she belonged on the pedestal he placed her on, as if she were stunning. Not just girl-next-door but drop-dead gorgeous.

Leslie, on the other hand, had always been the eye-catching one. Sure, she'd told Kate she was “gangly” and had braces in seventh grade, but come off it. Leslie had been perfect her whole life. Tall, thin, high cheekbones, Southern drawl, long blond hair and she didn't even need to exercise to maintain her perfect figure. It was positively sickening. Those perfect breasts and rock-hard abs—that she'd seen only too clearly tonight in David's bedroom.

“So you had to have the one man I loved,” Kate
said to the picture. “You could have had your pick of any man in Manhattan. Heck, in the whole tristate area, but you set your sights on David.”

At the thought, Kate felt like she was going to throw up again. She took the picture and frame and tossed them in the trash. Then she sat down on her couch. The apartment was decorated in shades of green—her favorite color—with touches of Boho and eclectic flea-market finds she and her father used to hunt down.

“Well, damn it—now what? My life is ruined.” Like she could show up at her job and work side by side with Leslie. Their offices were next door to each other at Washington Square Publishers. Kate picked up the bottle of wine and took a huge swig.

Maybe you should consider becoming a lesbian.

Kate shook her head at the voice. “I must be cracking up. Like
that
would ever be an option.” And then—despite the fact that she'd found her boyfriend with her best friend, that her dog had disappeared, her apartment was broken into—despite it all, Kate laughed to herself.

I'm not kidding. Lesbians have more fun.

“S
HE'S CUTE WHEN SHE
smiles,” Julian said to Gus. He leaned closer, as if inspecting a specimen under glass. “She has dimples.”

“Hmm?” Gus was looking at a file that had materialized out of nowhere. They were still standing in her messy apartment, though they had moved to the small galley kitchen—typical by Manhattan standards with an Easy-Bake-size oven and a refrigerator shorter than Julian's shoulder.

“I said she's cute. What are you looking at?”

“This?” Gus waved the file folder, and it disappeared. “Nothing. Case files.”

“Shouldn't I look them over or something, if I'm going to be some sort of celestial social worker?”

“Afraid not. The Boss believes in intuition. In the power of connection.”

“What kind of New Age bullshit is that?”

“She's afraid of self-fulfilling prophesies. They're the worst prophecies of all, you know.”

“Slow down, Gus. You may be used to this Neither Here Nor There lingo, but it's all new to me. I'm still getting used to being…away from my body.”

“Well, the Boss has been frequently misquoted by prophets. A lot of them, I have to tell you, were cuckoo.” Gus twirled a finger round and round by his temple.

“And of all the crazy prophets,” Gus continued, “self-fulfilling ones drive Her the craziest. If you read Kate's case…Let's suppose it said she was depressed.”

“I'd get her to pop a Prozac.”

“Precisely. Then you would assume it to be so—that she was depressed. And let's say it said she was destined to live the rest of her life alone and lonely. Well, you'd hardly work to get her a new trustworthy boyfriend, would you now? No, you'd see the case file, assume it was her fate, and it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy for poor Kate. You'd tell her it was useless to look for love again. But if instead you knew nothing about her story and had to intuit it and learn it fresh, then, frankly, anything could happen—and in this world it often does.”

“So in other words, your Boss doesn't believe in predestination.”

Gus's eyes opened wide. “Who knew you were
aware of such a word? Your SAT scores give no indication of that sort of vocabulary.”

“I was stoned when I took them. All right, Gus, so what do I do?” Julian looked at Kate crying and inexplicably wanted to give her a hug, which he knew was futile since she couldn't see or feel him. Not to mention he wasn't the hugging type.

“Don't know, my boy. Up to you to figure it out. Well…I'm off.”

“Hold it!” Julian grabbed Gus's arm. “You're
off?
You're God damn off?”

“You wouldn't damn Her if you knew what's good for you.”

“But you can't leave me here. You can't
possibly
leave me here, Gus!” Julian heard the panic in his own voice.

“But I have other cases.”

“Well, before you traipse off to the next friggin' coma, what if I need you? I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I don't know the rules. I don't know anything, but that this chick has had a really bad day.”

“I'll check in from time to time.”

“But—”

“Julian, the Boss wouldn't have entrusted Kate to you if She thought you couldn't handle it. She is all-knowing. You'll be fine.”

“No, I won't be fine. You tell this Boss of yours I am
not happy.
”

Gus laughed.

“What's so funny?”

“Well, that attitude may get you a hot table and a complimentary bottle of vodka at the latest restaurant in the Hamptons, and it may even get you a shag with a porn star, but that ‘famous DJ' attitude of yours doesn't do anything for the Boss. She really hates star trips. If you only knew what awaited a certain Hollywood starlet unless she shapes up.”

“Star trips? You call not wanting to be left alone as a disembodied voice in some strange girl's apartment, having no idea what the hell to do a
star trip?
”

“Julian, my dear young man, you may not like this, but it's your job, and for now, it is simply what you have to do.”

“And what if I don't? What if I just leave and go wander around the city? Go hang out with some other…spirits? Go get drunk? I don't know. What if I just
don't?
”

Gus removed his monocle. He sighed. He took out the neat little polka-dotted pocket square that he had tucked into his suit and unfolded it, cleaned his monocle, put it back on, refolded his pocket square precisely and returned it to his pocket.

“Well?” Julian asked impatiently.

Gus clasped his hands together. “I didn't want to have to get…tough with you. But I'm afraid you just aren't getting it. There are two outcomes if you die. Go up. Go down. That's it, my young man. Your score sheet with the Boss doesn't have very much on the Good Side. However, there is much on the bad side. An endless array of crimes and misdemeanors, so to speak.”

“What do you mean? A score sheet?”

“Heavenly Accounting. It's a huge department. More employees there than almost anywhere. A lot of CPAs end up working there. All the anal-retentives do also. The Heavenly Accounting department does very meticulous work. You have a file, just as Kate does. Just as I do. The filing system alone is one of the most magnificent works of organizational genius ever invented, thanks to Luca Pacioli.”

“Who?”

“A friend of da Vinci. The father of modern-day double-entry accounting. Your file, Julian, has very, very, very few entries on the good side. I even had Pacioli himself double-check it. If you look at it as an accounting system, your good side is in arrears. In the red. Your bad side…one of the thickest on record.”

“Gimme a break. What about someone like Hitler?”

“Was there any doubt as to which direction he would go?”

“No. I suppose not.”

“Julian, if you accomplish this, if you do what you are asked, and do it well, it will erase a tremendous amount on your bad side. It won't balance your books, so to speak, but…if you don't, I'm afraid it will reflect badly with the Boss. Now, I can't force you to do anything. That's what free will is. You have free will, even in Neither Here Nor There. But as your Guide, I am urging you to consider what I am saying very carefully.”

Julian stared at Gus. He had never, until today, thought about death. That wasn't entirely true. He had thought about it a couple of times after he drove while drunk and woke up the next day unsure of how he got home. He had a couple of times when he knew he had shot up too much heroin. When he mixed too many drugs. He had thought about it and brushed the thought away. Death was far away. Far away. Beyond that, he hadn't thought of going anywhere when he died. Not Heaven. Not Hell. He didn't believe in either. He thought when you died, you became worm meat. Nothing more. Nothing less. But now, faced with actually going to Hell?

“All right. So that's it? I just hang out here. With her. The crying chick.”

“Yes, and try to discern what she needs to do.”

“Do I get to see her naked?”

Gus stared at him. “I don't think I've ever been asked that question before.”

“Well, do I? I mean, if I'm here, can I watch her take a shower? Can I watch her get dressed in the morning?”

“I suppose so,” Gus said, annoyance in his voice. “But that really shouldn't be your goal.”

“Well, if you're leaving me here, then I'm lookin' at her naked.”

“Fine,” said Gus. “I'll inform the Boss.” He shook his head.

“Fine. You do that.”

“I will.”

With that, Gus disappeared.

Julian was irritated. Who the hell did this Boss think She was? Just depositing him here like this? Screw it. He didn't want to go to Hell. He didn't want to go to Heaven, either. And what? Play a harp? What he wanted was to be back in his body. But for the moment, that looked like it was out of the question. However, that didn't mean he knew what to do in the meantime. He looked at Kate. “Now what?”

He began to closely examine her apartment. It was a very small one-bedroom, though it had floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, with crown molding and hardwood floors. A nonworking white-brick fireplace flanked one wall. At least Julian assumed it was nonworking as there wasn't a speck of soot anywhere on its hearth. On the fireplace mantle were a half dozen pictures in frames, all of an older man and a little girl. Julian walked closer to the pictures. In every snapshot, the little girl was smiling, her hair in pigtails or braids, her dimples showing.

“This is you,” he said to Kate. “And this must be your dad.” She didn't react. Julian looked at the pictures again. Her father was tall, with dark hair, a little bit of gray at the temples. He had brown eyes and a big smile, just the slightest hint of a smirk, like he knew an inside joke he just
had
to tell you. Over to the left was a picture of her father in a fireman's dress uniform. Ladder 10.

“Is this how he died?” Julian asked, remembering her whispered prayer. She told God that her father was dead. “Did he die in a fire?”

Julian walked over to the couch, near where Kate lay on the floor, sniffling.

“My father used to beat the crap out of me,” he
said. He stood over her, looking down, trying to fathom what was in her mind. He was hoping that being in Neither Here Nor There would gain him some sort of psychic power. Then he could figure out all her problems, go back to his body, and hopefully go home. To the living. But he found he had no idea what she was thinking. He had no special powers. “My dad was a prick. Nothing like your dad, I suppose. He looks like a good guy in the pictures. You're lucky. I mean, he may be dead, but while he was here, he loved you. Right?” He was just guessing, filling in the blanks. But she had so many pictures of him. She missed him. He had no pictures of his father anywhere. So her dad must have loved her.

Julian sat down and leaned back on the velour rollback couch. He scanned the ceiling, hoping for a cue from someone celestial—a guardian angel or something. “Now what? Now what? What the hell does ‘discern what she needs to do' mean? Christ, I miss my life. I even miss my obnoxious sidekick, Frank. I wonder how he's doing. I wonder if my mother and father even bothered to come to the hospital.”

Kate rolled over and stood up. She had the remote for the CD player in her hand.

“Shit. Don't play that song again, Kate. Put on
something cool…something upbeat. Something that will make you smile just a little bit.”

Julian stood and followed Kate over to the stereo system and said, over and over again, “Something happy. Play something happy.”

He repeated it ten times, twenty, thirty.

“Play something happy. Play something happy.”

He kept at it, and then he watched in amazement as she stopped, her finger poised on the “Repeat” button for that hopelessly depressing Stevie Nicks's song. Kate looked conflicted, and she bit her lip. Then she started running her fingers over her CD collection, her lips moving silently as she read the spines of her CDs, looking for something.

“That's it,” Julian urged. “Pick something else. This is so cool. Like you can hear me.”

He was inches away from her face. He reached out his hand to touch her, but she didn't flinch. He could feel her skin, could tell he was touching her, but it didn't translate to his senses in the way things had before he got to Neither Here Nor There. Julian took his hand away and looked at his own fingertips. He didn't feel warmth or coolness, but instead a vague numbness, like he had been shot with Novocain through his whole body.

He leaned still closer to Kate, close to her ear, and whispered again, “Choose something happy.”

He watched as her face crinkled into a smile. Her eyes grew shiny for a split second.

“Here it is,” she said aloud. She took a CD from the shelf, opened it, and pressed a few buttons until the CD player came to a stop on the ninth song.

A bass being plucked. A little jazzy sound.

“What the hell is this?” Julian asked. “Christ, girl, have you ever heard of The Sex Pistols, The Clash or The Who? What is this shit?”

Then a voice, unmistakable, began singing the tune, “Fly Me to the Moon.”

“Sinatra? Frank Sinatra?” Julian looked at Kate. “I asked for a happy tune, but Sinatra?”

He studied her face as she smiled and then hummed, and then even sang a line or two. She swayed.

“
This
makes you happy?” Julian asked her, knowing no response was forthcoming. He decided being her caseworker was like being a detective. He looked up toward the ceiling, assuming he was speaking to the Boss, wherever She was. “You know, it would be a lot easier if you would just let me talk to her. Let her have a vision or something. Let me ask her stuff.”