Freudian Slip by Erica Orloff Page B

that jungle hotel a couple of weeks later, clean but not sober. He drank more heavily, partied harder, screwed more women, chasing the demon of heroin.
    Julian sighed. Then, with startling clarity, he realized that he didn’t want heroin. Or Patron. He had lost his earthly cravings. It was as if this lion he wrestled with every day for the last several years had suddenly turned into a kitten. The desire for heroin was completely gone.
    â€œOkay, Boss.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Nicely done. If I could be this way and be back in my body, though, that would be the key. I miss sex. I miss touch.”
    Suddenly, from Kate’s bedroom, her clock radio blared an old Britney Spears song.
    â€œCrap, Kate,” he yelled. “Don’t tell me you listen to pop radio garbage. The Ramones, baby. You need to listen to the Ramones. Or Pete Townsend. Or…well, we’ll work on song selection.”
    He rose and walked into her bedroom. She was hiding under the covers.
    â€œCome on!” he yelled at her, standing at the foot of the bed. “I’m sick of these four walls. Time to get out of here. Let’s see where you work. Where you go for happy hour.”
    Eventually, after one more smack down of the snooze button, she rose and headed to the bathroom. As she undressed, Julian admired her naked form.
    â€œNice tits. Great ass, by the way. You must do squats at the gym. You know, you need to stop covering up.”
    She turned on the shower until the tiny bathroom steamed up. She stepped into the stall and soaped up her body. He watched the way the water formed rivulets through the bubbles on her skin. Even without a scrap of makeup, her skin was perfectly clear.
    He watched her and decided shower time might be his favorite part of the day in Neither Here Nor There. Oddly enough, he found himself erect.
    â€œOkay…so, let me get this straight, I can still get a hard-on in Neither Here Nor There? But what am I supposed to do with it?”
    Annoyed, he had to be content with watching her rinse her body and wash her hair. She emerged from the shower, cheeks rosy from the hot water, and proceeded to brush her teeth and towel-dry her hair.
    â€œNow the clothes,” he said, following her to the closet.
    As she slid hangers across the bar, he spoke, loudly and firmly, “No, no, not a chance, big fat no, what were you thinking? No, no, and no again.”
    She put a hand on her hip and sighed. “What is it with me? I hate all of my clothes all of a sudden. Hate them!”
    She reached way back in the closet for a skirt and flirty top. She held them up to her body in front of the full-length mirror.
    â€œWe can work with that,” Julian told her.
    â€œMaybe since I’ve lost weight, this will fit better.” She scrunched up her mouth and wrinkled her nose. Julian thought she looked like a bunny.
    â€œPut it on,” he commanded her, though he did like looking at her naked.
    She padded to her dresser and pulled out a pair of panties.
    â€œNo!” he screamed. “ No! No! No! Cottonbriefs? No, Kate girl, no. Boy shorts, a thong, silk. Not that.”
    He leaned over her shoulder and stared into her underwear drawer. Though he had seen lots of women’s underwear, he had never been privy to the mysteries of a woman’s underwear drawer before. He’d taken them off with his teeth, ripped off thongs and judged panty contests on his show. But a woman’s apartment—the way she actually kept her things—that he wasn’t familiar with. His underwear drawer was a laundry basket of clean—or semi-clean—clothes in his closet. Kate’s drawer was, he decided, without enough silk. There seemed to be a shortage of sexy. That would have to be remedied.
    She sighed aloud. “Maybe these.”
    She pulled out a cotton pair—but at least they were bikinis. Then a bra.
    â€œWe’re going shopping today,” Julian said.