Freudian Slip (17 page)

O
N
S
UNDAY
, K
ATE
slept in while Julian stared at her. There was a time when five minutes was as long as he could bear postcoitus with a woman. No snuggling. No spooning.
Just fuck and get me out of there.

Now he could—blind and from memory—recount every freckle on her body. The adorable little scar on her ankle. What shampoo she used. Her habit of crossing herself when she finished saying her nightly prayers. He knew she always put three ice cubes, not four, not two, in her soda. He didn't even know if
she
knew as much about herself as he knew about her.

He laid his head on her shoulder. He had memorized her body. But beyond that, the little things. She was in her mid-twenties but still bought Lucky Charms and picked all the marshmallows out to eat as candy. She heaped ketchup on scrambled eggs. She hid her eyes during the scary parts of movies.
If she walked by a water fountain, she always dug a penny out of her purse and made a wish.

He thought about eternity. He could spend a hundred lifetimes memorizing these things about her, and it still wouldn't be enough. He'd want to know more. He had never realized, until he got to Neither Here Nor There, that inside one woman was a vastness as big as the cosmos, there for the knowing.

Kate's eyelids fluttered.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, Jules. What's it like outside?”

“Sunny. Want to take a walk through Washington Square Park?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

“Yes! Best part is I can talk to you and people will just think I'm an eccentric from the park. No one will care.”

“That
is
a great thing about being in New York City.” He had always loved New York's nut jobs before. They called in to his radio program, he mocked them, he got great ratings. But seeing the looks Kate got from talking to him, he began to wonder if the crazies tapped into something the rest of the world just didn't understand.

Julian watched as she climbed from bed and went into the bathroom. She shut the door, and he
could hear the sink running and the toilet flush. They had a deal. He got to watch her showers. Anything else in there was private. She emerged, hair in a ponytail, naked.

“You walk around like that, and we won't ever get to the park,” he growled.

“No. We're going for a walk. Like all lovers. Remember that day I saw the trannie with a boyfriend? Well, now I have a boyfriend, too.”

“Technically, yes. But no one else can see me.”

“Doesn't matter. I know.” She touched her breast where her heart would be. “In here. I know.”

She opened her top dresser drawer and pulled out a thong. Then she donned a pair of gym shorts, her La Perla bra and a T-shirt, pulled on socks and a pair of Nikes, and walked toward him. “Come on, Jules. Let's go! It's our wonderful weekend.”

The two of them left her apartment, and she took the stairs two at a time, her ponytail swinging. He had never been more in love. When he was with her, the joy on her face—was infectious. Joy—if anyone had told him he, Julian Shaw, would even use such a saccharine word, he would have told them they were snorting heroin.

Out on the sidewalk, Kate raised her face to the sun and sighed. He kissed her cheek, and they
ambled toward the park. They passed a newsstand on the way. He stopped for a moment and saw one of New York City's tabloids with big block letters proclaiming “Shock Jock Defying Doctors.”

Julian ran to the paper. He scanned the story. His body was responding to stimuli, according to the lead sentence. There was hope he would emerge from the coma. He felt the earth spin. The papers in his back pocket seemed warm, like a small fire lit on his ass. He patted his pocket. No fire. But he was running out of time, like Balam said.

He returned to Kate's side and held her hand. “I love you, you know. No matter what happens, know I love you. Okay?”

“Okay, sweetness. I know. Love you, too.”

“No. Say it. Like you believe it. Say you know that I love you.”

“Jules? You're acting funny. Of course I know you love me.”

They reached Washington Square Park, its huge arch greeting them, pigeons pecking at scattered popcorn in the gutter. Inline skaters darted by them. Lovers strolled. And then Julian saw Gus.

“Angel—” He grabbed Kate. “Angel, my Guide
is here. I need to talk with him. Meet me on that bench over there, okay?”

“Sure, Jules. You sound worried.”

The papers in his back pocket were burning hotter now.

“No. Not worried. I love you. I love you for eternity. Go now, okay?” He grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth.

Her pupils widened. “Wow! I really felt that one.”

“Just the passion of the moment, Katie Girl. My Katie Girl. My angel. I love you.”

She smiled and started strolling toward the bench. He watched her ponytail and her glorious ass as she walked away. With every bit of his soul, he wanted to run after her, but he knew he had to speak with Gus.

“Hello, Julian,” his Guide said.

“Hello, old man.”

“Julian…it's time. The Boss wants you back in your body.”

“You can't do this to me now, Gus. I swear to you, I'm changed. I swear it. I get it now. I get the whole fucking reason for our earthly existence.”

“And what's that?”

“To love. Gus…see that girl on the bench there?”

Gus smiled at Kate's direction. “Of course I do. Our Kate Darby.”

“She's my girl, Gus. She's my reason. She's what I was meant to…She's my girl, Gus. I am begging you, don't take me from her.”

“But the Boss…She has different plans. And you have to accept that, Julian.”

Julian pulled Balam's contract from his pocket. “No, I don't. Balam!” He screamed it at the sky. “Balam!”

In an instant, Balam appeared, in his usual perfectly tailored suit, white shirt and expensive Italian shoes.

“Gus.” Balam nodded. “Nice to see you down here among the riff-raff.”

“Balam, leave this boy alone.”

“He's not a boy. He's a foul-mouthed shock jock with a major case of the lovesick blues. He can sign that contract and be with his girl forever if that's what he wants. Who am I to deny him that? Worse, who is She to deny him?”

“That's not for us to question, Balam.”

“Why not? That's the difference between you and me. Between Lou and
Her.
”

“What's that?” Gus asked.

“She wants unquestioning faith and acceptance but She's unwilling to provide any answers. No questions, just toe the line. We happen to believe
if She granted mortals intelligence, then why
shouldn't
they question?”

“That's not true,” Gus said. He put a hand on Julian's shoulder. “Don't listen to him, Julian. He's a forked-tongue beast.
Faith
is about acceptance but Her love is unceasing. We must not doubt that.”

Julian looked from one to the other, then held the contract in his hands. The faintest of flames flickered at the edges of the paper, dancing in orange hues with blue-and-red tongues, yet not burning the edges. He was mesmerized.

“I'm going to sign it. Gus…I can't leave her. I can't leave her, man.”

“A minute ago, you said you knew the purpose of your existence. It's love, Julian. Balam doesn't know the
meaning
of the word.”

“Is it love, Gus,” Balam said, squinting his cold, dead eyes, “that caused Her to allow all those people to go down in the towers? Is it? Sign the papers, Julian. They're feeding you the party line, and it rots and smells like dead fish.”

“Don't do it, Julian,” Gus urged. “You'll belong to him. Forever.”

“But he doesn't care what I do. I can stay in that apartment with Kate forever.” Julian felt as if his heart—which he knew was actually beating in a
hospital bed, powered by machines—was going to explode. He looked desperately from Gus to Balam.

“Julian, sign the contract. You don't have much time. She can seize you at any minute,” Balam commanded. “And then Kate will be lost to you. Forever.”

Gus walked over to him and placed a hand on Julian's shoulder. “What will you do when she grows old, Julian? When she is old and frail and you are forced to watch her take her dying breath, and then you have all of eternity, until the very universe ends, to pine for her until you become bitter and enraged and you will then do Balam's bidding. He knows that. The devil is patient, Julian.”

Julian clutched at his throat. “I can't breathe. I…Gus, I can't leave her.” The physical agony he felt was unlike any pain he had ever experienced in life. Worse than heroin withdrawal. By a thousandfold. It wasn't physical—he didn't have a real body. But it
felt
physical. It was an aching in his soul, an anguish that hurt so badly, he wanted to die.

“Julian, don't condemn yourself to Hell. Don't condemn your Katie Girl to a half-life with you. She needs to be of
this
world. Not of Neither Here Nor There.”

Julian stared at the papers in his hands. The
flames burned higher. Then, with a guttural scream, he sank to his knees.

“Send me, Gus. Send me before I lose my courage.”

And in an instant, the world went black.

K
ATE WAITED
. M
INUTES
grew to a half-hour. “Jules?” she called out. “Jules?”

She stood up and scanned the park. She didn't know exactly what she should be looking for. Jules was more of a feeling. So she strode to the arch, where he had last kissed her and held her hand. She waited expectantly, spinning slowly, as if Jules might come up behind her and kiss her. Might surprise her.

“Jules?” she called out. “Jules!”

But he didn't respond.

An uneasy feeling overcame her. She looked at her hands, which trembled so much they visibly shook. Her teeth chattered. She turned and ran, as hard and fast as she could, down the sidewalk, leaving the park. She raced, darting across the street, then dodged passersby, back to her building, up the staircase, tripping once and landing on her knee, feeling it grow wet with blood, then scrambling up and charging up the stairs and down the hall faster.

She burst through her door. “Jules!” she screamed. “Jules! Jules!”

She ran from room to room in her apartment. “Jules!” Her cry became a shriek. It was a shriek she recognized—her voice at the horror of that day. The anniversary day. Grief and panic and shock. “Jules! Don't tease me. Come out, Jules!”

But she got no response, and then she remembered the way he told her to believe he loved her. He was coming back. He was gone temporarily. He had to be coming back. His Guide needed him for a bit. She told herself that. She told herself, just like she told herself they would find pockets of survivors in the ash and rubble.

Kate sank to her bed and curled her legs up in a fetal position.

“I know you love me, Jules. I know you love me.” She repeated the mantra over and over again until she couldn't speak from the sobs choking her. Then she gave in to the hysteria.

“Jules…Jules…” she called out to him. But she didn't feel his presence. She didn't feel his kiss. And she didn't feel, most of all, as if life were worth living without him.

 

W
HEN
K
ATE WOKE UP
, the first word on her lips was “Jules.” The apartment was dark, and she
pressed her fingers to her eyes, feeling how swollen they were.

“God,” she whispered. “I don't know how you brought me Jules, but I need him to come back to me. Please. I will promise anything. That I will be celibate for the rest of my life except for the way he and I make love. I swear it. I just need to have him here.”

She didn't know how long she lay there, bargaining with God until she finally whispered, “If only to say goodbye,
please.
So I can say a proper goodbye.”

Dawn arrived. Then noon of Labor Day. Out on the street, she could hear the sounds of laughter drifting up through her window. She stared at the ceiling and didn't move.

The day shifted. Shadows danced on her wall as sunlight hit the prism that hung from her curtain rod. A spectacle of rainbows and colors danced. And she stared at them.

She walked Honey, wearing dark sunglasses, avoiding the gaze of anyone on the street, then hurried back to her apartment.

Night fell. She wasn't hungry. She wasn't thirsty. She was numb—and yet in so much pain, it was physical. When she caught David and Leslie together, it had been a slap, a stinging slap across
the face. This was different. It was so intense, she felt as if her heart was literally breaking.

 

F
OR A FULL WEEK
, she did little more than call in sick to the office and wait.

“Todd?”

“Still sick? My God, but you have the flu bad. Take care of yourself. Anything I can do?”

“No. Thanks, though.” She hung up and shuffled into the kitchen, feeling like she might faint. She forced herself to eat something and poured herself some Lucky Charms, ate a small bowlful—and promptly retched in the kitchen sink.

Later, she forced down some Campbell's chicken noodle soup she cooked in the microwave and ginger ale, then crawled back into bed to wait for him.

Mal called.

“Kate? What's up? I phoned the office and Todd said you were really sick with some kind of hellacious flu. Said you sounded like death. You haven't called in sick in four years—except for the day after the robbery, and even then you weren't really sick, just exhausted and looking for Honey. What is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It has to be something. You sounded so excellent the other day. So happy, Kate. What is it? Tell
me. We've shared secrets forever. Who did you tell when you lost your virginity? Me. Come on.”

“I can't, Mal.” Kate heard the choked-off sound in her own voice.

“I'm coming over.”

“No!” Kate pleaded, but the line went dead.

Staring into the darkness, she realized now he wasn't coming back. He wasn't ever coming back. She tried to replay his voice—that precise intersection between a growl and a moan and bad-boy sandpaper-sounding whisper that she craved. But the longer it was since she heard it last, the harder it was to recall the exact intonation and inflection.

She heard Mal knocking on her door some time later, then a key twisting in the lock.

“Kate?” Mal called out.

Kate heard her footsteps through the apartment until Mal stood at the foot of Kate's bed. She was, uncharacteristically for Mal, wearing no makeup and dressed in baggy, shapeless flannel PJ bottoms and a tank top. Mal climbed into bed with Kate and spooned around her, gently stroking her hair.

“Whatever it is, Kate, I'm here.”

And then, though she had thought she was done crying, the waterworks started all over
again, wracking her gut until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

Kate allowed Mal to comfort her for over an hour. Finally, she thought she could talk.

“Mal?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I loved him.”

“David? Is this about him switching publishers? It made page six, you know.”

“No. My ghost. And he had to go away.”

“Okay, honey.”

“You don't believe me.”

“I don't
not
believe you. I've known you for so long, and I know you are the most honest, sweet, wonderful person. If you say there was a ghost here, then there was a ghost. No question.”

“And now he's gone.” Kate hiccupped.

“Why?”

“I don't know. But I know he didn't have a choice. He loved me, Mal. He loved me.”

Kate stared at the wall, her back to Mal, and stroked the side of the bed where Jules usually lay, whispering to her until she fell asleep.

“Ghost or not, Kate, you have to get out of this bed.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. Do you want me to call Dr. Tobit?”

“Why?”

“Because, Kate,” Mal said gently and plainly, “you may have loved your ghost, but you belong to the land of the living. You have to come back to us.”