Panic Attack

fifteen

Joh

He knew there was zero chance she wouldn’t get back to him. He didn’t peg her as the game- playing type who would play hard to get. No, she was definitely an all- or- nothing girl, the type who decided she was into one guy and one guy only and blew off the rest of the world.

As usual, his instincts were dead- on because she texted back:

I’d love to! Call me in a few!! With exclamation points no less. Talk about being primed.

They spoke on the phone for about a half hour. They could’ve gone longer- hell, all day- but Joh

Joh

He met her at two o’clock on the top of the steps at the main entrance, and when he saw her approach he was impressed with how good- looking she was. In the bright sunlight her hair looked shinier than it had last night, and there was no doubt that she had a hot little body. She was in preripped jeans, some trendy- looking black lacy top, and a short black leather jacket.

To sound like he knew his shit, before he’d met her he’d gone to Burger King and logged on to the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Web site and memorized info about twenty or so paintings. So when they went inside and she asked, “So what do you want to see first?” he said, “How about The Storm? That’s one of my all- time favorites.”

“Oh my God, I love nineteenth- century French romanticism,” she said, obviously trying to impress him.

He’d only picked The Storm because it looked so sappy, so girly, with the guy and the girl ru

As they looked at the painting, he told her some of the crap he’d read online about it, going on about the romance and passion in the painting and how he tried to get “that feeling” into his own work. She said, all serious, “The Storm always reminds me of Rodin’s sculptures, such as Eternal Spring.” He knew she was just repeating some uppity crap some uppity teacher at Vassar had told her or she’d read in some book. Joh

They went into one of the little rooms off to the side-“the Impressionist wing”- and she showed him some of her favorite pictures, acting like she was a tour guide, going on and on about them, using big college- type words like “symmetry,” “aesthetics,” and “illusionistic.” Joh

After the museum, he was expecting her to invite him back to her place. Taking her up to see that Storm painting, showing his deep, sensitive side, had pretty much sealed the deal. Walking down Fifth Avenue, alongside Central Park, she even hooked her arm around his and said, “It’s amazing. I feel so normal around you, I feel like I can be myself.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, trying to look sincere.

She invited him out to some party later on, but he said he couldn’t make it, that he had plans. His only actual plan for the night was to hit some bars and pick up a woman or two, but he’d already spent a couple of hours with Marissa today and didn’t want to spend too much time together too fast. If he wanted this to turn out right, it had to be a slow build.

They stopped at a Starbucks for Frappuccinos; then he walked her all the way downtown to the subway at Fifty- ninth Street. He offered to ride with her back to Forest Hills, but she said it was okay, she could go alone, and he decided not to push it. He made out with her for a long time near the subway entrance, and when she was all worked up he said good- bye, leaving her wanting more.

He didn’t suggest seeing her again on Sunday, figuring three days in a row might’ve made him seem too available, and a girl always wanted a guy to be a challenge even if she was dying to tear off his clothes. But they got together again on Monday, going to see a movie. He was hoping she’d ask him to pick her up at her place, so he’d have a chance to meet her father, but for some reason she insisted on meeting in front of the movie theater on Forty- second and Eighth. They saw a horror movie- her idea- which was perfect as far as he was concerned because they spent the whole time snuggled in the back, making out like teenagers, pawing at each other like they hadn’t gotten any in years. Yeah, right.

At one point she whispered in his ear, “God, I want to fuck you so bad.” He was surprised- she was a raunchy little thing; he didn’t expect that. He knew he had to handle this right, and he whispered back, “I want to take it slow.” He saw her again on Tuesday, for lunch at Dojo in the Village. Yeah, it was a cheap place to take a date, but that was the whole point. He had to play up this starving- artist thing because he knew that was what turned her on. If he was trying to scam a Paris Hilton type, he would’ve been wearing Armani and it would’ve been Le Cirque all the way. But with a wa