Freudian Slip

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 Clas 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.”

He received no reply. What did he expect, lightning bolts? A voice from on high? A chorus of angels?

Kate wandered over to the mantle, to the picture of the fireman in his dress blues. She ran her index finger along the top of the frame.

“That’s it,” Julian said. “Sinatra reminds you of your dad.” He was pleased with himself for figuring that out.

Kate stroked the picture. “Aw, Daddy,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”

Then she moved over to the bookshelves and took down a photograph in a simple brass frame. Julian hurried to follow her, to try to see what this picture was.

But the photograph wasn’t of a human being. It wasn’t her father at all. Or the loser who’d cheated on her. Or even her missing dog. Julian looked over Kate’s shoulder. She was staring at a photograph of the New York skyline. Before September 11, when two towers rose high to the heavens soaring above the rest of the buildings.

“Is that how he died?” Julian asked her. “Is that how your dad died?”

Then he watched as Kate put the picture back. The smile disappeared, and soon she was crying all over again.

“Shit!” said Julian. “This is harder than it looks.”

Kate looked in the direction of a clock. “One a.m.” She sighed and walked over to her telephone. She punched in a number and said, “Hi, Helen. This is Kate Darby. I’m just leaving you a message that I won’t be in…today. It’s one in the morning. My apartment was broken into. I’m exhausted. I don’t have anything that can’t wait until Friday. I’m fine. I’m not fine, but don’t worry. I’ll see you Friday. Thanks.”

She hung up and then walked over to her couch. She turned off the lamp and the room fell into grayness, illuminated outside by streetlights. She lay down and curled into a fetal position. She sighed. Julian watched as her eyes grew heavy, and then shut, and her breathing fell into a rhythm of sleep. He sat down next to her. He shut his eyes. But then he realized—and he wasn’t sure how—but he realized he wouldn’t fall asleep. That he couldn’t. That he didn’t need to. Being a spirit was a 24/7 job. Spirits didn’t sleep.

“Damn! What the hell am I supposed to do?” He tried to visualize a beer. It didn’t materialize. He snapped his fingers and said, “Beer, please!” Nothing happened.

He stood up and walked around the apartment looking for more clues to her life. The sooner he solved her problems, the sooner he’d rack up some points in the Good column and hopefully get back to his life.

Her refrigerator was covered with pictures of herself and friends, including one chick with a punky haircut who was in most of them. He tried to open a drawer but found he couldn’t. He thought about it and guessed that if spirits could open and close things at will, the world would seem like one giant haunted house.

He went to the door and decided to practice walking through. Don’t hesitate was what Gus told him. Gus was an odd little fellow, but at least Gus could see him. Talk to him. Have a conversation. When Gus was with him, they had sailed right through the door.

“Here goes nothing,” he said aloud. His first attempt, he smacked into the door. He didn’t feel any pain though. The second time, he made a running start and burst right through.

“Yeah!” he cheered when he found himself standing in the empty apartment hallway. He faced the door of the apartment across the hall from Kate’s and decided to go be a voyeur in someone else’s place. Maybe he’d get lucky and see someone having sex. Live porn. Girl-on-girl would be even better. He looked up and down the hallway, thinking of the possibilities of sex behind every door. Life—if that’s what you called it—in Neither Here Nor There was starting to get interesting.

Walking through the door across the hall, he emerged in a small living room, the mirror image of Kate’s. A “man couch”—black leather—faced a flat-screen television. Two people, their backs to him, were watching a Law & Order rerun. An old woman sat close to a guy around his age, maybe late-twenties, early thirties. The Law & Order rerun was one with Lenny Briscoe—his favorite TV cop. The old woman looked up—stared right at him, in fact, and asked, “Who are you?”

“You can see me?”

“Of course I can.”

He walked over to the couch. “Can he see me?”

“No.”

“He’s the guy who lives here?”

She nodded. “He’s my grandson.”

“Are you a Guide?”

“No.”

“An angel?”

“Yes.”

“Where are your wings?”

“They’re a pain in the ass. Always getting in the way.” She stood, and he could see wings, all folded up, on her back.

“How come you’re here and not in Heaven?”

“Zack needs some help. His wife died over a year ago. Almost two years now. Tragic. Lovely girl. She was in a car accident. And it’s all this time later and still…he won’t go out. Won’t see his old friends. One by one, they’ve given up on him. Except one—Tony. They grew up together. Tony hadn’t been to church since I used to drag the two of them on Sundays when they were little. In Queens. That Tony…good boy. Now he works on Wall Street. Tony, he went to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Prayed for help for Zack. My supervisor decided I was the best angel for the job. I know Zack. So, I’m working on it.”

Julian got a brilliant idea. “Well, now Grandma, I think we might be able to help each other.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. He looked closely at her now. Her skin was luminous. But her hair was all white. He could tell she was old. Her voice was a little tremulous. She was wearing a baggy housecoat like the one his own grandmother used to wear. But her skin…it glowed.

“Look, I’m from Neither Here Nor There. I have no experience in this. I have absolutely no idea what the heck I’m doing. I literally started this job today.”

She winced slightly. “Tough job, young man. Usually you Neither Here Nor There fellows are short-timers. You either come out of the coma, or your situation, and go back to your bodies…or you go…you know, up or down. It’s not enough time to get a lot done. Me? I have eternity.”

“Yeah. Tough gig is right. So listen, I need to earn some points with the Boss. I’m looking for some solutions here. I don’t have time to sit around and watch TV, no offense.”

“Who’s your assignment?”

“The chick across the hall.”

“Kate?”

“You know her?”

“Oh, yes. She baked Zack some Christmas cookies last Christmas. Left them in front of his door in a basket. She sent flowers when Meg died. Lovely girl, Kate.”

“Yeah. So…come on, Granny. Let’s get the two of them together, and it will solve both our problems.”

“She has a boyfriend.”

“Past tense. Had a boyfriend. The creep cheated on her. With her best friend, no less. She’s a mess.”

“Poor thing.”

“And her apartment was broken into.”

“I know. A junkie looking for drugs or stuff to sell for drugs.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“We can’t intervene like that. We have to intervene in subtle ways—by comforting and giving strength, not by stopping a crime. I’m not the angel version of Kojak, young man.”

“Well, maybe you can just get Zack to…I don’t know…‘accidentally’ go to the laundry room at the precise time she does? Check his mail at the same time.”

“You’re talking Heavenly Coincidences.”

“Yeah.”

Zack’s grandmother looked over at her grandson. He sighed, shoulders slumped.

“It’s worth a try.”

“Thanks, Grandma. I’m Julian, by the way.”

“Okay, Julian. We’ll see what we can do.”

“I’d sure appreciate it…. Oh, and did you happen to see where her dog went?”

“The little Yorkie?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Well…if Zack just so happened to find her little dog, I think it would go a long way with her, you know. See what you can do. Check with some other angels. Somebody’s got to know where the dog went.”

He turned and walked through the door. It got easier each time he did it. He considered going to look for a couple having sex. But he thought better of it. What if Kate woke up? If she did something that could offer him more clues? He decided to sit next to her while she slept.

He walked through the door into her apartment. She was snoring slightly, nestled under her blanket. He thought the sound she made was kind of cute; not quite a snore, but a little sighing noise. He wasn’t sure why, but in Neither Here Nor There, when he was away from her, he worried. Like he had to be sure she was all right. He decided it was because he was still extremely freaked out by his nearly dead coma body, by being shot, by everything that had happened to him.

Tonight, he’d sit by her. Tomorrow night? Hunt for lesbians.

Night passed slowly. He had nothing to do but pace in her apartment and sit next to her and wonder what she was dreaming about. Occasionally, he’d drift to the window and stare out at the street—at life going on without him. He was unseen. Unheard.

Julian sighed. He never thought he would miss sleep. Hell, he had snorted cocaine to avoid sleep in his life. He couldn’t even turn on the television and considered going over to hang out with Grandma. But he felt strangely responsible for Kate. When the sun rose, and then she stirred near nine, he was excited. Even if she didn’t talk back to him, he could talk to her, and that was sort of like company.

“Good morning, Kate,” he said as she climbed out of bed. He watched her brush her teeth in the small bathroom off of the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the tub while she brushed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail.

“What are we doing today?” he asked, knowing she wouldn’t answer.

He followed her as she spent the morning and part of the early afternoon cleaning up after the break-in. She righted a knocked-over lamp, and put papers that had been strewn on the floor into a desk drawer. While she was at it, she dusted the furniture and organized her shelves. At lunch, she walked into the kitchen and ate a blueberry yogurt. He peered into her fridge. Yogurt, bottled water, wilted celery. He guessed she didn’t cook much. Then he realized he wasn’t hungry. So aside from not sleeping, that meant he didn’t eat in Neither Here Nor There. Come to think of it, he hadn’t had anything to drink since he got there, either.

The phone rang.

“Hi, Mallory,” Kate said when she picked up the receiver, after glancing at Caller ID.

From what he could figure out from only one side of the conversation, Mallory had apparently tried reaching Kate at the office. Kate blurted out about her now-ex-boyfriend, and Mallory then got a blow-by-blow of the entire sordid affair. The break-in. The missing dog. Kate curled her legs under her as she sat in a club chair next to the telephone. Julian flopped on the couch and waited. Women sure could talk on the phone for a long time.

After Kate hung up, the super for the building came and changed the locks. He said he was letting the other tenants know about the break-in, too.

Locks changed, place straightened up, next she made fliers of her missing dog. She printed them out on her computer. While she was in the photo files on her computer, he got a mini-slideshow of her life. She poised her finger on the mouse, considering deleting all the David ones. She didn’t. Then there were the Leslie JPEGs. Leslie and Kate at a bar, looking like they were having a blast. Leslie and Kate at some book signing. Leslie and Kate lying on a beach somewhere. Bikini shots. He liked those.

“She’s a bitch, Kate.”

Still Kate stared at the screen.

So he began talking incessantly. “Delete her. Exorcize her from your life.”

He watched as Kate’s index finger trembled slightly on the mouse. He leaned closer to her face. “Delete the bitch.”

Her face turned resolute. She clicked…and Leslie was gone. Poof. Off Kate’s computer.

“Holy shit, I can do it,” he said. “You can hear me. I know you can.”

Kate stood and walked to the window. The day had meandered toward early evening. Julian looked at her profile as she gazed down on the street. He tried to follow her line of sight, and realized she was staring at couples strolling near the park, hand in hand under the lampposts. A drag queen strutted by in a halter top and tight jeans, a piercing in her belly button. She wasn’t, Julian mused, an attractive drag queen. Her hands were manly and her face was, well…like a guy with a bad wig. Suddenly, she waved at someone coming in the opposite direction. She flew at a guy in jeans, flip-flops and a T-shirt, and next thing Julian knew, the two of them were making out on the corner.

Kate sighed. “Even the trannies have love.”

“Worse, even the ugly trannies have love. Time to get you out of this apartment.”

CHAPTER FIVE

TIME TO GET YOU OUTof this apartment, Kate thought to herself. Sitting here crying isn’t helping matters. She walked to her bedroom and opened her closet doors.

Her closet was just a few inches short of a walk-in—a rarity in Manhattan. The rest of the apartment was small, just shy of 550 square feet. Still, she was beyond lucky to have it. Her father had always been so cautious and insured himself through the New York Fire Department. Plus the settlement she and her mother received after his death. And then the money her grandfather on her mother’s side left her. She knew it was astounding that she had this place at all at her age, in this city. That she owned it—albeit with a hefty mortgage was even more astounding. She would have bought it for this closet alone—let alone the proximity to the park.

She began pushing aside shirts. No, no, no, they’re all wrong.

She frowned. What, exactly, was wrong with her clothes? She had never particularly cared. A jeans and T-shirt gal, she had been a tomboy growing up. Softball, soccer, field hockey. Her dad came to as many games as he could. Now, working in Manhattan, she wore pantsuits in black. Black. Black. Grey. Adventurous was the camel-colored one.

None of this stuff is sexy. You’ve got a great body, you need to show it off a little. Get playful.

She rolled her eyes and searched deeper into her closet, passing by white blouses. While she used to believe you couldn’t go wrong with a fitted white blouse, nothing dangling from the multitude of hangers seemed right. Then, way near the back, a low V-neck, fitted T-shirt with a funky Asian graphic on it. She never thought the shirt was “her,” but it had been a gift when her cousin Mallory went to Hong Kong on business. Mal was always the wild cousin, sneaking off at family gatherings to smoke cigarettes when they were fifteen, running off to Paris for six months after college to drink wine, eat cheese and make love with sexy European men—including an Italian soccer star.

Kate pulled the shirt out of the closet and held it up. With a pair of black jeans, it might be what she was looking for. Not that she knew what it was she was going to do beyond getting out into the fresh night air, away from her apartment. It was unsettling to her that someone had broken in. The super had come to change the lock already, but still, she was creeped out.

She pulled on the top and dug out a pair of True Religion jeans that fit her pretty well. She padded, barefoot, to the bathroom door, on which hung a full-length mirror.

There you go, Kate. Own it. You’re fuckable.

“Jesus!” she said aloud. “Where the hell did that come from? Too much wine yesterday.”

She brushed her teeth and, uncharacteristically, dabbed some lip gloss on her lips. She stared into the mirror. Her eyes were still puffy, so she shrugged and added concealer and then two coats of mascara.

“That’s better,” she said and smiled.

Walking through her apartment, she grabbed her keys, and tucked them and three twenties into her pocket, grabbed some fliers and some tape, and headed out the door.

Even on the way down the stairs, she had no real idea of where she was going, an aimless feeling completely unfamiliar to her. She taped some fliers in the laundry room and next to the mailboxes, and then by the stairwell. Then she burst through the building’s front door like a second-grader on the first day of summer, and a warm breeze stroked her face. It almost felt like a man’s fingers gently touching her. Feeling unexpectedly buoyed, she set off toward her favorite pizzeria to grab a slice and a Diet Coke.

At the corner, she headed east to Gino’s, passing countless NYU students in T-shirts and shorts. Even in summer, the university had plenty of students filling the sidewalks and pizza places and bars of Greenwich Village. Gino’s was a favorite haunt, and the place stayed open nearly twenty-four hours, taking advantage of late-night student munchies. She walked in, the bell on the glass door tinkling slightly. The scent of fresh dough and tomato sauce caused her stomach to remind her that all she’d consumed in the last twenty-fours was yogurt and wine.

“Hey, Carlos,” she said to the owner. He had long ago explained to her he bought the place from Gino and kept the name. “Two slices. Burn ’em. And a Diet Coke.” She sat down at the long bar.

Carlos, of the smoldering dark looks, black eyes and rock-star bald head and earring, stared at her.

“What’d you do, Kate-Baby?”

“Hmm?” she asked.

“What’d you do? To your face? New haircut? Something.” He leaned back and folded his arms across his muscular chest. His tattoo of Jesus on a cross flexed along with his biceps.

“No,” she said, puzzled.

It’s the shirt. Told you. Nice rack.

“What is it?” Carlos asked again.

“Hmm?” She shook her head to quiet this suddenly obnoxious inner voice. What the hell was in that wine last night? They were breasts, or even boobs. But never a rack. What was wrong with her?

“Maybe it’s my breasts…um…shirt.”

Carlos nodded appreciatively. “You should wear it more often, angel.” He propped his elbows on the bar and leaned forward.

Kate felt herself flush. Carlos was one of those guys that it would never, in a million years, cross her mind to date. He oozed sex. Right down to the ever-present bulge in his Levis. She had never been one for meaningless sex, no “friends with benefits.” That was Mal’s thing.

“Okay,” she heard herself say.

The slices came out of the oven, burned the way she liked them. She bit into the gooey cheese and promptly burned the top of her mouth, causing tears to spring to her eyes. She quickly took a sip of ice-cold soda.

“Burn your lips, angel? I could kiss them for you.” Carlos winked at her.

Oh, for God’s sake. Is that the best this grease-ball can do? Finish up and head out the door.

Kate blew on her piece of pizza, and ate it, savoring the perfect combination of cheese, crust and tomato sauce. Carlos continued to flirt with her, and Kate made a mental note to drag out the shirt from Hong Kong more often. She didn’t want Carlos so much, but the attention was rather nice. After last night with David, she had wondered if she was pathetically unlovable.

She finished her pizza, paid her bill with a twenty and waved goodbye to Carlos, who was, typically, onto his next flirtation.

Kate strolled home, starting to feel a bit better. She stopped in Washington Square Park to watch the speed chess players. Sometimes she played a game or two, but this evening, as dusk settled over the sky, she was content to watch. On one end of the park stood one of NYU’s buildings, its deep purple flag flapping in the summer breeze.

She was an NYU alumna. She remembered wistfully looking at the university and knowing there was no way her family could afford it. But her father worked his off days as a carpenter for his uncle’s construction company, and saved every dime. Between that, grants and student loans, she’d been able to attend her dream college.

Three in-line skaters went past. A guy strummed a guitar, playing, she listened carefully, a Radio-head song done as a slow acoustic number. She saw a few skateboarders, more students and a few people in professional clothes, eating take-out dinners. She loved the park.

She walked the rest of the way home and entered her building and then climbed the staircase to her apartment.

As she started down toward her door, she saw the guy from across the hall holding Honey.

“Oh my God.” She felt a sob escape and raced toward her dog.

“Found her just sitting on my doorstep about fifteen minutes ago when I went to do the laundry. Just sitting there, looking up at me. Patiently waiting.”

He placed the now wriggling little dog in her arms, and she could feel Honey trembling—what she always did when she was excited. Her little tail was wagging, and she “yipped” once.

Tears in her eyes, she spontaneously hugged her neighbor. “Thank you, Zack. Thank you so much.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said modestly.

That’s right he didn’t.

“Oh, but you have no idea. I was just lost without her.” She kissed her dog on the nose.

Dog germs.

Kate furrowed her brow.

“What?” Zack asked her.

“Nothing. I…I just have been out of sorts. Don’t know if you heard—my apartment was broken into.”

“I did. I’m really sorry. You know, if you ever need anything, or you’re just…scared to go into an empty apartment, knock on my door and I’ll check around the place for you, or whatever. Anything you need.”

He looked down awkwardly, but she touched his arm. “I will. Thank you. I mean it.” She squeezed his arm slightly. He was so handsome, she thought, and it was such a shame about his wife.

Holding her dog, she turned to enter her apartment. Once she shut the door, she set down Honey, who proceeded to run from one end of the room to the other, yipping and barking.

Shut up.

Honey barked insistently, almost like she was trying to tell Kate something.

“Why are you barking? That’s not like you, Honey. I bet you were so worried and scared when you saw the robber. It’s a good thing you were just lost and he didn’t hurt you.”