JASON STARR - Panic Attack

“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.