Freudian Slip. Erica Orloff

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      “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.”

      Honey moved toward Kate, but seemed to look past her, focusing upon one spot and yipping incessantly.

      Go away. Tell the dog to be quiet. Tell it.

      “Hush, Honey. What are you barking at? Was the robber there? Can you smell him?”

      The dog wouldn’t budge from the one spot. Kate reached down to reassure her little dog. Honey quieted, but still stared, fixated on a spot on the ceiling.

      Kate went to the kitchen and set down a bowl of food and one of water. “Come on, Honey,” she coaxed. “Don’t you want to eat?”

      Honey still wouldn’t move. Puzzled, Kate walked over to her dog, scooped her up and carried her to her dog dish. Finally, Honey picked at the kibbles and drank some water, then she went over to her green plaid dog bed, turned around three times and settled in for a nap.

      Kate walked toward the stereo.

      Nothing depressing, Kate. How about the Clash? Or better yet, what about a shower?

      Shrugging, she changed her mind about the music. She stood and shed her T-shirt, walking toward the bathroom.

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