JASON STARR - Panic Attack

“Diet Coke would be great.”

He kissed her on the cheek again and then went to the kitchen area. She remained on the couch, ruminating about the phone call with her father, and then her gaze drifted toward the easel and one of Xan’s latest paintings. It was a large, abstract piece, and he’d used only red paint. He’d done a few other similar ones and had hung them on the wall. Maybe it was because he’d arranged the paintings in a group, but they really seemed to make a statement. For the first time she thought he actually had potential as an artist.

“I love your new paintings,” she said.

“Really?” he said as he poured the soda into a glass.

“Yeah, especially the one you’re working on now. It has so much emotion and passion. When did you paint these?”

“A couple of nights ago, before your mom’s funeral. Yeah, I’m pretty happy with them too. I guess I was just inspired.”

“Inspired by what?”

“I guess by what happened to your mom. It’s been very intense.”

Marissa was looking at the painting on the easel, noticing the deep shade of red. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, the way something awful can bring out art, the way art comes out of tragedy… I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m such a total mess right now.”

“Here you go,” Xan said, handing her the soda and then sitting back down next to her.

She took a long sip, then said, “I don’t know why everybody’s picking on you when you’re so great.”

“Who’s everybody?” Xan asked.

“Well, you said my grandma was giving you the evil eye, right?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say she was picking on me. You said it was because I’m not Jewish, right?”

“Yeah, but still. And then there’s what Darren said at the funeral.”

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

Xan shook his head.

“Oh,” Marissa said. “I was such a mess that day I didn’t know where I was half the time. But, yeah, he came up to me, I think in the chapel, before the ser – vice started and paid his respects, you know, told me how sorry he was. I don’t think you were there. I think you were with my father.”

“And then he said something?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah, but don’t get upset or anything. It was just Darren being Darren. He can be so annoying sometimes. Anyway, he said something to me like ‘So you’re still with that crazy guy, huh?’ Or, no, maybe it was like ‘You’re still with that lunatic, right?’ If I wasn’t so upset, already, grieving, I would’ve gotten really pissed off. I mean, first of all, there I was at a funeral, my mother’s funeral, so why is he talking about you at all? It’s so disrespectful. And I knew he was just saying it because he was jealous, because I haven’t talked to him in days but he read on my blog and heard from other people about how into you I am.”

“So what did you say to him?”

“I don’t remember really,” Marissa said. “Something like ‘What’re you talking about?’ And he was like ‘You want to know what he said to me the other night?’ He being you. So then he said it was when he kept bothering me at the bar and you went over to talk to him, you know, the night we met. He said you said to him that if you did I live?” Xan asked.

“My father? I’m not sure. Why?”

“I just wonder if he gave the police my address, that’s all.”

“I didn’t tell him,” Marissa said, “but I guess the police will find you anyway. I’m so sorry my father’s dragging you into this, after all you’ve done for me, just being here for me. You’ve been so great.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Xan said, “You’re the only thing I’m concerned about. Is your phone off?”

Marissa nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Keep it off. You don’t need any more stressful phone calls today.” He kissed her gently on the cheek and then said, “How about something to drink? Water, Diet Coke?”

“Diet Coke would be great.”

He kissed her on the cheek again and then went to the kitchen area. She remained on the couch, ruminating about the phone call with her father, and then her gaze drifted toward the easel and one of Xan’s latest paintings. It was a large, abstract piece, and he’d used only red paint. He’d done a few other similar ones and had hung them on the wall. Maybe it was because he’d arranged the paintings in a group, but they really seemed to make a statement. For the first time she thought he actually had potential as an artist.

“I love your new paintings,” she said.

“Really?” he said as he poured the soda into a glass.

“Yeah, especially the one you’re working on now. It has so much emotion and passion. When did you paint these?”

“A couple of nights ago, before your mom’s funeral. Yeah, I’m pretty happy with them too. I guess I was just inspired.”

“Inspired by what?”

“I guess by what happened to your mom. It’s been very intense.”

Marissa was looking at the painting on the easel, noticing the deep shade of red. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, the way something awful can bring out art, the way art comes out of tragedy… I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m such a total mess right now.”

“Here you go,” Xan said, handing her the soda and then sitting back down next to her.

She took a long sip, then said, “I don’t know why everybody’s picking on you when you’re so great.”

“Who’s everybody?” Xan asked.

“Well, you said my grandma was giving you the evil eye, right?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say she was picking on me. You said it was because I’m not Jewish, right?”

“Yeah, but still. And then there’s what Darren said at the funeral.”

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

Xan shook his head.

“Oh,” Marissa said. “I was such a mess that day I didn’t know where I was half the time. But, yeah, he came up to me, I think in the chapel, before the ser – vice started and paid his respects, you know, told me how sorry he was. I don’t think you were there. I think you were with my father.”

“And then he said something?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah, but don’t get upset or anything. It was just Darren being Darren. He can be so annoying sometimes. Anyway, he said something to me like ‘So you’re still with that crazy guy, huh?’ Or, no, maybe it was like ‘You’re still with that lunatic, right?’ If I wasn’t so upset, already, grieving, I would’ve gotten really pissed off. I mean, first of all, there I was at a funeral, my mother’s funeral, so why is he talking about you at all? It’s so disrespectful. And I knew he was just saying it because he was jealous, because I haven’t talked to him in days but he read on my blog and heard from other people about how into you I am.”

“So what did you say to him?”

“I don’t remember really,” Marissa said. “Something like ‘What’re you talking about?’ And he was like ‘You want to know what he said to me the other night?’ He being you. So then he said it was when he kept bothering me at the bar and you went over to talk to him, you know, the night we met. He said you said to him that if you didn’t leave me alone you were going to cut off his dick and feed it to him.”

Marissa smiled, trying to show how ridiculous she thought the whole thing was, but Xan remained deadpan and said, “You didn’t believe him, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t believe it. I knew he was just saying it to upset me, but that makes it even more disturbing because he was trying to upset me at my mother’s funeral.”

“What I told him was that he was causing a scene and he should leave the club before the bouncer kicked him out.”