"Panic Attack" - читать интересную книгу автора (STARR JASON)

twelve

Marissa’s goal for the foreseeable future was to spend as little time with her parents as possible. It was getting to the point where it was hard to be around them, even to be in the same house with them. It was bad enough with their arguing, but now her father was getting on her case because she went to a happy hour with Hillary? What, now she wasn’t allowed to hang out with her friends? What was he going to do next, lock her in a tower like Rapunzel? Oh, and how about her mom having an affair with Tony the trainer, of all people? It explained why her mom had been acting so uptight and distracted lately. If it wasn’t so annoying it would’ve been funny, hilarious actually, that her parents were always telling her how she had to grow up, get her life together, when she felt like she was the adult and they were the kids.

In the morning, after Marissa checked out her friends’ blogs and MySpace and Facebook pages, she posted an entry on her own blog entitled just when i thought things couldn’t possibly get any more fucked up. She wrote about Gabriela’s murder and how yesterday had officially been the worst day of her life. She was in a very nihilistic mood and ended with I’m so fucking sick of this stupid fucking world and I just don’t give a fucking shit about fucking anything anymore. She read the entry twice- she thought it was one of her best ever; maybe she should’ve majored in creative writing- then posted it and went downstairs. She brewed some coffee and was pouring a cup when her mom came in and said, “Dad got bumped.”

“Huh?” She had no idea what her mother was talking about. She also had no idea why her mom was wearing her robe and had no makeup on at- what?- one in the afternoon.

“He was supposed to be on Good Day New York this morning, but I fastforwarded through the show and he wasn’t on. They must’ve bumped him.”

“Oh,” Marissa said, surprised her mom cared after the way she and her dad had been arguing yesterday.

“If I were you I wouldn’t read the Daily News today. It’s not exactly a flattering portrayal of your father. Expected, I guess, but still not very enjoyable to see in print.”

“Did they say anything bad about me?” Marissa asked. She didn’t really think there would be anything bad; it was just instinctive insecurity coming out.

“They mention us,” her mom said, “but no, nothing bad.”

“Thank God,” Marissa said, then added, “That sucks for Dad, though.” She stood at the counter, sipping her coffee, trying to wake up. Her mother, meanwhile, started scrubbing the stove with a Lysol Wipe. “So,” Marissa asked, “are you feeling okay today?”

“I’m fine,” her mom said. “Why?”

“You didn’t get dressed yet.”

Her mom continued scrubbing, then finally said, “I have no place to go.”

What was going on now? Was her mom depressed? Marissa was tempted to blurt out, What’s wrong, Ma, boyfriend trouble? She managed to keep this to herself but couldn’t help smirking.

“What’s so funny?” her mom asked.

“Nothing,” Marissa said. “Why?”

Her mom gave her a look, then continued scrubbing- too hard, like she was trying to sand a piece of wood. Finally, maybe to herself, she said, “We have to find a new maid.”

Marissa had been trying not to think about Gabriela; it was too sad. “Is there anything new about that?” she asked.

“No,” her mom said, and she finally stopped scrubbing and dropped the wipe into the garbage. “But can you believe her sister called and asked me if we’d pay to have the body shipped to South America?”

“What did you say?”

“She was so upset, I didn’t want to be rude. I said I’d have to discuss it with my husband.”

“That was nice of you, I guess. I mean, we still don’t know for sure Gabriela had anything to do with the robbery, right?”

“Oh, come on, you sound like Dad now. She was dating that guy Sanchez, for God’s sake.”

She didn’t know what was up with her mom’s attitude, why she was acting so irritable. She wondered if it had to do with her affair. Maybe she was feeling guilty or something.

“I can’t believe she and that guy were together,” Marissa said. “I had so many talks with her about boyfriend stuff, you know, and I didn’t think she’d been with a guy since her fiancй died. She’d never said anything about any guy named Carlos.”

“She obviously had a lot of secrets,” her mother said. Then she made a face, as if she’d caught herself saying something she hadn’t meant to-Gee, Marissa thought, what ever could that be?- and said quickly, “Anyway, the answer’s no, I’m not paying to have her body shipped anywhere.”

“How much do they want?” Marissa asked.

“What difference does it make?”

“I mean if it’s only, like, a thousand dollars-”

“I’m not giving them a thousand dollars, I’m not giving them one dollar, I’m not giving them one penny. That woman hurt us, don’t you get it?”

Well, so much for trying to have a conversation with her mom. Marissa took her coffee and went back to her room, back to her PC. From now on maybe she should just stay in her room all the time, not even talk to her parents. Her parents should stay in different rooms, too. Maybe they’d all get along better if they never had to see each other.

She checked her blog and saw that she’d already gotten sixteen responses in the backlog, mostly from friends, but a few from random Web acquaintances. Everyone was very supportive, writing about how sorry they were and how bad they felt, et cetera. Marissa added her own comment, thanking everybody and writing that she was “feeling a little better today.” Then she checked Yahoo! Messenger and MySpace to see which of her friends were online and started IM- ing with Sarah, a friend from Vassar. Sarah lived with her boyfriend in Boston, but she said she was coming into the city tonight and planning to stay for a few days with her brother in Hell’s Kitchen. Marissa was excited. Hanging out with Sarah would be a great distraction from all the crap that was going on in her life.

Sarah typed, So you going to the party at D’s to night?

“D’s” meant Darren’s, but Marissa didn’t know about any party. Hmm, strange, what was up with that? She hadn’t heard from Darren at all the last couple of days, come to think of it, and hadn’t even gotten any response to the SOS e-mail she’d sent him about how he had to get rid of his drugs before Detective Clements busted him. Now that Clements had found out that the break- in had nothing to do with Marissa or her friends, she doubted he’d wasted his time with some low- level drug dealer, which meant Darren was blowing her off because (a) he was pissed off at her for trying to rat him out or (b) he wanted to make her think he was pissed off at her for trying to rat him out. Darren had played immature, hot- and- cold head games with her before, so choice (b) was much more likely. He was probably trying to get her to contact him and be all apologetic and clingy.

Marissa thought about it for several more seconds, then typed, What party?

Sarah typed, You weren’t invited???? and Marissa replied, Nope. Then Sarah typed, thats such bullshit hold a sec.

Perfect. Sarah was a big drama queen and loved stirring things up. If Sarah got Marissa the invite, at least it wouldn’t look like she was desperate.

Waiting for Sarah to get back to her, Marissa checked out the Daily News article about the shooting, the one her mom had told her to avoid. God, it was like a freaking nightmare. Anyone who read it would think her father was a nutcase or something. She felt bad for her dad, but she was angry at him, too, for dragging her and her mom into this. Their names were right there in the paper, for the whole world to see. She wondered if it would blow over or if for the rest of her life when people found out she was Adam Bloom’s daughter they’d hate her, treat her like she was Charles Manson’s daughter or something. She was so panicked that she researched how to change her name. It was apparently complicated for post- 9/11 security reasons, but it was doable. Her middle name was Suzanne, so she could be Marissa Suzanne. She was going to seriously consider doing it if things got any worse.

She was still reading the article when she heard a beep, announcing a new IM. She switched screens and saw that Sarah had invited Darren into their IM session. Darren was playing dumb, writing that of course she was invited to the party and he was so sorry he forgot to tell her about it. Meanwhile, it was so obvious that he hadn’t invited her on purpose to try to get her upset. What he was doing was so immature, so ju nior high school.

So, you going? Sarah typed. Marissa replied, yeah I’ll be there, and Darren wrote, Sweet.

Marissa was nauseous.

The rest of the day, Marissa browsed job listings and sent out a few rйsumйs, but she wasn’t hopeful. She thought she had a great cover letter that she tailored for each job she applied to, but no one seemed interested in hiring her, and she was running out of places to apply to. Suddenly afraid she was going to be unemployed and living with her parents forever, she downloaded grad school applications for master’s programs in art history from a number of schools including Yale, Bard, and Brown. She doubted she’d actually apply to the schools- she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go to grad school at all, and she definitely didn’t want to go for a year or two- but at least it made her feel like she had a fallback plan.

Her mom had gone out shopping, and when she returned Marissa wanted to avoid another depressing conversation, so she stayed in her room and locked the door. She read an e-mail from her friend Jen: don’t know if you saw this yet, this really sucks but thought you’d want to read it anyway, sorry. Marissa clicked on the link to Daily Intel, where there was another scathing article about her dad. This one was an interview, and her dad sounded like he was boasting about the shootings, like he was so proud of himself. God, what the hell was wrong with him anyway? Weren’t things bad enough? Did he really have to go ahead and make an even bigger ass of himself? People actually read that blog; people Marissa knew read that blog. This was starting to get seriously embarrassing. Jen had already read the article, and she loved to blab and would probably tell everybody she knew, and Marissa and Jen knew pretty much the same people.

At around seven, Marissa left to meet Sarah for drinks at some new bar in midtown. As Sarah went on about how happy she was in Boston with her boyfriend in their great new apartment, Marissa couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. She’d hooked up a few times with Darren and one night with the bass player from Tone Def, but she hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since ju nior year of college, in, God, almost two years.

Later, in the cab to the party, Marissa felt so desperate that she was seriously considering sleeping with Darren tonight. But then she weighed all the pros and cons and only came up with a long list of cons. The only reason she’d gotten involved with Darren at all over the past few years was because she hadn’t had much choice. The ratio of girls to guys at Vassar had been high to begin with, and the ratio of girls to straight guys had been even higher. Things were so bad for girls that a lot of Marissa’s friends had been lesbians in college, or at least bi, but the idea of being a LUG- lesbian until graduation- hadn’t appealed to Marissa so whenever she got really hard up she wound up settling for Darren. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good- looking, because she actually thought he was pretty cute- tall and lanky with short curly hair and big brown eyes; goofy, but in a cool way, like Josh Groban. The problem was she didn’t feel any real connection with him. They didn’t have a lot in common, and whenever she tried to have a conversation about movies or art- or anything she was into- she could tell he was zoning out. She’d made it clear to him many times that she was interested in him for sex only, and he’d always say he was cool with that, but then after they’d hook up a few times he’d start getting possessive, calling her all the time and getting weirdly jealous about any guy she even mentioned in casual conversation, and she’d have to cut him off. She knew if she slept with him tonight it would just start the cycle all over again, and she didn’t feel like dealing with all of that.

As the cab pulled up in front of his parents’ building, she decided she definitely wouldn’t have sex with him. She’d just hang out for a while and call it a night.

Marissa had been to Darren’s parents’ apartment a few times before. The space was awesome- three bedrooms, high ceilings, crown molding, hardwood floors- and it was extremely well furnished. She even liked the borderlinetacky Pizza Place- esque oil paintings of Venetian scenes in the dining room. She didn’t know where his parents were tonight, but she knew it was highly unlikely that they knew anything about this party.

As she’d expected, the apartment was infested with Vassar people- i.e., people she’d hoped she’d never have to see again once college ended, but in the four and a half months since graduation it seemed like she was running into them on a regular basis. It amazed her how this could happen. New York City had like twelve million people, and sometimes it felt like she was still in a college town and it was impossible to meet anyone new.

She hung out for a while talking to Megan and Caitlin, who’d lived in her dorm freshman year. They were both from Scarsdale-’nough said. Then this guy Zach Harrison came over and lamely started hitting on her. Zach had dated one of Marissa’s old house mates; he was one of those boisterous, heavyset guys who laughed loudly and sprayed saliva when he talked, especially when he was drunk, like right now. He cornered Marissa- literally, backing her into a corner in the dining room, blocking her escape with his huge stomach- and told her stories about people from school whom she either didn’t know or didn’t care about. Of course he thought the stories were hilarious and kept belly laughing, spitting in her face. Finally Drew McPhearson came over and said something to Zach, and Marissa jumped at the opportunity to escape and headed down the hallway, past more Vassar people and some non- Vassar people, toward Darren’s room.

Darren and several others were sitting around, chilling, listening to Daughtry, getting wasted. Aside from Darren, the only other Vassar person in the room was Alison Kutcher- sadly no relation to Ashton. The non- Vassars all looked skanky, and one woman looked burnt- out and in her thirties. Marissa figured they were some of Darren’s drug clients.

“Hey, there she is,” Darren said, and he got up, his eyes glassy and bloodshot and kissed her on the lips. She didn’t have a chance to turn her head or she would’ve.

M arissa sat- purposely not next to Darren- and someone passed her the bong.

“It’s Northern Lights,” Darren said proudly.

Marissa took a long, deep hit, closing her eyes, savoring it, and then she exhaled and her brain moaned, Thank you.

“Awesome shit, right?” Darren asked.

She didn’t answer, just leaned back and smiled, enjoying the rush of mellowness.

They passed the bong around a few times, then Marissa suddenly had to pee and went to the bathroom. When she came back everyone was gone except Darren. Did he really expect her to believe that this wasn’t planned, that everyone had just left on their own?

He was sitting on his bed with the bong and waved her over and actually said, “Come on, come over here, I won’t bite.”

She really wanted another hit, so she sat next to him and lit the bong and inhaled deeply, holding it in her lungs until she started feeling dizzy and then letting it out very slowly through her mouth and nostrils.

Then she realized that Darren was kissing her neck, under her jaw.

She shifted away and said, “This is a bad idea. I just want to be friends.”

She was aware that she was talking extremely slowly, or at least she felt like she was.

Something about her delivery must’ve seemed funny to Darren because he started giggling. Then he said, “We are friends,” and tried to nibble on her ear again.

“I mean friends friends,” Marissa said, moving away again.

“It’ll be just sex,” he said.

“You can’t have just sex,” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” he said and tried to touch her crotch.

She stood up and said, “Stop it.”

“Come back here,” he said and unsnapped his jeans.

She tried to leave, and he grabbed her arm.

She turned and said, “Get the fuck off me.”

“Okay,” he said, letting go. “Chill.”

Marissa left the room and walked, very unsteadily, into the living room. She tapped Sarah on the shoulder and said, “I wanna go.”

“Now?” Sarah asked. It was obvious she wasn’t budging.

“It’s okay, stay,” Marissa said. I’m just gonna take a cab to Penn Station, there’s an LIRR train I can catch.”

Darren was heading down the hallway saying, “Hey, come on, just chill,” and she just wanted to get away. She went through the dining room and left the apartment.

She knew Darren was following her, so she didn’t want to wait for an elevator and took the stairs instead. After two or whatever flights she felt dazed- from the alcohol and pot, though she also had mild vertigo- and she had to stop for a few seconds to steady herself. Then she continued down to the lobby and out to the street.

She went to Broadway and hailed a cab downtown. What was up with the way the Jamaican- looking cabdriver kept eyeing her in the rearview? Shit, he was going to drive her someplace and try to rape her, she was sure of it. She’d read some article online, linked to somebody’s blog, about how a fake cabdriver in Manhattan had picked up this woman and taken her to Connecticut or Long Island or someplace and raped her. What could she do to stop him? He looked like he was a big guy, and she had no way to protect herself.

“Stop the fucking cab!” she screamed.

He was looking back at her with his rapist’s eyes again, saying, “What you want to do?”

“I said stop right now!”

He seemed to be driving faster, zigzagging, saying, “I can’t stop in traffic.” Shit, he was really going to do it. It was really happening.

She gripped the door handle, figuring she’d jump out when the car was moving if she had to, and the cab screeched to a halt. She got out, and the driver said, “Hey, where’s my money?”

She reached into her purse, grabbed some crumpled bills, and threw them through his window.

“Crazy lady,” the driver said and drove off.

Shaken and on the verge of tears, she rushed along the sidewalk. As she waited to cross a street a woman asked her, “Are you okay?” and Marissa ignored her and crossed against the light, a car nearly hitting her.

After going a few more blocks she started to realize how ridiculous she’d acted. Had she really gotten out of the cab? That cabdriver hadn’t done anything wrong; he hadn’t even been looking at her, for chrissake. It had been a normal cab ride, and she’d totally freaked out. It was all Darren’s fault; his goddamn pot had made her paranoid. God, this sucked so bad. Now she couldn’t even enjoy being wasted. This was officially the shittiest week of her life.

She took another cab to Penn Station and caught the train to Forest Hills. She could’ve taken the subway, but late at night she usually took the Long Island Rail Road because she felt safer and the ride only took twenty minutes. Walking home from the station she felt a lot less wasted but still a little drunk. She was dreading what her dad would say to her when she walked into the house. Of course, this time she actually had been drinking and smoking, so he’d feel even more justified in attacking her. Maybe he’d hit her with You really need to get focused, Marissa or It’s time you start setting your priorities straight.

When Marissa turned the corner onto her block, she saw a police car doubleparked in front of her house. What the hell? There were two cops in the car, and they looked at her as she turned up the walkway.

In the house she heard voices- her mom was talking and, oh no, it was Detective Dick Clements. She didn’t know if Dick was his actual first name, but that’s what she’d been calling him in her head.

She entered and saw Clements, her mom, and her dad at the dining room table.

“Who died now?” Marissa asked. She was trying her hardest not to look or sound wasted. Though she knew she could never pull this off, it didn’t stop her from trying.

“Everything’s okay,” her dad said.

Then he looked at her more closely, probably noticing how bloodshot her eyes were. Clements and her mom were giving her looks, too.

“Why don’t you go upstairs?” he said, sounding embarrassed, disappointed. Yeah, like he should be the one to talk.

But she gladly left. She figured that nothing was going on, that Clements was just there to update them about the investigation.

She was in bed, starting to pass out, when her dad came into her room and said, “Can we talk for a second?”

Here we go.

“I’m really tired,” she said.

“It’s important,” he said, sitting in the chair at her desk. “Unfortunately things have gotten a little more complicated.”

“What do you mean?” she said, surprised he wasn’t laying into her about the drinking and pot smoking.

“Well, somebody… threatened me,”he said.

“What do you mean threatened?”

“There was a note under the door. Detective Clements isn’t as concerned as Mom is.”

She sat up and said, “I thought you said everything was okay.”

“Everything is okay. Nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing except you’re getting death threats.”

“Threat, singular- and it wasn’t a death threat, or any type of specific threat, really. I mean, technically I don’t know if you’d even call it a threat at all.”

“What did it say?”

“Just about how I’m going to pay for what I did, et cetera, et cetera. It was probably because somebody read those lies in the newspapers today.”

Marissa couldn’t believe how deep in denial her dad was. What would it take for him to actually admit he was scared?

“So you think the same person who put the note under the door killed Gabriela?”

“No, I don’t think that. And the police haven’t found any link yet between what happened to her and the robbery.”

“Wait,” Marissa said, “so what do they think? That it was all what, a coincidence?”

She saw her father’s jaw shift a few times as he ground his teeth. Then he said, “Possibly.”

“And you believe that?” Marissa asked.

“Look, there’s no reason to panic,” her dad said, weirdly calm. “The police are giving this case, cases, their full attention. It sounds like they have a lot of leads they’re following up on, and I’m sure they’ll have a suspect in custody soon.”

“Is that what Clements said or is that what you’re saying?”

Her dad shifted his jaw again, then said, “The other thing is the note could’ve been a prank. When I got home before a bunch of kids were playing football in the street, right in front of the house. The police are talking to them to see if they saw anything, but one of them could’ve done it. Justin Green was there. I remember his parents were having some discipline problems with him a few years ago; he almost got expelled from school. They even asked me if I could suggest a good child psychologist and I gave them a referral.”

It was amazing how her dad could make up these stories; it was even more amazing that he actually believed them.

“I guess anything’s possible,” she said and lay down again.

“But look,” he added, “I just want you to know, there’s nothing to worry about.”

She thought, Yeah, nothing except that some maniac wants to kill you.

He continued, “You might’ve noticed the police car outside. The cops’ll be there all night and all day tomorrow. Twenty- four- hour protection.”

“What about tomorrow night?” Marissa asked.

“They’ll probably be out there for the next night or two. Mom wants to get private security, and maybe, just to make her feel better, we’ll do that. But there’ll probably be an arrest by then and this whole thing will be moot.”

He stood up, and she saw him noticing her bong, which was out in plain view on her desk, right next to her laptop.

“I threw out all my pot,” she said.

This was true. She’d thrown out the dime bag this morning.

“So, did you have fun tonight?” her father asked.

She remembered Darren grabbing her arm, her screaming at the cabdriver to pull over.

“Yeah,” she said. “It was okay.”

“That’s good,” he said. Then, after several seconds of awkward silence, he said, “Well, good night,” and left her alone.

Marissa was still thinking about the cab ride, how she’d totally freaked.

She stirred for a long time and finally fell asleep.

She dreamed about Prague. She had never actually been there, but she’d seen enough pictures of the cobblestone streets, the buildings, the castle, the Charles Bridge, to know that she was specifically in Prague and not some other Eastern Europe an city. She was happy in the dream, hanging out, playing guitar, getting wasted. So what if she didn’t know how to play a single chord on a guitar- the dream still felt real.

She woke up, disappointed to be in her bed in her house in Forest Hills, and thought, Why not just pack up and go? What was stopping her from doing something radical like that? She had no job, no boyfriend, no responsibilities. And going to Prague would solve two problems: It would get her far away from her parents and all of their problems, and she’d be able to afford to live on her own. She still had about six thousand dollars left over from the trust fund her grandparents- her mom’s parents- had left her. That was two months’ rent at a decent apartment in Manhattan, but in Prague she could probably last six months or longer, especially if she lived in a hostel or some kind of cheap housing.

She went online and Googled “moving to Prague” and viewed pictures of the city- eerily, her dream had been almost dead- on-and read all about relocating, becoming increasingly psyched. She was so sure of her plan that she posted a blog entry entitled i’m moving to prague.

When she went downstairs, her mom was frantically vacuuming. It was obvious that her mom had a lot of manic energy today, but Marissa didn’t know if it was because she was worried about the break- in or if it had to do with her affair with Tony the trainer or both. When Marissa asked her if she was okay she mumbled, “Fine,” but barely made eye contact. Later on, when Marissa went downstairs to do some laundry, her mom was lying on a couch, covered by a shawl, watching a soap opera. With her dad acting so deluded and her mom acting so weird, Marissa felt like she was living with two mental patients.

She couldn’t wait to escape to Prague.

Marissa was still upset about Gabriela but was trying not to think about it too much and was resisting searching for information about the murder. She figured if there was any major news- if there’d been an arrest- her mother or father would let her know, and reading about it would only upset her even more. She also was afraid she’d stumble on some new embarrassing article about her father that would make her want to contemplate a name change. Instead she focused on happier things- Prague and, more immediately, her plans to go out tonight. Tone Def was playing a set at ten at Kenny’s Castaways, and there was no way Marissa was missing it. She was planning to meet Sarah, Hillary, and Hillary’s work friend Beth at the Bitter End for drinks at six. She’d also been exchanging text messages with Lucas, the bass player from Tone Def she’d hooked up with that one time, and Lucas had invited her and her friends to hang out at some place on the Lower East Side after their set. Marissa was looking forward to having a fun night out with her friends and then hopefully hooking up with Lucas, maybe going back to his place.

She left the house looking very sexy, very rock ’n’ roll, in preripped skinny jeans, a low- cut T-shirt showing her angel tattoo, knee- high black leather boots, chunky tribal wood earrings, and dark, gothicky lipstick, which contrasted nicely with her pale skin. She met her friends for drinks, and then a few people wanted to eat, so they went up the block to some cheap Vietnamese place and then over to Kenny’s. Marissa had a nice buzz and didn’t want to lose it, so she suggested doing shots of schnapps to celebrate.

“Celebrate what?” Hillary asked.

“Me moving to Prague,” Marissa said like it was obvious.

Sarah and Beth wouldn’t do the shots, but Marissa and Hillary did. Now

Marissa had a really good buzz going; she was even close to being drunk. An annoying retro punk band called I’m Bernadette was finishing their set, and the place was filling up for Tone Def, who had a big cult following. Marissa made her way through the crowd toward the stage, wanting to say hi to Lucas. Naturally there were a lot of Vassar people in the crowd- there was just no escaping them- and she stopped and had a short conversation with Megan, Caitlin, and Alison. Then she spotted Darren, sitting with Zach Harrison at a table off to the right. She couldn’t believe Darren was actually here, what a total asshole. She knew he only came because he’d heard she’d be here; he didn’t even like Tone Def. What was it going to take for him to get the freaking point?

She went past Darren’s table toward the stage, where Tone Def had started setting up. She wanted Darren to see her with Lucas and get jealous as hell.

“Hey, where’s Lucas?” Marissa asked Julien, Tone Def ’s drummer. “Hey, how you doin’?” Julien said. “Dunno, he’s around somewhere.”

“I think I saw him going into the bathroom,” a guy plugging in an amp said distractedly.

Marissa went to the area outside the men’s room and waited. A few guys went in and out, but there was no sign of Lucas. Meanwhile, there was a line forming outside the women’s room. Marissa didn’t want to go back to the area in front of the stage, knowing Darren would come up to her, so she remained outside the bathroom.

A girl banged on the women’s room door, saying, “Come on already.”

Another couple of minutes went by then Lucas came out of the bathroom with his arm around this drugged- out girl with long, messy red hair. His jeans were partially unzipped and her lipstick was all smeared, as if there was any doubt what had gone on in there.

Marissa would’ve walked away if she had the chance, but Lucas and the girl were walking right past her. Lucas’s eyes widened when he saw her, then he said, “Hey,” and he and the girl continued toward the stage.

Marissa suddenly felt lightheaded, like she might pass out, a combination of shock and the schnapps hitting her system. She had to actually lean against the wall for a few seconds with her eyes closed to stop the room from spinning. Then she opened her eyes and saw Darren coming toward her.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, smiling stupidly. Did he expect her to be, what, excited?

She tried to get past him, and he grabbed her arm like he had last night.

“Hey,” he said, “where’re you going?”

“Just leave me alone,” she said, yanking her arm free.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You’re what’s wrong,” she said, but he probably couldn’t hear her because she was walking away and Tone Def ’s set had started. Her friends, standing in front of the stage, waved her over, and she had to stand there, watching Lucas play bass. It was hard not to notice how relaxed he looked post- blow- job. As soon as she got home she was so deleting all of the Tone Def tracks from her Mac and iPhone.

She was sick of looking at Lucas. She looked over to her left, but Darren was there, so she turned quickly to the right and saw this incredibly good- looking guy standing a few feet away from her watching the show. She thought she’d seen him somewhere before, and then she knew why- he looked so much like Johnny Depp. In fact, for a few seconds she thought he actually was Johnny

Depp, but then she thought, Would Johnny Depp really be watching some lame band in the West Village with a bunch of people from Vassar? She was checking him out more closely- he actually looked a lot younger than Johnny Depp- and then he looked in her direction and smiled. She thought he might be smiling at somebody next to her, but, nope, he was smiling at her. She smiled back at him and then looked quickly away toward the stage, where Lucas was doing a bass solo, making a face like he was having another orgasm. Did it really take that much energy to create such shitty music? She felt a tap on her shoulder, and the Johnny Depp guy was next to her saying something, which of course she couldn’t understand because (a) she was nervous as hell and (b) the music was so damn loud. Then he made a drinking motion with his hand, and she nodded and then walked ahead of him through the crowd toward the bar. She hoped Darren was jealous, watching them leave. She also hoped Lucas was noticing but doubted he could with the spotlights on him and the way he was busy fucking his bass.

When they got closer to the bar area, where the music was lower, the Johnny Depp guy leaned closer to her and said, “Hey, I’m Xan.”

He pronounced it “Zan,” but she didn’t think she’d heard him correctly and said, “I’m sorry?”

“Xan,” he said. “My real name’s Alexander, but people call me Xan.”

He had bright blue eyes, long sideburns, hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and strings of greasy hair hung coolly over his face- very cool. His scruffiness and darkish skin somehow made his blue eyes seem bluer.

“I had a friend Scott in college and he called himself Scuh,” Marissa said. “I thought that was stupid, but Xan, that’s really cool.”

He smiled, looking into her eyes, and asked, “So what’s your name?”

“Oh,” she said, feeling like an idiot for not telling him on her own. “Marissa.”

“Marissa or Rissa?” he asked.

She laughed and said, “Rissa, I like that.”

“Then there you go,” he said. “From now on I’m gonna call you Rissa.”

From now on. She liked that. And he was looking into her eyes again- when was the last time a guy had paid so much attention to her? Especially a cool, hot guy like Xan? She loved his lips, too- she could tell they were really soft. She was dying to kiss him, not just to make Darren and Lucas jealous but because she really wanted to.

Finally she was able to clear her mind enough to think of a good question. “So are you a big Tone Def fan?”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a good question, but at least there wasn’t dead air. “I’ve seen them a couple times,” Xan said. “What about you?”

Picturing Lucas coming out of the bathroom with the blow- job queen of the West Village, she said, “Actually, I think they suck. My friends wanted to come, so I kind of got roped into it. Are you in a band?”

“Do I look like I am?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Actually I’m a painter.”

“You’re kidding me.” She was excited. “What do you paint?”

“Different stuff. Portraits, street scenes. Stuff out of real life.”

“Wow,” she said, “that sounds amazing. I majored in art history.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, at Vassar. I also worked at the Met for a while over the summer.” She left out that she’d rented headsets and had lasted barely a month. Let him think she’d been some important curator.

“Really?” he said, still smiling. “That’s amazing.”

God, She was dying to kiss him. He was so hot- and also she’d finally met someone in New York she had something in common with.

“So who are some of your favorite artists?” she asked, realizing too late how stupid this question sounded.

“Oh, man, there are so many,” he said. “I like a lot of different types of art, you know? I really like the Impressionists, like van Gogh, um, Monet, Cйzanne, Degas, yeah, Degas’s stuff is really great… but I like other stuff, too, like, um, Edward Hopper-”

“Oh my God, I love Hopper. His work is so simple, yet so deep. I love twentieth- century urban Americana.”

“I also like Picasso, Warhol, um, Jackson Pollock-”

“I can’t believe it. You just named my favorite artists.”

“Oh, and I love Frida Kahlo too.”

“Get out, I’m so into Frida Kahlo. I did this twenty- five- page paper on her senior year. I think she’s amazing. Do you know that painting Henry Ford Hospital?”

“Yeah, that one’s great, but I think my favorite’s Self- Portrait with Small Monkey.”

“I know, I love Small Monkey. The use of animals in that is so powerful and so resonant. It really is the quintessential example of the angst in Kahlo’s oeuvre.”

Angst in her oeuvre? Yikes, she wished she could shut herself up. She hoped she wasn’t sounding too pretentious, too much like a know- it- all.

He took a sip of his beer but didn’t stop looking right into her eyes.

“So what kind of stuff do you paint?” she asked.

“Hard to describe it,” he said. “I’m into a lot of different, um, movements. I do some street- scene- type stuff, but I also paint mountains, people, a little of everything, you know?”

“Wow,” she said, impressed. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, do you do something else to support yourself or…”

“No, I’m just an artist,” he said. “I believe you have to find what you love to do in life and keep doing it no matter what. You can’t let money get in the way of happiness. You just have to do it, be passionate, follow your dream, you know?”

“I think that’s amazing,” she said. “I say the same thing all the-” Marissa spotted Darren with Zach at the edge of the crowd watching the band.

“What’s wrong?” Xan asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “I just know that guy over there. He’s just some guy I used to go out with, and I’ve been trying to blow him off and he won’t get the message. It’s so annoying that he’s even here.”

Darren came over to Marissa and said, “Can we talk for a sec?”

“I’m busy right now,” Marissa said.

“Excuse me,” Darren said to Xan, “but I have to talk to my girlfriend.”

“I am not your girlfriend,” Marissa said. “Can you just leave me the hell alone?”

“I just want to-”

“Hey,” Xan said to Darren. “She asked you to leave her alone.”

“Am I talkin’ to you?” Darren said.

Xan put his beer down on the bar, then calmly grabbed a fistful of Darren’s jacket and pulled him away toward the front door. Marissa couldn’t tell what Xan was saying to Darren because he had his back to her and the music was still very loud. But she could see Darren’s face. At first he seemed angry, like he was ready to fight Xan, but as Xan spoke to him his expression gradually morphed. He looked confused, then concerned, then terrified.

Finally Xan returned to Marissa and said, smiling, “I don’t think he’ll be bothering you anymore.”

Marissa watched Darren go over to Zach. They had a very short conversation; then Darren rushed out of the bar without looking in Marissa’s direction.

“That was amazing,” Marissa said. “What did you tell him?”

“I just gave him a little lesson about the right and the wrong way to treat a woman,” Xan said. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Marissa thought, Uh- oh, he doesn’t want to sleep with me, does he? Please don’t be that kind of guy.

But then he added quickly, “I mean out of this bar. Someplace quieter, where we can talk.”

“Yeah,” she said, “that sounds great.”

Tone Def was still doing their first set. Marissa went over to Hillary and said she was leaving for a while and asked her to text her if they wound up going someplace else.

“Where’re you going?” Hillary asked.

“I met a guy,” Marissa said.

“Really? Who?”

Marissa looked back toward where Xan was standing, and Hillary looked over, too.

“Oh my God, he’s fucking hot,” Hillary said.

Marissa smiled proudly.

Marissa and Xan left the bar and went down Bleecker to Cafй Figaro. They sat at a table outside and drank cappuccinos and had a great conversation about art and New York, and then he mentioned that he hadn’t gone to college but had traveled in Europe and used to live in Prague. He actually had lived in Prague. If that wasn’t a sign from the gods, what was? She told him all about her plans to move to Prague, though in the back of her mind she was thinking, Do I really want to go? Prague had sounded like a great idea before she’d met Xan. If this turned out as good as she thought it would, if she and Xan started dating, maybe she’d bag those plans.

Okay, okay, so she was getting way ahead of herself, but it was fun to fantasize.

Then they discovered an even bigger coincidence. He mentioned that he’d traveled in England, and she told him that she’d done her ju nior year abroad in London, studying at University of the Arts. Then they realized that they had been in London at the same time.

“Where were you staying?” Marissa asked.

“With a friend in Hampstead,” he said.

“Oh my God, that’s where I lived the summer after the semester ended. Where in Hampstead?”

“Um, lemme try to remember,” Xan said. “I think it was Kemplay Road.”

“I was on Carlingford Road,” Marissa said. “I can’t believe it, I was living right around the corner from you.”

They had refills on the cappuccinos, and she had such a good time talking to him that they lost track of time. They were mostly talking about her- he was asking a lot of questions about school and her childhood and her plans for the future. It was so refreshing to be with a guy who was actually interested in her, a guy she had so much in common with. It didn’t hurt that he happened to be gorgeous, too. She felt like she’d hit the jackpot.

It was getting late, so she checked her watch and yawned for effect and said, “I should be getting home soon.”

She was hoping he’d ask for her number, but instead he said, “I’ll ride home with you.”

“That’s crazy,” she said. “You said you live in Brooklyn, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“But it’s so out of the way for you.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you ride the subway home alone at this hour.”

She said she took the subway home all the time, or could take the LIRR, which was safer, but he insisted on coming with her. She wasn’t exactly opposed. She thought he was very romantic and thoughtful, and she couldn’t remember a guy ever going out of his way to do something like that for her. Darren would’ve ditched her hours ago on some dark corner in Manhattan.

When they got to the Forest Hills stop she thought that would be it, they’d say good night and he’d head back to Brooklyn. But, nope, he insisted on walking her all the way back to her house. This whole night had been reminding her of something, but she didn’t know what, and then it hit her- that old blackand- white movie she’d seen on TV a few weeks ago, Marty. This was just like Marty- meeting a guy at a club, him taking her home late at night. Except in Marty they didn’t kiss good night, and she was hoping Xan kissed her.

On her block she suddenly got nervous, fearing everything was going to get all screwed up. The police car was there again, parked across the street. She didn’t know if Johnny had heard about the shooting in the news or not, and she was afraid that he’d see the police car there and start asking her questions. She was afraid that if he knew she was the daughter of Adam Bloom, the crazed vigilante, he’d want nothing to do with her.

She was relieved when Xan didn’t seem to even notice the police car. Maybe he was too nervous, distracted.

“Well, this it,” she said, and they stopped in front of the house.

“Wow,” Xan said, admiring it. “It’s big. I bet you loved growing up here, huh?”

“It was okay,” she said.

Then he held both her hands and they stood facing each other. She’d already given him her number on the subway, and they’d talked about going out sometime.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, and she said, “That’ll be great,” and then he was kissing her.

Finally she pulled back and said, “I should really go.”

“Okay, it was great meeting you, Rissa.”

She told him it was great meeting him, too, and they said good night and waved good- bye to each other as he walked away, down the block.

As she entered the house the alarm started beeping. She typed in the new code she had memorized and then rearmed the alarm and went upstairs.

It was amazing the way life worked out sometimes- just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, something amazing and unexpected happened. If this wasn’t evidence that there had to be a God, or any way some higher power, what was?

She rushed upstairs and posted a blog entry on this very topic.