Freudian Slip (15 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, as Julian and Kate walked to work, laughing together, Julian saw Balam waiting at the street corner, looking at his pocket watch.

“Kate, Love, I have a…friend to meet. From my world. You go into work. Probably get a lot more done without me chattering in your ear all morning.”

She looked at him and smiled. “See you later then, Jules. Don't be long. I'll miss you.”

“Never too long. See you soon…. Wait, hold still.” He kissed her nose, and she crinkled it and laughed and strolled on to her office building. He could see a light bounce in her step.

“Julian, my friend,” Balam greeted him. He wore the same crisp suit Julian remembered, and diamond cuff links gleamed in the sunlight. His white shirt was blinding. Julian would never have thought that a demon would have the best dry-cleaner in Manhattan.

“Balam.” Julian nodded.

“You know, the universe is a pretty small place.” Balam smiled. He also appeared to have the best dentist in the five boroughs.

“How so?”

“Well—” Balam spread his hands out “—it doesn't take long for news to travel. I get around, my friend. I hear you have a bit of a dilemma.”

Julian looked around them. Now that he was in the company of a demon, he could again see the demons strolling the streets, all of them, legions, part of the fabric of the world he once thought he knew.

“It's not a dilemma. It's a difference of opinion with the Boss.”

Balam laughed derisively. “You're a fool, Julian Andrew Shaw, son of Rachel and Vincent Shaw, boy who believed in Santa Claus until you were nine. Child who dreamed of escaping an alcoholic household.”

“Look, I get it. You all know everything about me. The other side does, too, so you're not impressing me. This shit is getting old.”

“I thought I knew you, Julian. But where's that hard edge? Where's the Julian Shaw who ran the airwaves around this city? Who was courted with a hundred-million-dollar contract? Who doesn't even
need
a lawyer or agent for negotiations—oh, sure, you have them, but you're more shrewd than they
are. You pull their strings like a ventriloquist. How can you be so pathetically fucking stupid?” Balam's face twisted into a cruel—but still dazzling—smile.

“You know, stop jerking my chain and get to the point.”

“Julian, there is no difference of opinion.”

“Of course there is.”

“No, because
Her
opinion is the only one. The only one that matters, man. Did they feed you that nonsense about it all being part of a grand plan and you are too insignificant to understand it?”

“Yes.” Julian longed for Kate. He didn't like being two feet away from a demon—no matter how well-dressed and dentally cared for.

“Well, it's a load of garbage, Julian.”

“Look, I don't see why you care about Kate and me.”

“But I do. I hate seeing lovers ripped apart.”

“Now who's full of crap?”

“Look, it's the Freewill Paradigm. I didn't create it, but She places a lot of stock in it and then what happens? When free will doesn't work out like She wants, She rips you two apart or sends a tsunami or something. Her and the weather.” Balam shuddered and looked up at the clear sky.

“So what about this Freewill Paradigm?”

“Well, look…as far as I'm concerned, this type of thing never works out. A mortal with an entity? Did you not see the movie model for that.
The Entity
—bad eighties flick, but definitely a working video for just how wrong these things can go.”

“Gimme a break.”

“Fine.
Ghost.
Did Patrick Swayze get to stay with Demi Moore, humping her, courtesy of Whoopi Goldberg, or did he eventually have to go into the light? How do you think these things get green-lighted? Trust me, Hollywood is full of demons, pal. They never end well.”

“But I don't want to harm her. Gus has it all wrong. She wouldn't be better off without me. I just want to be with her.”

“Precisely. But these relationships never work out. Trust me on this one. I've got centuries of experience with this sort of thing. Look at Joan Of Arc.”

“Joan of Arc.”

“She heard voices. You know the story. Put two and two together. It wasn't about
God.
It was Neither Here Nor There. A disaster. She fell in love with her caseworker. They were too close. But fine—” Balam shrugged “—you want to be with the girl of your dreams and she's willing to give up earthly love for what passes as sex be
tween you two, who am
I
to try to intervene? Not my style. Hence the Freewill Paradigm. I personally think you two should be able to make your own decision regarding this. You're both semi-reasonable adults.”

“Now there we go,” Julian said. “Someone who makes sense.” That's all he wanted. A chance.

“See, I am a very sensible fellow.”

“You're also a demon.”

“True enough. But I am sensible. I am the Dr. Phil of the Underworld.”

“Well, it's great you're so sensible, but the fact remains, Gus wasn't too receptive to my problem.”

Balam came around to Julian's side and draped an arm across his shoulders. “Exactly, which is why you have me.”

Julian looked at his new “friend.” Balam's eyes were black and flat, like coal. Completely dead. And scary.

“I happen to have a new and improved contract here,” Balam said, snapping his fingers and producing a new set of papers. “I guarantee that you can remain as you are, forever.”

“What happens to my body?”

“Doesn't much matter. You land back in there, we'll kill you and you just get to go right back to how you are now. Preferably, you'll just linger in
a coma until the end of the world as we know it. Which, according to my bookie is going to be sooner rather than later.”

“And I get to stay with Kate?”

“Yup. Never have to leave her side. And, I would most especially check out Clause 22J.”

Julian took the thick sheath of papers and scanned through to 22J. His mouth dropped open. “You're serious about this?”

“Yup. Serious as a heart attack, my friend. You get a proper penis for these sessions of yours. She will get to feel you, same as if you were a man. You'll remain invisible, but with a punch, if you know what I mean.”

Julian looked at Balam. “Can I think about this?”

“Sure. But don't take too long. No telling what She will have in mind. You could get zapped back to that pitiful coma body at any time. You probably don't have as long to think about it as you think.”

“All right, then, Balam. I'll definitely consider your offer.”

“Excellent.”

“How do I get in touch with you?”

“Just call for me. Like I said, the universe is a very small place.”

Balam started off down fourteenth. Julian watched and saw his suited companions fall in line
behind him. He stared at the contract in his hand and tucked it in his back pocket. He walked toward Kate's office, feeling more positive than he had since he arrived in Neither Here Nor There. The Freewill Paradigm. He knew what was best for Kate. He did. And screw the Boss if she didn't know that, too.

K
ATE ENTERED THE
reception area of her office to find the organization in utter panic.

“Helen needs to see you,” Todd said. His face looked pale. She could see editorial assistants scurrying in and out of offices.

“What is it?”

“Leslie quit.”

“What?”

“And she's taking her fucking Rolodex. Her authors. She's been maneuvering this behind the scenes. It's 9:00 a.m., and I think Helen already needs a stiff gin and tonic.”

“Shit.”

Kate walked down the hallway to her office. Leslie's office door was wide open. Her desk was cleared out. Her personal effects gone.

Kate opened the door to her own office and dropped her briefcase on the floor. The flowers David had been sending were wilted. The roses
dropped, their petals turned brown and shriveled. Feeling a surge of anger, she wanted them gone.

She buzzed Todd.

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“Would you do me a big favor? Will you come into my office with one of the big, green trashcans and just get rid of all the flowers and vases?”

“Even the pretty crystal one?”

“Yes. Even the pretty crystal one. Unless you want it.”

“Sure, I'll take it.”

“Great. And any other vases you want. I even think there's a porcelain jewelry box in here that had some flowers in it. You could give it as a gift to someone.”

“I love free stuff. It's like a swag suite. Be right down.”

“Thanks, Todd.”

She hung up the phone. Then, taking a deep breath, she walked down the hall to Helen's office. Her boss was facing the tall window, looking out on the street below. Kate rapped slightly on the ajar door.

“Helen?”

“Oh, good. Come in. Sit down. Shut the door, will you?”

Kate did. Helen sat down at her desk.

“Want coffee?” Helen had her own coffeemaker in her office—one of those pod machines that makes a single cup at a time.

“No thanks, Helen.”

“How about a stiff drink?”

Kate smiled wanly. “That I might take you up on. But we'll be all right. She's just one editor.”

“Yes. But you two are my best. You had the healthiest lists. But there's more.”

Kate braced herself.

“I have it on good authority that David's going to jump ship with her. She's going to a house that can literally give him anything and everything he wants. Huge advance. Promo. Co-op. A dedicated publicist. They can give him the world.”

Kate exhaled like the air being let out of an overfilled balloon. “But we still get to publish the sequel to
Jackal's Feast.
He has a contract. I've edited the sequel. Most of it. He hasn't turned in the ending to me yet.”

“I know. But once we publish it, he'll turn around and hightail it with Leslie. We're screwed. You edit the masterpiece. He goes.”

“I…” Kate looked down at her hands and noticed they were shaking. “I can't believe he would do that to me.”

“He's quite the devil.”

“So much for me being his muse.”

Helen swiveled in her high-backed leather chair and slid it over to the bookshelf behind her. Like most editors, she lined up every book she had ever edited. Running her manicured index finger along the spines, she went alphabetically until she found what she was looking for.

She pulled the hardback book from the shelf and slid it across the desk to Kate.

“Time Thief,”
Kate read aloud. “I loved this book. This is a Kent Washington book. Sci-fi. We didn't publish it.”

She nodded. “That's right, we didn't. But I edited it.”

“You did? I don't understand. This book is legendary. But you never worked for them.”

Helen nodded her head ruefully. “Legendary. Yes, it is. Kent was my author and my friend. Let me back up. He was my friend first. Then…we dated. Off and on. He had writer's block. Agonizing writer's block that kept him up all night, pacing and fretting that he'd never write another word. I helped him through it.”

Kate could totally picture Helen nursing Kent Washington through his block. Leslie used to joke
that she and Helen could coax a book out of a monk who had taken a vow of silence.

Helen continued. “He was crippled by insecurity about his writing. He would bewail that he was a hack. That he didn't have it in him to finish the book.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“And I helped him through it. We were a team after a while, and I just
assumed
that when his book was done, he would be placing it with me. It was
our
baby. A labor of love. Of patience. Total mutual devotion to the creation of a masterpiece.”

“It is a masterpiece.”

“And I assumed I would shepherd it to publication. That when the first copy fell off the printing press, I would hold it in my hands, like an OB-GYN catching a baby as it's born. That Kent and I would be there together.”

“And that never happened, I take it.”

“No. He turned around and took it to them. On the one hand, I didn't blame him. They offered him a lot of money, and they
are
a sci-fi house. The line was perfect for him. But on the other hand…it was a cruel blow.”

“You sound pretty pragmatic about the whole thing. I would be devastated.”

“It was such a breach of trust, Kate, I thought I'd never recover.”

“So why do you keep the book on your shelf? A reminder to never trust anyone ever again?”

Helen smiled and pursed her lips together. “
Au contraire.
I keep it there because they didn't change a
word
of it. No matter whose jacket is wrapped around the cover, it is still the book I'm proudest of. I know how much a part of it I was. And so—no matter what he tells himself so he can sleep at night—does Kent.”

“He never wrote another book like that one. I hear he's an alcoholic.”

“Poetic justice.”

“Okay, Helen, so how do we do damage control?”

“We'll have a meeting later. I've got to wait for Joe to come in,” she said, referring to the publishing house's president.

“All right. Thanks, Helen. Words of wisdom very much appreciated.”

“You're welcome. We'll get through this. Though if I see that skinny little blond bitch, I just might slap her.”

Laughing slightly, Kate rose and left Helen's office.

She thought once she had Jules watching out for her, all would be…well, perfect.

But even with an angel—or whatever he was—in her corner, the world wasn't perfect.

She wanted a hug. With someone's real arms. Deflated, she trudged down the hall to her office, and dialed Dr. Raphael Tobit.