Panic Attack (12 page)

call, some young muscle- head trainer from the New York Sports Club had the
power to ruin the rest of her life.
But this didn’t stop Dana from seeing Tony again. She met him a couple of
days later, and then they started to see each other regularly, three or four times
a week. She couldn’t stop thinking about him when they were apart, about how
good it had felt to be taken away to a place so foreign that her normal life
seemed dull in comparison. Sometimes they text- messaged each other or talked
on the phone; although they had very little to say to each other, she got excited every time she saw his name flash on her phone or heard his voice. She felt like she was a teenager again, in her first relationship, and everything was fresh and exciting. To deal with her guilt, she told herself that she was having a fling, which somehow seemed more harmless than an actual affair. A fling felt like something she could compartmentalize, something that wasn’t potentially destructive. A fling was like a star that would shine briefly and brightly and then gradually peter out. She’d use the fling to help her get through this rocky pe
riod in her marriage, and then everything would return to normal. Some days she was so sore from sex with Tony that if Adam came on to her
she’d have to make up stories.
I’m too tired. “I think I’m coming down with
something.
The constant lying was the worst part and was beginning to wear on
her, overshadowing all the positives of the fling. Then Tony did something that
told her it was really time to end it.
She came home from shopping one afternoon, and Gabriela, who was cleaning in the kitchen, said, “I think somebody like you, Mrs. Bloom.” Typically, since she’d gotten involved with Tony, Dana feared the worst, and
her fight- or- flight mechanism kicked in. “What’re you talking about?” she
snapped.
“Look in the dining room,” Gabriela said.
Oh shit, had Tony been to the house?
Dana went through the swinging doors, ready to scold Tony, tell him it was
over, and then she saw the large, tacky bouquet of flowers on the dining room
table. Well, it wasn’t as bad as him showing up, but it was almost as bad. She read the computer- printed note:

Hey you were fucking great last night baby You got a sensational body baby Love T-Bone!!!!

She called him up, furious, and he said he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong because he’d made sure the flowers would be delivered during the day when her husband was at work.

“How’d you know he’d be at work today?” he said. “What if he was home?” He admitted that, yeah, that probably hadn’t been such a great idea and promised he wouldn’t do anything like that again, but she saw this as a major wake- up call. He’d been getting reckless lately— texting her dozens of times a day and calling her a few times when Adam was home. She had a marriage to protect, but he was a single guy with nothing at stake, and it was starting to feel too unbalanced. Besides, he was getting too hooked on her, even saying the other night when they were lying in bed, “I think I’m falling in love with you.” There was no doubt about it— she definitely had to end the fling now, or things were going to spiral out of control.

She said to Gabriela, “Promise me you won’t say a word about this to Adam.”
“Don’t worry,” Gabriela said. “You can always trust me, Mrs. Bloom.”
The next day Dana went to the gym and told Tony there was something important she needed to talk to him about, and they went into the sales office. She knew he’d be upset and hoped that telling him in the gym would prevent a big scene. He got melodramatic, told her she was doing the wrong thing and he couldn’t live without her, but she managed to leave before the real begging started.
The breakup was hard for her, too, surprisingly hard. She didn’t miss him as much as she missed the idea of him, of having something exciting and unpredictable in her life. Suddenly being home with Adam felt excruciatingly dull; she felt like a prisoner serving a life sentence with no possibility of parole. She was back in her old rut, in her empty, meaningless, lonely life, living day to day, with nothing to look forward to.
Tony had left two phone messages and six text messages on her cell. He wasn’t taking the breakup well, and she wanted to call him, tell him she’d made a mistake, but she resisted and deleted all the messages without playing or reading them. God, this was even harder than when she’d quit smoking, but she knew she had to treat it exactly the same way, like she was breaking an addiction. The first days of getting over the addiction were always the hardest, and the trick was to stay strong, not give in. She was glad that she and Adam and Marissa were planning to go to Florida to visit Adam’s mother. Getting away from New York for a few days would be a huge help.
The next day she was home alone, and she felt the familiar intense urge to call Tony and arrange to meet at his place for a quickie during his lunch break. She fought it and called her friend Sharon instead and went over to her house a few blocks away for coffee. Keeping the fling a secret for so long had become draining, and Dana needed to talk to someone about it.
Opening up to Sharon was a big help. It made her feel like she’d done the right thing, ending it when she did, before it snowballed out of control.
Sharon told her, “You and Adam have invested so much time together, whatever you do don’t throw it away, especially for some guy you don’t even really like.”
Sharon’s words were like a refreshing blast of reality. Dana continued to delete all of Tony’s messages and managed to make it through the most difficult first few days. She spent more time with Adam; she met him in the city one night and they went out to their favorite Spanish restaurant in the West Village, and another night they stayed home and watched a movie together, cuddling on the couch.
They had to cancel their trip to Florida because of the tropical storm, but Dana didn’t feel the desperate need to get away anymore. Tony had gone a whole day without trying to contact her, and she was starting to think of the fling in the past tense. It had been fun for a while, but it had ended, and now it was time to repair her marriage.
Then the robbery happened, and now here she was, relapsing, going back to Tony, about to mess up her life all over again.
She knew that restarting something that had been so hard to end was a huge mistake. It was wrong to take her anger about the shooting out on Adam in this way, and it definitely wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Despite everything they’d been through and how angry she was, she loved Adam and wanted to improve their marriage and work out their differences. She knew that if she didn’t get herself to turn back she could ruin her life, but the pull to be with Tony and screw things up was so intense. She felt like something beyond her was controlling her, making her decisions, and she was just a witness to it all.
On the stairs, going up to his apartment, she was still trying to talk herself into turning back, reminding herself how much Adam meant to her, how this wouldn’t resolve anything, how it could make things worse, much worse, and then she saw Tony— in tight black boxer briefs and nothing else— and a few seconds later they were in his apartment and he was kissing her neck, pushing her up against the back of the front door. Her pants and turtleneck were off and he was sliding his hands up under her red lace panties, over her ass, saying, “I love when you wear this shit,” and she was moaning, “Oh, God, baby. Oh, God . . .”
Then, afterward, under his body on the floor, she thought,
What the hell am I doing?
Tony looked into her eyes, smiled, and asked, “You want some Gatorade or somethin’?”
“I . . . I have to go,” she said, bending down, reaching for her jeans.
“What’s the hurry?” Tony said. “We got all night.”
“This was a mistake,” she said out loud, but to herself. “This was a huge mistake.”
“What’re you talking about?” He sounded seriously confused. “I thought you said you missed me.”
She pulled her jeans on, not bothering to zip or snap them. She was muttering to herself like a mantra, “Gotta get home, gotta get back, gotta get home, gotta get back...”
When she was about to put her turtleneck on Tony grabbed her wrist hard and said, “Come on, what’re you doing?”
“Please let go of me,” she said.
“Why? I don’t get it.”
He let go of her wrist, and she finished getting dressed.
“Was I too rough on you?” he asked. “I thought you like it like that.”
When she left his apartment and was going downstairs he screamed after her, “When am I gonna see you again? Don’t do this to me, baby! You know how much I love you, baby!”
She walked fast, saying to herself, “What an idiot, what a fuckin’ idiot.” She didn’t know if she was talking about herself or Tony, but she couldn’t believe she’d done such a stupid, impulsive thing. What the hell was she doing? She was forty- seven years old, acting like she was seventeen. It was no wonder Marissa had been giving them so much trouble lately— look who she had for a role model.
Several minutes later, as she approached her house, she was a little calmer— less emotional, anyway. Okay, so she’d had one minor slipup, but she could forget it ever happened; it didn’t have to mean anything. She just wondered about Tony. There was a tone in his voice, anger she’d never heard before. He’d already sent those flowers; what was he going to do next?
Damn it, she usually showered after having sex with Tony, and now she reeked of his cologne.
She opened the front door quietly, hoping Adam wasn’t home.
“Honey, that you?”
“Fuck me,” she muttered.

When Adam saw all the news trucks and reporters out in front of the house, he thought,
Oh, no, not again
. He just wanted to get away from the house for a little while, de- stress,
not
have another pointless argument with Dana. He didn’t want to go through all of that having- to- defend- himself- tothe- reporters nonsense again.

He was planning to be curt, answer a question or two, then say,
Sorry, in a hurry,
and walk away. But surprisingly, the questioning today seemed to have a much different tone than last night. Even while asking questions like “Do you think your maid’s murder was related to the break- in last night?” and “Who do you think killed your maid?” and “Do you think your maid robbed your house?” the reporters seemed almost apologetic.

One reporter asked, “In the wake of the shooting this morning in Jackson Heights, do you feel vindicated, Dr. Bloom?”
“No, I don’t feel vindicated,” Adam said. “I feel justified, yes, but I felt justified yesterday, too. In my mind, nothing’s changed.”
Adam didn’t feel nearly as self- conscious as he had during last night’s questioning. He even ended making an impromptu speech, looking right into the camera, saying, “My family’s very saddened by the death of Gabriela Moreno. I don’t know if she was involved or wasn’t involved in the robbery of our house, but she was a wonderful woman, and I hope whoever killed her is brought to justice as soon as possible.”
Walking to the gym, he was proud of the way he’d handled himself. If there was a bright side to all of this, he was definitely overcoming his glossophobia. He thought he came off as confident and well- spoken, and the last bit was a perfect touch, not publicly blaming Gabriela, showing people that, despite everything, he was compassionate and forgiving. Okay, so maybe he was letting his ego take over and he was enjoying the attention a bit more than he ought to, but was there really anything so wrong with this?
As he walked along Austin Street in the main commercial area of Forest Hills, he couldn’t help looking around to see if anyone was recognizing him. No one seemed to be, but he expected people at the gym to come up to him. He didn’t know very many people there— most of the regulars were in their twenties and thirties— but they had seen him around and might have seen him on the TV news earlier and made the connection.
The girl at the front desk who scanned his membership card didn’t have any unusual reaction, and in the main part of the gym people were in their own worlds, watching TV, reading magazines or newspapers, listening to their iPods, or just focusing on their workouts.
After Adam did a half hour on an exercise bike, he headed toward the weight room. He passed Tony, one of the trainers. Tony was a nice guy, always talking to Adam about the Knicks, the Mets, and the Jets. He thought Tony might say something to him about the shooting, but he didn’t, and he wasn’t particularly friendly either. He glanced at Adam, then looked away and kept walking. That was weird. Eh, maybe he was just in a bad mood.
Adam finished his workout, breaking a nice sweat. He’d only lasted sixteen minutes on the treadmill, but maybe he could get up to twenty or twenty- five next time. He was looking forward to showering at home and making a few calls for work, and then maybe he and Dana could watch a movie together. He felt bad about fighting with her before, especially about the way he’d ended the argument, just walking out on her like that. He felt like he’d been manipulative. He knew how much his being dismissive bothered her, and it was wrong of him to try to push her buttons that way.
But then, when he arrived back at the house, he found a note:

The way she’d signed it “D” and not “Love, D” or even “XO D,” the way she normally would’ve, showed she was seriously upset, which annoyed Adam.
He could understand why Dana would be angry at him, but it seemed like she was taking it too far, going out and leaving a curt, nasty note. After all, had he done something
so
awful? He’d walked out on her in the middle of an argument and, oh yeah, he didn’t want to get rid of his gun— the gun that she had agreed to let him keep in the house, the gun that had saved their lives last night. He didn’t see why any of that warranted this kind of reaction, and, come to think of it, he didn’t like what she’d said to him before, how he was ruining their lives. What was that supposed to mean, anyway? Up until today he’d thought things had been pretty good between them lately. Okay, they needed to start spending more time together— what couple didn’t?— but they’d been expressing their anger well and hadn’t been arguing as much as they used to. But now, just because something horrible had happened to them last night, because they’d been through a tragedy, she was making him out to be this horrible person, this tormentor who was ruining her life?
The more Adam thought about it, the more upset he got. And to think, he’d actually been considering coming home and apologizing to
her
. He was the one who deserved the apology, damn it. He’d been traumatized, and all he got from her was what, blame? Where was the support? Where was the love? How come he hadn’t heard, “Don’t worry, honey, everything’s going to be okay?” Or even a little hug would’ve been nice. He knew this was just another example of how Dana twisted things whenever they had a disagreement, making him feel like everything was his fault when in actuality he’d done nothing wrong.
He crumpled up Dana’s note and threw it toward the wastebasket near the front door. It didn’t go in, but he didn’t bother to pick it up.
He took a quick shower, then saw he’d gotten a call from Jen, a thirty- fouryear- old patient with a history of clinical depression who was in an emotionally abusive relationship. He’d also gotten a text from her:
please call me back doctor
. Adam returned the call immediately, and Jen was extremely upset— sobbing, barely able to speak. She eventually explained that her boyfriend, Victor, had walked out on her for good. Adam talked to her for a long time, mainly listening to her and giving her a chance to express her feelings but also calmly pointing out the advantages of the relationship ending and reminding her how unhappy she’d been with Victor. Meanwhile, he was really probing for signs of a deeper depression. She’d once tried to kill herself in college, and he was particularly looking for signs that she was suicidal, such as extreme self- loathing, worthlessness, and hopelessness. But he decided that she was in the midst of an acute reactive depression and didn’t pose any immediate danger to herself. By the end of the conversation, she sounded much calmer and in control of her emotions, and she promised she’d call him first thing in the morning to let him know how she was doing.
Helping people get through difficult times in their lives always lifted Adam’s mood and reminded him of his real purpose in life. What was the famous Jackie Robinson quote? The only meaning your life has is the effect it has on other lives? Something like that. Anyway, Adam was looking forward to getting back into the swing of things at work, resuming his normal life. He sat down with his laptop for a while and answered his e-mail; most of it was work related, though a couple of friends had heard about the robbery and shooting and wanted to offer support and make sure everything was okay.
At around four, the guy from the security company arrived and programmed a new code, and Adam made him check and double- check to make sure the system was working properly.
“Don’t worry, sir,” the guy said. “As long as the system’s armed, nobody’s getting into this house.”
Adam wasn’t concerned. They had the alarm system and the new Medeco locks on the back door, and of course he still had his gun. He felt they’d be very well protected if, in the off- chance, someone— perhaps Sanchez’s accomplice— decided to rob the house again, though he doubted that would happen. There was just no way that a burglar, no matter how stupid or angry he was, would try to rob a house where a shooting had taken place, a house that had been crawling with cops and reporters. Why not rob another house in the neighborhood, or in a completely different neighborhood, someplace totally off the radar? Besides, there was still a chance that Gabriela’s murder had nothing to do with the robbery. Maybe Gabriela herself had been the second intruder last night and then had been killed in some random robbery attempt. Although Adam couldn’t imagine any logical scenario where he or his family could be in danger, he was glad he would be prepared for the worst nevertheless.
He microwaved leftover chicken and string beans and was eating at the kitchen table while rereading the sports section of the
Times
when he got a call on his BlackBerry with the ID fox broadcasting. He figured it was another reporter with a follow- up question, but it turned out it was Karen Owens, a producer from
Good Day New York
. She asked Adam if he would like to appear as a guest tomorrow morning.
“You’re kidding,” Adam said. “Why do you want me?”
“Why do you think?” she said. “You’re a big local news story, Dr. Bloom.”
Adam couldn’t think of any reason not to go on, so he said yes, figuring,
What the hell?
She told him how much she was looking forward to meeting him, and they arranged for a limo to pick him up in front of his house at six tomorrow morning and take him directly to the studio on the Upper East Side.
A few minutes after he got off the phone with the producer from Fox, he heard the front door opening. Still blown away by the call— was he really going to be a guest on
Good Day New York?
— for a moment he forgot he was angry with Dana and called out, “Honey, that you?”
He went into the foyer, noticing right away that she didn’t seem very happy to see him. Then he remembered the way they’d left off before and how angry he was at her and he said. “You’re back early,” tempering his enthusiasm.
“Why’s it early?” she asked, avoiding eye contact, taking off her coat.
“I don’t know. Usually when you go to Sharon’s you don’t get back till ten or eleven.”
“We just had coffee,” she said flatly, hanging up her coat in the closet.
“So anyway, you wouldn’t believe it,” Adam said. “
Good Day New York
wants me on tomorrow.”
“Great,” Dana said in a monotone.
Adam didn’t expect her to be excited, but he didn’t feel like playing their usual I-can- be- cold- and- distant- longer- than- you game either.
“I really think we need to talk,” he said.
“Later, okay?” she said.
“Wait a second,” he said, and she stopped and stared at him. Her expression was so void of emotion she could’ve been staring at a piece of wood.
“I don’t think it was right what you said before,” he said.
“What did I say?” she asked.
For a moment he couldn’t remember himself; then he said, “About how I’m screwing up your life or however you put it. How exactly do you think I’m screwing up your life?”
She let out a breath, looking down, and said, “You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way at all.”
Was she actually giving in? She almost never admitted any fault in an argument, or at least not until after hours of not talking to each other.
“Well, I accept your apology,” he said, “and I’m sorry, too. I shoudn’t’ve just left like that. I know how much you hate it when I do that.”
“It’s okay,” she said and took a couple of steps toward the stairs.
“No, it’s not okay,” he said, and she stopped. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
She nodded tentatively, now looking like she might start to cry. She didn’t usually get so emotional during their arguments; he figured it probably had to do with Gabriela and not him.
“Hey, come here,” he said.
She didn’t budge, but he went over to her, kissed her quickly on the lips, and then hugged her. She seemed uncomfortable, pulling back a little.
“Is that a new perfume?” he asked.
“What?” She seemed a little startled. “No . . . I mean, not really.”
“I like it,” he said as his cell started ringing. He took the phone out of his pocket and looked at the display, which was showing an unfamiliar 212 number.
“The hell is that?” he asked, squinting at the phone.
As he answered the call—“Yes?”—Dana rushough Adam couldn’t imagine any logical scenario where he or his family could be in danger, he was glad he would be prepared for the worst nevertheless.
He microwaved leftover chicken and string beans and was eating at the kitchen table while rereading the sports section of the
Times
when he got a call on his BlackBerry with the ID fox broadcasting. He figured it was another reporter with a follow- up question, but it turned out it was Karen Owens, a producer from
Good Day New York
. She asked Adam if he would like to appear as a guest tomorrow morning.
“You’re kidding,” Adam said. “Why do you want me?”
“Why do you think?” she said. “You’re a big local news story, Dr. Bloom.”
Adam couldn’t think of any reason not to go on, so he said yes, figuring,
What the hell?
She told him how much she was looking forward to meeting him, and they arranged for a limo to pick him up in front of his house at six tomorrow morning and take him directly to the studio on the Upper East Side.
A few minutes after he got off the phone with the producer from Fox, he heard the front door opening. Still blown away by the call— was he really going to be a guest on
Good Day New York?
— for a moment he forgot he was angry with Dana and called out, “Honey, that you?”
He went into the foyer, noticing right away that she didn’t seem very happy to see him. Then he remembered the way they’d left off before and how angry he was at her and he said. “You’re back early,” tempering his enthusiasm.
“Why’s it early?” she asked, avoiding eye contact, taking off her coat.
“I don’t know. Usually when you go to Sharon’s you don’t get back till ten or eleven.”
“We just had coffee,” she said flatly, hanging up her coat in the closet.
“So anyway, you wouldn’t believe it,” Adam said. “
Good Day New York
wants me on tomorrow.”
“Great,” Dana said in a monotone.
Adam didn’t expect her to be excited, but he didn’t feel like playing their usual I-can- be- cold- and- distant- longer- than- you game either.
“I really think we need to talk,” he said.
“Later, okay?” she said.
“Wait a second,” he said, and she stopped and stared at him. Her expression was so void of emotion she could’ve been staring at a piece of wood.
“I don’t think it was right what you said before,” he said.
“What did I say?” she asked.
For a moment he couldn’t remember himself; then he said, “About how I’m screwing up your life or however you put it. How exactly do you think I’m screwing up your life?”
She let out a breath, looking down, and said, “You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way at all.”
Was she actually giving in? She almost never admitted any fault in an argument, or at least not until after hours of not talking to each other.
“Well, I accept your apology,” he said, “and I’m sorry, too. I shoudn’t’ve just left like that. I know how much you hate it when I do that.”
“It’s okay,” she said and took a couple of steps toward the stairs.
“No, it’s not okay,” he said, and she stopped. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
She nodded tentatively, now looking like she might start to cry. She didn’t usually get so emotional during their arguments; he figured it probably had to do with Gabriela and not him.
“Hey, come here,” he said.
She didn’t budge, but he went over to her, kissed her quickly on the lips, and then hugged her. She seemed uncomfortable, pulling back a little.
“Is that a new perfume?” he asked.
“What?” She seemed a little startled. “No . . . I mean, not really.”
“I like it,” he said as his cell started ringing. He took the phone out of his pocket and looked at the display, which was showing an unfamiliar 212 number.
“The hell is that?” he asked, squinting at the phone.
As he answered the call—“Yes?”—Dana rushed upstairs.
“Mr. Bloom?” a woman said.
“Who’s this?” Adam asked.
“Grace Williams. I’m a reporter for
New York magazine
. Do you have a moment?”
The woman explained that she wanted to interview him for a feature story. Adam couldn’t believe it— what was going on here? He arranged to meet her tomorrow afternoon in midtown; then he ended the call and went to tell Dana the news. She was in the shower— he heard the water running— but when he tried the bathroom door it was locked. This was strange— Dana almost never locked the door when she showered.
He knocked on the door and said, “Dana, you okay in there?”
No answer.
He banged harder and shouted, “Dana!”
“What is it?” she shouted back.
“Nothing,” Adam said. “I’ll talk to you when you come out.”
“What?”
“Never mind!”
Adam e-mailed his assistant, Lauren, asking her to move his lunch appointment to another day, and he started looking through his closet for something to wear tomorrow. Normally he dressed professional- casual—shirts, slacks, and sport jackets— but on
Good Day New York
he didn’t want to come off as some stuffy psychologist. He wanted to look cool, relaxed, hip. Maybe he’d go for the sweater-and- jeans look, or was that
too
casual? He laid out dark jeans and a black crewneck sweater on the bed, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d wear a black button- down shirt with a black sport jacket over it— the Hollywood player look, show people that he was a successful psychotherapist but wasn’t trying to show off about it.
Dana came out of the bathroom in a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel.
“You won’t believe the call I just got,” he said. “Now
New York Magazine
wants to interview me.”
“Did Clements call?” she asked as if she hadn’t heard him.
“No,” Adam said.
“That’s not good.”
“It’s not good or bad,” he said, “but isn’t it crazy? First TV and now a magazine interview?”
“Sorry,” Dana said flatly, turning away. “I guess I just can’t get as excited about your fifteen minutes of fame as you are.”
“I’m not excited,” he said, ignoring the not so subtle put- down. “I’m just surprised. I really didn’t think this would get this kind of attention.”