Freudian Slip (8 page)

Kate nodded. Mal's support was a constant in her life. Through 9/11, through everything, Mal had been there, never wavering. They were more sisters than cousins. “Ever since the whole David fiasco, I feel like I'm cracking up a little. I spent almost five hundred dollars on
underwear
today.”

“That's awesome. Did you buy La Perla?”

“Yes.”

“And aren't their bras totally worth it?”

“Yes.” Kate laughed. “But still…Mal, this is
me
we're talking about. And I keep wanting to blurt out the most inappropriate comments. It's like my id has suddenly decided to take over.”

“You know, Kate, it's been a rough couple of years. I mean, frankly, every time I see that guy your mom married,
I
want to blurt out the most inappropriate—but true—comments. Like, pal…lose the comb-over. And I want to ask her why she got married so fast. So maybe the stress of the whole break-up, your dad's death—I know it's been a while, but the anniversary is coming up, the robbery, the shock of all of it, has…I don't know…shut off your internal censor.”

“Maybe.”

“That's all it is,” Mallory assured her. “And maybe it's a good thing. Now, if you want to say something inappropriate, why don't you walk over to that guy over there and try to pick him up?”

“Mal…” Kate shook her head, flushing.

“What? You don't think he's a perfect specimen?” Mallory gestured toward a guy in an expensive suit with what looked like an even more expensive haircut.

“Well, of course I think he's hot,” Kate said. “He's tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous.”

Mal stood up, much to Kate's mortification. But that was Mal. She strutted in her five-inch heels—
at five feet one, she was never without heels—over to the man in question and his friend.

“Excuse me,” Mal said, “but my cousin and I are thinking of ordering fugu and taking our lives into our hands. Deadly blowfish. But before we do…we want to know if we'll even like it. Have you ever had it?”

Kate's eyes opened wide. What the hell was Mal talking about? Granted Mal made big bucks. Streaked hair tips and rocker fashion sensibility aside, she had an MBA from Wharton and a killer job. But fugu costs $150. And regardless of the price, Kate wasn't eating it, no matter what these guys said.

The tall, dark and handsome one and his slightly shorter friend strolled with Mal over to their high-top table in the bar area. “The fugu is awesome here. And do you know wasabi is a natural aphrodisiac?”

Oh, please. First of all, fugu tastes like congealed leftover oyster juice.

Kate wrinkled her brow. Mal saw her puzzled expression and asked, “What's wrong, Kate?”

“Nothing…just a weird déjà vu moment. Fugu tastes like…oyster juice.”

“When have you had it?” Mal asked. “You hardly ever go for sushi.”

“That's the funny thing. I don't know.”

“Well, then I'd avoid the oyster juice,” the tall
well-suited man said. “I'm Mike. This is my friend Ted.”

“Hi,” Mal said. She leaned a little closer to Ted. Kate smiled a hello.

“But I wouldn't avoid the wasabi,” Mike said.

Kate looked desperately at Mal. “I've got to go, Mal.”

“You sure?” Mal ever-so-slightly raised an eyebrow.

“I'm sure,” Kate said. “I don't feel well.”

“Let me call you a cab,” Mike offered.

“That's all right.” Kate stood and opened her purse.

“Coz, it's on me. Call me tomorrow, okay?” Mal said.

Kate nodded, feeling as if the room was spinning. “I'll see you. Nice to have met you guys.”

As she left, she glanced over her shoulder. Mike had hopped into her seat, and Ted had a hand on the small of Mal's back. The three of them were laughing.

Kate stepped out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. Cabs flew down the street, and clusters of people walked from bar to bar.

“I am so not ready to be back in the dating pool,” she muttered to herself.

She lifted her arm to hail a cab, muttering to
herself. “And what the hell was that whole fugu thing? Oyster juice?
Congealed
oyster juice?” She felt like gagging.

A cab pulled up. She opened the rear door and slid across the seat. She was, she decided, definitely cracking up.

J
ULIAN WAS FOLLOWING
Kate out of the Japanese joint when a well-dressed man in a suit approached him.

“Julian…Kate can see herself home. Why don't you and I take a stroll?”

Julian watched as Kate left. She gave one backward glance at her cousin and the two guys trying to pick them up, and left.

He turned to the man in the suit. “You can see me?”

“Of course.”

“All right, Guide. I've got the drill now. We can take a walk. Where's Gus?”

They stepped outside as Kate was getting into her cab. Julian strolled down the street the other way, his new Guide beside him. The man was well-dressed, with a crisp white shirt and what looked like an expensive tie. He smelled of Armani cologne—Julian
knew because he'd received a bottle as a gift once, and it was the one cologne he sometimes wore.

“Gus works for a different boss than I do.”

“Well, you know, I'm really starting to wonder about this whole thing. Gus fucked up, I think. I mean, he literally drops me into some strange girl's apartment and wants me to figure out how to fix her life. Like I have any idea—and no porn star, either. No bisexual sex fiend. Just a girl with a plain old broken heart. Wouldn't it be simpler for an angel to wave a magic wand, earn its wings, whatever…and just fix it?”

“Well,” this new Guide said, “
we
tend to think so.”

“Now we're talking, my man.”

“Indeed, we are. My name is Balam, by the way.”

“Hey, Balam.” Julian was relieved to find someone in Neither Here Nor There who
got
the difficulty he found himself in. Still, he also felt just the slightest bit anxious that he had let Kate out of his sight.

“You see, we think if God was truly the God of good, of benevolence, then why would mankind have to suffer? Why not make things perfect? Why not create an Eden in the here and now? Or as the adage goes, why
do
bad things have to happen to good people?”

“Precisely. I mean, I hadn't thought of that before I got to Neither Here Nor There, but yeah, that's it. I mean, Kate's a nice girl. Why not make her feel better? Why not fix it? Look, she is a good person—unlike me, I have to admit. Do you know she bakes Christmas cookies for everyone in her building? And she knows the name of the guy in the bodega where she gets her coffee, of this old guy with a little dog who sometimes walks his dog at the same time she walks hers? She's just nice. Which, as far as I'm concerned, is a little freaky. Especially in this city. But still.”

“So glad you see things our way. That's why we unionized.”

Julian glanced over at his companion as they strolled. He still wasn't quite used to being unseen by all. Passersby were oblivious to the two men, and Julian appreciated someone who actually talked back to him. This Guide had to be head of a department or something. Diamond tie-tack, Rolex. Gucci friggin' loafers.

“A union?”

“Oh, yeah. We'd love for you to join. You know, Julian, I am completely authorized to offer you a substantial signing bonus.”

“A signing bonus? Oh, this is priceless. Gus is a piece of work. You know it figures I would end
up with a Guide who neglected to tell me all the perks.” Jesus, he was pissed off. “Gus said
nothing
about the union, and sure as hell said nothing about the signing bonus. What a slacker. Or maybe he intended to pocket it himself.”

“Absolutely. We're not very pleased with Gus. But we can remedy that. We can remedy a lot of things. First of all, you sign with us and you're not saddled with Kate.”

“I get a new case?”

“No. You won't have
any
cases. Kate won't be your problem anymore. Call it benign neglect.”

Julian stopped walking. Something about this guy was all wrong. He hadn't been a jerk all his life not to know a fellow jerk when he met one. “Where's Gus?”

“He doesn't really check in with me.”

Julian, despite his lack of solid human form, felt a chill pass over him, like a shadow. “Okay, pal…who,
exactly,
do you work for?”

“The boss.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “The same boss as
my
boss?”

“Depends on how you define boss.”

Julian stood outside a bar. Gorgeous women were two deep at the bar, and he felt a hard-on making an appearance. He just didn't have a
physical body to do anything with it. He didn't long for heroin or Patron anymore, but he did long for his body. To be able to go into the bar, sit on a stool, and order a drink and be seen instead of trying to figure out just whose side he was on. Not to mention sex. He would like some sex. He also wished Gus were there to explain this Balam guy to him. The scent of Armani was wafting over him in waves, making him feel confused.

“You want a drink?” Balam asked.

“Very funny.”

“You sign with me, and you can eat and drink and enjoy all the things you used to. Your tequila shots. Belly shots from the hottest woman in the room. Your heroin if you want to—with no withdrawals, either, none of the consequences. Imagine it, Julian. The high without the fall.”

Julian could imagine it. The longing for heroin was never far from him. He used to dream of it when he got clean. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, sure he was high. Heroin, he always used to think, was as close to heaven as you could get—until you came down.

Balam continued, his voice lugubriously smooth. “This signing bonus comes—if you should end up back in your mortal body—with wealth. Unimaginable wealth. And just for you—”
He snapped his fingers and a thick contract on many pages of legal-sized paper appeared out of nowhere. “Clause 17H.”

Julian examined the contract, running his finger down all the fine print until he got to 17H. “You're kidding.”

“Nope. Clause 17H. I'll toss in a ménage à trois with twins.”

“Identical twins?”

“Absolutely.”

“Playboy-quality twins?”

“You insult me, my friend. Would
I
deliver anything less? Impeccably perfect Playboy-quality twins. Blondes.” Balam snapped his fingers. “One better.
Natural
blondes. Brazilian wax of course.”

“Look,” Julian said. “Tempting as all this is, how come you're not burning in a sea of fire? You're not what I expected.”

“Of a demon?”

“Yeah. No pitchfork. No horns. No red skin.” Julian reached out and patted Balam's suit. “Expensive Italian suit. Expertly tailored.”

“I use a guy from Hong Kong over near the Waldorf Astoria.”

“And he can see you?”

“Sure.”

“But we're invisible right now.”

“Yes. One of the advantages of not being mortal, my friend. We can be seen—or not—at will. People can see angels, too. Most just don't realize it. Or, as is the case right now, I can elect to be invisible to mortals.”

Julian felt uneasy. “You haven't answered my question.”

“The sea-of-fire thing.”

“Right. I mean, it seems like you have a good gig.”

“Exactly.
She
wants the world to believe in a miserable, fiery Hell. But the lake of fire doesn't exist. It's a figment of human imagination. And I have to say, humans are not a very imaginative lot.”

“Well, then if there's no lake of fire, and there's clause 17H, why would anyone fear Hell?”

“Precisely, Julian. No one would. Hell is simply a realm in which there is benign neglect of humans. Why should we care about them? I have no use for the petty problems of others. And frankly, judging from the radio show you had, you had no use for their problems, either. We're quite alike in that regard. When, tell me when, did you
ever
think of your fellow man? They were…something to exploit. The dumber, drunker, sluttier and more pathetic, the better.”

Julian liked to think of himself as having a finely honed bullshit detector. “All right, I'll give you that. I was a jackass. But…if you don't care about people, if you…want to believe in benign neglect, then why try to sign me up to your side? If you really don't
care,
then why not let the other team do what it does and…who gives a fuck? Let them help Kate.”

“Because…” Balam's voice was instantly less smooth and calm. It seethed, and Julian thought the temperature around them shot up a few degrees. “Because we've been cast for eternity away from Her. And She sends all kinds of angels and guides to help
them.
Miserable mortals, who are rarely, I assure you, grateful.”

“People are grateful. People pray all the time. They go to church. They go to temples. They…believe in Her. Even if they call Her a Him.”

“No, they're not grateful. They're pathetic. Do you know how many pitiful souls get down on their knees, on their knees until they're raw, and literally beg for a miracle—
save my child, save my marriage, help me get over my broken heart, keep my child out of jail.
” He pleaded with a sing-song falsetto, mocking and cruel. “They say to Her, ‘Do this and I will never ask for anything again. I will go to church dutifully
every Sunday. I will be good. I will give up smoking, just let it not be cancer.' And then you know what?”

Julian nodded. “Yeah, pal, I know what.” His heart, had it been his regular beating heart in his regular old body, would have felt a thud.

“Exactly. They swear they will live each day as if it is their last.” Balam hissed the word. “And in six months, it's all
forgotten.
And She lets them. It's sickening. All we do—meaning me and my fellow card-carrying union members—is let them make their foolish choices—the choices they were going to make anyway. Sign with us and you're on easy street, my friend.”

Julian felt a hot breeze, even though he didn't really have his full senses in Neither Here Nor There. He just knew he was being sold a bill of goods. “You know, Balam, as tempting as your offer is, I think I'll stay in Neither Here Nor There for now.”

“Suit yourself.” Balam stared coldly at him, with a gaze that cut through Julian. Staring deep into Balam's eyes, Julian saw they were reptilian, dark and flat and black.

“Just so you know, though,” Balam said, “if She decides to send you to Hell, if you don't make it…if that assassin's bullet in your gut kills you, and She decides you don't have enough checkmarks in
the good column…She won't have pity on you. She will cast you out like She did all of us.” Balam looked over his shoulder. Julian followed his gaze and saw what seemed like hundreds of well-dressed demons that he hadn't noticed before.

“Fine. If I get cast out, then I'll get my suit tailored and drink my Patron. But until then, I don't think I'm signing up. Much as Clause 17H is enticing.”

“See you in Hell, then, Julian.”

Julian turned from Balam. Then he thought of Kate. “Balam!” He called out after the demon, who was already turning to go into a bar.

“Yeah.”

“What about Kate? I never should have left her.” He didn't know why he felt this way, but he did. “You tricked me, didn't you?”

“Hmm, that's the Boss's fault for entrusting one of Her babies to a
fuckup
like you. She's back with the prick who jilted her.”

“What? But she was just fine. Just a little bit ago. I was with her. She was okay.”

“Amazing what the power of the dark side can do, Julian. You have no idea what you're up against. You really should have signed up when you had the chance.”

“What about benign neglect? Why would you purposely help that guy ruin her life?”

Balam shrugged. “For the fun of it. I live for these little games. Like a cat toying with a mouse. I love it. It
amuses
me.”

“Shit!” Julian screamed and started running for Kate's apartment. He prayed Balam was lying. Really prayed.

Looking Heavenward, he implored the Boss, “Don't let her do it, okay? Don't let her make a mistake because I was ignoring my job. I didn't mean to leave her side. I swear it.”

He ran through Tribeca, though amazingly, he never tired. Eventually, he ran through Greenwich Village and then Washington Square Park and up the steps of Kate's apartment. He stopped when he got to her hallway. For there, strewn down the hall were rose petals. Hundreds of them.

“Son of a bitch!” Julian screamed. And then he caught it—the unmistakable scent of Armani cologne. Balam had been there.

“Benign neglect,
my ass,
” Julian muttered, and entered Kate's apartment to see just what he was up against.