Panic Attack

by Jason Starr

  “How does she know I’m not Jewish?”

  “She knows,” Marissa said, and that was exactly what Johnny was worried about. If the old lady could tell he wasn’t Jewish, what else could she tell? Johnny didn’t want to take any chances, especially when everything was going so well.

  With her grandma staying in the guest room next door, Marissa didn’t seem as worried about being in the same house with her father, so Johnny came up with a good excuse to go back to his apartment—he needed to get his suit for the funeral. Marissa wanted to go with him but decided she should probably stay and be with her family.

  When Johnny left, the reporters, who’d been camped out there all day, swarmed him, shouting questions. Johnny told them he was just “a friend of the family,” and he didn’t stop to talk to them. At the subway station, he bought the Post and News. Marissa had already told him that Tony had an alibi for the murder and might be off the hook and that Adam was the main suspect now, but even the papers that had come out early this morning were slamming Adam. Each paper had about two or three pages on the story, focusing on how Adam Bloom, the crazed vigilante who had shot and killed an intruder in his house less than two weeks ago, was now a suspect in his wife’s murder. While the articles focused on Tony as a suspect, the Post called the Blooms “the philandering couple” and said that the Blooms’ marriage had been “in crisis” since the break-in and that Adam Bloom might have “snapped again” and killed his wife. And Johnny loved that Clements had called Adam “a person of interest” in the case. Reading this on the subway to Brooklyn, he couldn’t help laughing out loud. For years, Johnny had been running away from the cops, and now, in a weird way, a cop was actually helping him get the biggest score of his life. He almost felt like Clements deserved a cut of the action.

  Later on during the subway ride, Johnny spotted the couple with the engagement ring. He wouldn’t need the ring for a while, but he’d learned a long time ago that when an opportunity comes along to get what you want, go for it, because you don’t know when you’ll get that chance again.

  At his apartment, he was checking out the ring—it didn’t have any noticeable flaws; maybe it was worth more than he’d thought—when he got a text from Marissa:

  I miss you so so much!!

  Man, Johnny loved his life.

  In the morning, Johnny met Marissa outside the funeral home in Forest Hills. She was already a mess—dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, streaks of mascara on her cheeks—so he had to shift right into supportive boyfriend mode. This might’ve been hard to pull off for some guys, but not for Johnny. He even managed to squeeze out some tears.

  The funeral seemed to take forever, the rabbi going on about what a wonderful, caring person Dana had been and how much she’d be missed. At one point the rabbi called her “a loving wife.” And Johnny—probably like everybody else in the chapel—was thinking, Yeah, but loving to who?

  Everyone was sobbing, especially Marissa and Adam. But Adam was almost crying too much. It seemed to Johnny that a lot of Adam’s crying was for show, not because he was faking it—he was probably actually upset—but because he knew other people, including Marissa and any reporters who’d gotten into the chapel, were watching him to make sure he was crying as much as a grieving husband should be. A couple of times Johnny saw Marissa look over at her father, and Adam would immediately start crying or blow his nose extra loud or do something to prove how upset he was.

  Johnny rode with Adam, Marissa, and Marissa’s grandmother—Grandma Ann—to the cemetery. Johnny was doing a great job with the whole grieving act, but, man, it took a lot of work. In the back of the limo, the old biddy kept looking over at him, giving him the evil eye, glaring through her Coke-bottle glasses. He knew it wasn’t just because he wasn’t Jewish; there was more to it than that.

  At the grave, Johnny actually felt sad for the first time all day. It was a shame that Dana had died before Johnny had a chance to screw her, before she had a chance to experience the orgasms that you could only experience with Johnny Long. Talk about tragedy.

  Johnny had to continue to console Marissa, and he was running out of bullshit to say to make her feel better. How many times could he tell her “I know” and “She’s in a better place” and “It’s gonna be okay?” Meanwhile, Adam was still overdoing it. When they lowered the coffin into the ground he collapsed, crying, but then he started beating the ground with his fists, like a baby having a fit. Johnny was thinking, Fists? Come on, gimme a break. At one point, Johnny even saw Marissa look over at her father and roll her eyes slightly.

  During the ride back to the Blooms’ house, Marissa looked away the whole time, staring blankly out the window. Johnny left her alone, giving her her space. Marissa didn’t say a word until they got back to the house. She took him up to her room, shut the door, and said, “I think you were right—he definitely did it.”

  “I never said I thought he actually did it,” Johnny said.

  “But that’s what you thought, that was your first instinct, and first instincts are usually right.”

  Johnny wasn’t going to argue with this. He blinked once, very slowly, to show her how concerned he was, and squeezed her hand tightly.

  She continued, “Everything about him today was so fucking fake. Did you see the way he was punching the ground? He thinks he’s gonna get away with it, but he won’t because I’m not gonna let him. If he did this he’s gonna pay for it. He’s not just gonna go on with his life while my mother’s rotting away underground.”

  Johnny loved how she was ready to turn on her father, to, well, bury him. The Blooms were having some Jewish thing called a shiver sitting, some-

  thing like that, where all their friends and relatives were going to come over with food and drinks and sit around and mourn with the whole family. It sounded like hell; even worse, it was going to last a whole week. What was it with Jews anyway? Did they want to drag out their misery for as long as they possibly could?

  Maybe people were staying away because of the “rumors” about Adam in the news, because only about ten people showed up at the house all day even though there had been at least a hundred people at the funeral. Adam seemed out of it, wandering in and out of the living room, occasionally checking his BlackBerry, shaking his head and mumbling to himself. Grandma Ann continued to give Johnny dirty looks. Johnny tried to start a couple of conversations with her, asking her about Florida, but the old lady wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. Later, Johnny saw her go over and whisper something to Adam; then Adam looked over at Johnny, trying to be casual about it. Johnny didn’t care what Marissa said; he knew that the old lady wasn’t only treating him like this because he wasn’t Jewish.

  Marissa wanted Johnny to spend the night with her, and he couldn’t turn her down, could he? In bed, she told him that she loved him, and he said he loved her, too, “more than anything in the world.” He knew it was way too early to ask her to marry him, but he thought the timing was right to test the waters, to see if she was as primed as he thought she was, so he asked, “Do you want kids someday?”

  “Someday,” she said. “Definitely. What about you?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. Then he added, “And I think you and me could make great-looking babies.”

  If she seemed at all freaked out by this, he would’ve backed off, changed the subject, said he was only joking.

  Instead she said, “I know, I was thinking about that today actually.” “You were?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s early, but I definitely feel strongly about you.” Wow, Johnny was impressed with himself. He knew Marissa would be espe-

  cially vulnerable today, on the day of her mother’s funeral, but she was about as attached to him as a person could possibly get.

  “I want to show you something,” he said.

  He went over to his suit jacket, which he’d laid over the chair at her desk, and took the diamond ring out of the inside pocket.

  “I know this isn’t the right tim
e to do this,” he said. “And I’m not sure you’ll even want me to do it, but if you do . . . someday . . . look at what I have.”

  He opened his hand and watched her eyes widen. It was amazing the way women shit themselves over diamonds.

  “Wow, it’s beautiful,” she said.

  “My grandmother gave it to me when she was dying of cancer. She told me to propose to the girl I love someday.”

  Marissa was smiling, and Johnny knew she was thinking, Please let that girl be me. Please let me be Mrs. Xan Evonov.

  Then her expression changed and she said, “It was your grandmother’s ring?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said.

  “Oh,” she said, “that’s weird. It doesn’t look like a very old setting.”

  “That’s because I had it reset. Yeah, I wanted it to look more modern, and it’s the stone that’s really important to me.”

  Good thing Johnny was a fast thinker.

  “That’s so sweet,” she said, “and the stone is so beautiful.”

  He could tell she wanted to try the ring on, but he took it away, thinking,

  Always leave them wanting more.

  He was kissing her tenderly when there was a knock at the door. “Yes?” Marissa said.

  “Dinner’s on the table.” It was Grandma Ann. “Okay, coming,” Marissa said.

  “It’s getting cold.” “We’ll be right down.”

  Johnny didn’t hear Grandma Ann’s footsteps. He pictured her at the door, trying to listen in.

  “Maybe I should go,” Johnny said, talking low, almost whispering.

  “Why?” Marissa asked, concerned but talking very quietly, matching Johnny’s tone.

  “I just think your family needs some time alone.” “Please don’t go. I need you here tonight.”

  Johnny decided he would electrocute Marissa. It wouldn’t happen for a long time, for months, and he’d have to work out the details, but when the time was right, that was how he’d get rid of her.

  Moving a few strands of hair away from her eyes, Johnny said, “I really think your grandmother doesn’t want me here.”

  “I’m telling you that’s just the way she is.”

  Now Johnny heard Grandma Ann walking away down the hallway. Johnny gave Marissa a look that said, See what I mean?

  “She’s totally harmless, I’m telling you.”

  Johnny didn’t believe her, but he decided to focus on the positives. Dana was dead, and Marissa was in love with him and, even better, was practically ready to marry him. Everything was falling into place. It was time to move ahead with the next phase of the plan, and this would be the most enjoyable phase, the part that would give him the biggest rush.

  Yeah, it was time to kill Adam Bloom.

  Hello, Dr. Bloom, this is Lisa DiStefano. I’m very sorry to tell you this, but . . . but I’m going to have to discontinue my treatment . . . I’m really sorry, Doctor, but I just feel like I have no choice. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and—

  ADAM COULDN’T listen to any more. He deleted the message, as well as the other messages he hadn’t even listened to yet, and shut off his BlackBerry.

  He didn’t know how many patients he’d lost so far—ten, fifteen? And those were only the ones who’d bothered to call, the ones he’d been seeing for years, who felt indebted to him. The others probably just wouldn’t bother to show up to their appointments.

  It wasn’t like the situation would ever improve, either. Even if the police announced that they’d made an arrest in the case, if Adam was completely vindicated, the damage had already been done. His name had been permanently scarred, and people would always believe that there had to be some truth in there somewhere. Maybe he really did kill his wife and the police botched the evidence. Or if he didn’t kill his wife, he’d shot that guy in his house, hadn’t he? He was still unstable, still crazy. Maybe if he was a plumber or a carpenter he could’ve continued his career at some point, but as a psychologist, people needed to trust him with their mental health; they needed to know that the person treating them wasn’t potentially crazier than they were.

  All funerals are like nightmares, but for Adam, Dana’s funeral was especially horrific. It was bad enough that he had to bury his wife, a woman whose life had been tragically cut short—she’d only been forty-seven years old, for God’s sake—but he had to suffer through the indignity of being scrutinized and judged, not only by the media and the public but by his own family. Even Marissa didn’t believe he was innocent. This made Adam feel horribly sick whenever he thought about it, and he wasn’t sure their relationship could ever recover from this. At the chapel and at the cemetery, people kept giving him looks and acting generally suspicious. Even when people came up to pay their respects, he knew that they weren’t being sincere. They were sorry for Dana, but they had no sympathy for him—and these were the people who supposedly cared about him the most. These were people he’d grown up with, gone to school with, worked with. He’d been there during the difficult times in their lives, when their loved ones were sick or had died, but now, when he needed them the most, they deserted him. He felt bitter and betrayed. He felt completely alone in the world.

  Well, almost completely alone. He was glad his mother was there. Like every other person in the world, Adam had mother issues. Despite his best attempts over the years to achieve resolution, to reach closure, he had petty, unresolved resentments toward his mother that he’d harbored for years and that led to constant bitterness toward her. Although he always tried to confront his feelings and express himself fully, it was usually hard for him not to act irritable when he was around her for an extended period of time—well, for more than a day or two. But today he needed support and unconditional love from his mother, and he’d appreciated it when, shortly after she arrived from Florida, she took him aside and said, “I know my son isn’t a killer.”

  This was exactly what he needed to hear. Finally he had an ally.

  “Thank you, Mom,” he said. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

  As his mother held him, he felt like he was a child again and he’d just scraped his knee on the sidewalk and run home to his mommy.

  “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay,” she said. For a few moments, he actually believed her.

  Then, maybe because he was with his mother and felt safe and protected, he suddenly felt the need to cleanse his soul. He said, “I made a mistake the other night, Mom. I didn’t have to shoot that guy.”

  Adam had talked to his mother on the phone a few times since the shooting, but he’d only given her the general details because he didn’t want to upset her too much.

  “Oh, stop it, you did what you had to do,” his mother said. “Somebody was in your house in the middle of the night. What were you supposed to do, let him shoot you first?”

  “But I didn’t have to shoot him so many times.”

  “So, who cares?” his mother said. “Stop feeling so guilty about everything. You always make yourself feel guilty, you drive yourself crazy. Give yourself a break.”

  Her advice wasn’t bad. Forgiving yourself was always a good idea, though it was hard to feel innocent surrounded by people who were convinced he was guilty. It was also hard not to let what the media was saying get to him, especially that crap about how he was a “person of interest.” He didn’t even want to think about the very real possibility that the police could somehow put together a case against him, actually charge him with his wife’s murder. He knew that if he let his thoughts go there he wouldn’t be able to function at all. As it was—maybe because he hadn’t taken enough Valium—during the entire funeral he’d felt extremely disoriented. He wasn’t exactly sure who’d been there or what he’d said or how he’d behaved. He remembered Carol coming over to offer her condolences, and holding Marissa’s hand while he cried, and falling to the ground in front of the grave, but that was about it.

  When he got back to the house, he was experiencing major an
xiety symptoms—rapid heart rate, severe dizziness, a pounding headache. He called a psychiatrist he’d once seen, Dr. Klein, and Klein called in a prescription for Klonopin to the local Duane Reade. Adam thought he’d have to get the medication delivered—what with all the reporters out there, he would be a prisoner in his house for days—but Xan volunteered to go pick it up.

  After his first dose, Adam started feeling better. Well, he was still a mess, but at least he didn’t feel like he was on the verge of having a heart attack anymore. He joined his friends and family who had come over for the shivah, aware of notable absentees, like Sharon and Mike. Adam didn’t really mind, though. He’d rather be alone than around a bunch of people who were judging him.

  When Adam went to get a glass of water, his mother came over to him and whispered, “I don’t like him.”

  “Who?” Adam said.

  “Who do you think? Her boyfriend.”

  Adam looked over at Xan, who was looking right at him. Adam shifted his eyes back toward his mother, then rolled his eyes slightly and walked away, shaking his head. His mother had always been critical of Marissa’s boyfriends, especially the ones who weren’t Jewish.

  But his mother wouldn’t let it go. Later, when Marissa and Xan had gone upstairs, she picked up as if she’d never left off and said, “I don’t care, I don’t like him.”

  “Come on, he’s a nice guy,” Adam said. “Where did she meet him?” his mother asked.

  “In the city. I think at a bar or a club, I’m not really sure.” She gave him a look.

  “A lot of people meet in bars, Ma, and Marissa seems happy with him. He’s been great, actually—very supportive throughout all of this. I mean, I had my doubts at first, too, but he’s a good guy.”

  “What kind of doubts did you have?” His mother was squinting seriously. “I don’t mean doubts. I mean I was just a little skeptical, about his career

  mainly. He’s an artist, a painter, and I didn’t want Marissa to get involved with some flaky guy. But that doesn’t seem like the case at all. He seems very dedicated, very passionate.”