Panic Attack

Adam asked, “So what I can get you? A vodka and orange juice? A glass of wine?”

“Oh, I’m not a big drinker,” Joh

“Really?” He sounded impressed.

“Yeah,” Joh

Adam poured two glasses of wine- some cheap merlot, still had the $12.99 sticker on the bottle- then raised his glass and said, “Za vas.”

They drank, and then Adam said, “So I understand you’re from Rus sia.”

“Well, not from Rus sia. My father’s father was Rus sian.”

“Our family’s originally from Rus sia,” Adam said. “Well, Belarus actually- Minsk.”

“Moscow,” Joh

“Terrific, that’s terrific,” Adam said. “And the rest of your family?”

“French and German on my mother’s side, Italian and Irish on my father’s side. I even have a little American Indian on my dad’s side.” Joh

“Wow, so you have a real multicultural family,” Adam said. “You must’ve had an interesting childhood.” Suddenly he sounded like a shrink.

“I did,” Joh

“That’s good,” Adam said. “Unusual nowadays.”

He laughed in an uppity way, reminding Joh

“Where’s your family live now?” Adam asked.

“California.”

“Whereabouts?”

“San Diego.”

“And I understand you’re an… artist.”

Artist, like it disgusted him to say it. Might as well have been saying “bum” or “faggot.”

“That’s right,” Joh

“And this is something you plan to do full- time?”

“It sure is.”

“Can I ask how you support yourself?”

Joh

Thank you, Pollock.

“Really?” Adam said. “That’s wonderful. Anyone I might’ve heard of?”

“She’s a big- time art collector on the Upper East Side, a friend of the Guggenheims. Yeah, she really loves my work.”

“Wow. That’s very impressive.”

Marissa came into the living room and said to Joh

“No, no,” Adam said. “Joh

“His art is amazing,” Marissa said proudly, putting an arm around Joh

“I’d love to see your work sometime,” Adam said. “Do you have exhibitions, gallery openings?”

“Dad,” Marissa said.

“I’ll probably have something going on in a couple of months,” Joh

“Well, you’ll have to be sure to invite us.”

“I definitely will.” Joh

Dana came into the room and a

At the di

Father He

“More wine?” Adam asked, holding up the bottle of merlot. He was into his fourth glass and starting to slur.

“No thank you,” Joh

As Adam added more wine to his own glass, he said, “Joh

“Well, I’m sure it takes a lot of discipline to be an artist,” Dana said,

“That’s true,” Joh

He let that one hang there, looking at her for an extra beat or two.

“But I think it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?” Adam said. “I mean, choosing a career in art when you say you had a happy childhood. Artists are generally brooding and unhappy and troubled- you know, tortured souls, like van Gogh.”

He said “Gogh” in this weird, uppity way, like he was starting to throw up.

“Come on, Dad,” Marissa said. “Can you just stop it?”

“What?” Adam said. “It’s a fact, and I’m just wondering how Joh

“How he overcame his happy childhood?” Marissa asked.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “I guess that’s exactly what I’m wondering about.”

“It was hard,” Joh

Adam suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Dana was looking down at her lap, and Marissa had a little smile, like she was telling herself some private joke. “No,” Adam finally said. “I guess nobody’s one hundred percent happy.”

“Exactly,” Joh

Joh

Throughout the rest of the meal, Adam continued drinking and asked more and more questions, and Joh