Panic Attack by Jason Starr Page A

gone to an interview to be the “events coordinator” at one downtown, but she’d gotten no job offers so far. Her father had probably been right about how she’d made a mistake by quitting the job at the Met. She should have stuck it out for at least six months to use it as a reference, or until she found something else. She just hoped she found something soon; she wanted steady money coming in so she could afford the rent for her own place, or even a share. She hated not having her own money and being so dependent on her parents.
    After the museum, she walked to midtown, feeling out of place around all of the oppressive office buildings and stressed- out working people. Downtown was cooler, though all of Manhattan seemed so uppity and into itself that Marissa felt like she just couldn’t connect. She liked Brooklyn a lot better— especially Williamsburg, DUMBO, and RAMBO— But most of her friends were working in the city and always wanted to meet at midtown bars or go out in Murray Hill or, the worst, the Upper East Side.
    At five thirty, she met Hillary at McFadden’s at Forty- second and Second. It was the typical midtown after- work bar— lots of suits and ties, lots of uptight people desperately trying to let loose, businessmen calling each other “bro” and “dude.” Marissa felt like she was on a different planet, but Hillary, who had an entry- level marketing job at some ad agency, seemed right at home, smiling, waving, saying hi and even hugging people as she entered. Marissa and Hillary had been best friends for years, but lately Marissa felt like they’d been drifting apart. She hoped it was just a phase, though, that Hillary would eventually get over this whole trying- to- act- like- a-yuppie kick and return to acting like her normal self.
    Hillary hugged Marissa hello; then Marissa said, “God, I need a drink so badly. Something strong.”
They found seats at the bar and ordered cosmos,“heavy on the vodka.” Hillary had already read about the robbery on Marissa’s blog, but Marissa retold the story anyway.
“Oh my God, that must’ve been so horrifying,” Hillary said.
“It gets worse,” Marissa said, her voice cracking.
Hillary, like all of Marissa’s friends, had known Gabriela. It was almost like Gabriela had been a part of the Bloom family.
When Marissa told Hillary about Gabriela being killed and probably being involved in the robbery, Hillary started to cry, and Marissa cried with her. Hillary said all the expected things— I can’t believe it, it’s not possible, she was so young— as they continued to sob together.
Finally Marissa said, “Maybe we should stop crying, this is a happy hour after all,” but the attempt at an icebreaking joke didn’t even get a smirk from Hillary.
“It’s so horrible that you have to go through all of this,” Hillary said.
“Yeah, I know it sucks,” Marissa said. “My mom’s worried that the guy who shot Gabriela’s still out there, but I’m not really worried about that. I’m sure the cops’ll catch him.”
“God, I certainly hope so,” Hillary said.
Marissa sipped her drink, then said, “I was so happy when you said you could meet up. It’s been a total nightmare at home. My mother’s angry, so she’s snapping at my father, and, of course, my father’s taking it out on me, as usual. He actually said I have to stop drinking and smoking in the house, treating me like I’m some kind of party animal or something. Meanwhile, I barely smoke or drink at all. But their fighting, that’s the worst. I swear, it was like when I was a teenager all over again. I really don’t know what’s wrong with them. If they can’t get along and can’t stand the sight of each other, why don’t they just get divorced?”
Suddenly Hillary’s eyes widened, and Marissa could tell something was wrong.
“What is it?” Marissa asked.
“Nothing, never mind,” Hillary said and took a sip of her drink.
“Come on, what is it? Is it about Gabriela?”
“No.”
“Then what is it? Come on, you have to tell