Panic Attack

seven

Johnny Long was walking uptown on Eighth Avenue, on his way back from Slate, a pool hall in Chelsea where he’d hustled a hundred- something bucks off some drunken stockbroker, heading toward the touristy bars around Times Square, where he hoped to find a decent- looking woman to screw and rob, when the rain started. It was coming down hard, lightning and thundering, and didn’t seem to be letting up. He waited it out for a while under an awning, then dashed across the street to the Molly Wee Pub on Thirtieth and Eighth, figuring he’d wait out the storm there.

When he entered the Irish bar, he noticed five women checking him out. This wasn’t unusual; women checked him out wherever he went. His looks had always been his biggest asset and his biggest liability. It was great to look hot when he wanted to pick up a woman, but during a stretch at Rikers being known as “Johnny Pretty,”“J. Lo” and- the worst-“Jenny from the Block” had caused him seven and a half months of total hell.

Johnny often got mistaken for Johnny Depp, and not just because they had the same first name. He was bigger than Depp, more muscular, but their faces looked alike- both had that sleepy, washed- out look- especially when he let strands of his longish, greasy dark hair fall over his light blue eyes. He also got mistaken for Jared Leto every once in a while, or one of the other guys in 30 Seconds to Mars.

He sat at the bar, ordered a club soda with a wedge of lime- he didn’t touch alcohol- and checked out his options. Two of the women were with guys- not impossible, but it made things a little harder, and he wasn’t in the mood for hard. So it was down to the thin girl with dark hair who was at the table with a group of friends, the girl with dark curly hair or her blond friend at the end of the bar, or the older blonde who was alone at a table near the door. He wasn’t attracted to any of the women, not that that mattered.

He sipped his club soda and looked up at the basketball game on TV, deciding to let fate decide for him. It would save him some work, and besides, the odds of picking up a woman were much better when he let the woman make the first move. If he went over to one of the women his chances would still be very good, but it would require much more charm and effort, and if it turned out the woman was married or had a serious boyfriend there was a chance Johnny wouldn’t be able to pull it off. But he knew if he did nothing, just sat and waited for a woman to come over to him, he would almost definitely score.

Although he wasn’t looking at any of the women, he could feel their eyes on him. He just knew that they wanted him so badly, that they were just dying to be with a hot guy like him, a Johnny Depp look- alike, for chrissake. At one point, he looked casually beyond the bartender and in the mirror behind the bar saw that the blonde and the girl with the dark curly hair were still looking in his direction, obviously talking about him. The dark- haired girl was probably saying something like “God, he’s so cute,” and the friend was egging her on, saying, “Go ahead, talk to him, what’re you waiting for?” That was the way it always happened. It was so predictable it was almost boring.

Sure enough, about a minute went by, and then Johnny heard, “Excuse me?” He looked over and saw the girl with the dark curly hair. She was overweight, and there was nothing particularly attractive about her face. She was someone Johnny would normally pass in the street and barely notice.

“Did anybody ever tell you you look just like Johnny Depp?” she asked. She was blushing badly and looked even less attractive closer up in brighter light. Her makeup looked caked on, especially around her eyes, which weren’t blue or even green. He could tell that she was terrified and it took all her nerve to go up to a guy as good- looking as he was and actually say something. He also knew that his initial reaction to her was key: She wasn’t just going up to him to hit on him; they were actually hooking up unconsciously. He had to show her instantly that he was attracted to her, but more importantly that he was a good guy, someone she could trust.

He smiled widely, letting her see his perfect white teeth, and looked right in her eyes like he was totally enamored with her. He knew humble was the way to go and said, acting totally blown away and flattered, “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Haven’t you heard that before?”

“Never,” he said. “Wow, you really made my day.”

He maintained eye contact, letting her notice his light blue eyes, which women often complimented. In fact, just last night the woman he’d picked up in Brooklyn told him that he had the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen. He wound up screwing her, but he’d gotten away with only about a hundred bucks and no jewelry. Hopefully this woman would be a bigger score.

“By the way, I’m Gregory,” Johnny said and held out his hand. She was so taken by him she waited an extra beat, then said, “Oh, I’m Theresa.” He held her hand for a few seconds longer than necessary, letting her know that he liked her, that he was interested. It was so easy to pick up women; at least for him it was. He knew he didn’t have to come on strong and try to impress them with a fancy job and make them laugh nonstop. Women wanted to be noticed, and they wanted to be respected. All you had to do was be attentive, listen to a woman, show her that you cared about what she was saying, and you were halfway there. It was so simple that it always amazed Johnny when he saw guys blow easy lays by going on and on about themselves. What were they trying to do, scare the women away? Yeah, Johnny knew his looks helped him out a lot, made him even more irresistible, but even an ugly guy could pick up practically any woman he wanted, if he could make her feel special, like she was the only person in the world that mattered.

Johnny made small talk with Theresa-Where are you from? Do you live around here? What do you do for a living?-but instead of just firing off the questions machine- gun style like the average guy, he really listened to the answers and of course, he maintained eye contact the whole time. She said she worked as an office manager at a PR agency, which disappointed him because it didn’t sound like she had big bucks. Still, she seemed pretty well off- middle class at least- and he was encouraged when she dropped that she lived alone. Roommates were always problematic.

He didn’t say a word about himself until she asked him; then he did his best to tell her what she wanted to hear. Since she’d mentioned she lived in Queens, he told her that he was born in Queens and still had a lot of family there. He was actually from Brooklyn and was an orphan, but he wanted to have a connection to her, and it seemed to work. Because she was an office manager, he told her he was “a con sul tant for a financial services company.” If she’d had a lower- or higher-level job, he would’ve told her he did something else for a living, but he wanted to have a career that was on her level. In other words, he didn’t want to be too far above her or too far below her. Also, whenever he met women with white- collar jobs he loved saying he was “a con sul tant for a financial services company” because the job title sounded so ambiguous that he could easily bullshit about what he actually did on a day- to- day basis if the women happened to ask any questions. But the women rarely questioned him about his job, at least not right away, and these were usually one- night stands anyway.

His other brilliant move- which practically sealed the deal- was playing the Catholic card. He noticed she was wearing a crucifix, so he casually mentioned that he had gone to church last Sunday. Her eyes brightened and she said, “Wow, I go to church all the time.” He gave her some crap about how important spirituality was in his life and how sad it was that “the country was getting away from all that.” Then a few minutes later she actually said, “God, it’s so great to meet a guy who goes to church,” as if she seriously believed she’d met her Catholic Prince Charming on a rainy night in an Irish bar around the corner from Penn Station. At times like these, Johnny’s lies amused him to the point where it was hard not to start laughing hysterically, but as always he managed to contain himself.

Johnny knew Theresa was dying to screw him now, that in her mind he was the greatest guy she’d ever met and she couldn’t wait to introduce him to her parents and all her friends. Of course, she might give him a hard time about having sex tonight, doing the whole playing- hard- to- get/wanting- to- take- itslower routine, but he knew that with a little gentle persuading and pouring on a little more charm at the appropriate moment- this was where his good looks and trustworthy eyes really paid off- she wouldn’t be able to resist him.

Then her friend, the blonde, came over and said she had to get home. This was the last hurdle, and it was a major one. If Theresa had driven her friend to the bar (unlikely, since she’d mentioned she’d gone out tonight right after work) or her friend was staying at Theresa’s place (also unlikely, because she would’ve brought this up already) then Johnny’s pickup attempt could be shot. If this were to happen it wouldn’t be any big deal really, because he could simply pick up someone else- or, let’s be serious, let someone else pick him up- at this bar, or, now that the rain had stopped, he could continue on to Times Square and pick up a tourist at a bar around there. He knew he could find a more attractive victim, though it would be a shame because he was oh so close with Theresa.

“Gregory, I’d like you to meet my friend Donna,” Theresa said. “It’s great to meet you,” Johnny said. “I love that jacket. Where’d you get it?” Actually it was a cheap- looking denim jacket that looked like it was from a thrift shop.

“Oh, thank you so much,” she said, blushing the way Theresa had. “Actually,

I got it at Daffy’s.”

“Really? Wow, I love it.”

That was perfect- complimenting the friend, getting her to like him, too. Predictably Donna told Theresa that she was ready to leave. She said something about how she had to get up early tomorrow, which sounded to Johnny like a lame excuse since tomorrow was Saturday and odds were she didn’t have to work. She probably just felt self- conscious, sitting at the bar by herself not getting hit on, and wanted to leave, even if it meant taking her friend with her and- and as far as she knew- ruining a budding love connection. Theresa seemed disappointed and torn, and Johnny knew exactly what she was thinking: Would he have more respect for me if I left? But the fact that she wasn’t leaving told Johnny that she one hundred percent wanted to stay; she just needed a way to justify it to herself.

“Hey, if you’d like to stay I’ll make sure you get home safely.” Maybe anyone else delivering this line would’ve come off as a sleazeball, a player, but not

Johnny. He always seemed sincere and caring.

“Wow, that’s so nice of you,” Theresa said.

Again Johnny had to resist the urge to burst out laughing.

The girls talked it over for a few moments while Johnny looked away, sipping his club soda, giving them space, and then Donna announced, “Well, I’m going home, it was really nice meeting you.”

“You too, hope to meet you again sometime,” Johnny said, thinking, Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.

Donna left, and Johnny knew the last obstacle had been removed- it was pretty much home free from here.

And he didn’t waste any time. After he said something funny and she laughed, he leaned in and kissed her. He didn’t slobber over her with an open mouth. It was a simple, classy kiss. He kept his lips against hers for several seconds and then pulled back and said, sensitively yet with passion, “Do you want to get out of here?”

A few minutes later, they were in the cab. He was a total gentleman- kissing her, of course, but not trying to get in her panties or anything like that. The cab ride to Astoria might cost him about thirty- five, forty bucks, and he hoped that it was worth his while, that he wasn’t wasting a whole night with this woman. During the cab ride she said everything he expected her to say. I don’t usually do this. Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? Maybe we should wait.

Playing the game, he kept saying things like “Hey, if you don’t feel comfortable,

I can go home.” Giving her every opportunity to back out of it. Yeah, right. In Astoria, he was disappointed when they pulled up in front of a modest twofamily house. He was hoping she lived in one of the new yuppie condos they’d put up out there; it would’ve been an indication that this was going to be worthwhile. Still, he was trying to be optimistic, not acting in any way disappointed. As soon as they entered her apartment, he switched on his passion button and began to give her the full Johnny Long lovemaking treatment. He kissed her lips softly, pushing her hair back away from her face, telling her over and over how beautiful she looked. They went into the bedroom and began to make love.

He asked her if she had candles and incense, knowing that women always loved that crap. She said she didn’t have incense but had candles and went to get them. She returned to bed, the candles lit, and Johnny began to make love to her the way only Johnny Long could. He knew he was the best lover in the world, and not only because women often told him he was. One day he’d gone to the library and read books by the so- called Casanovas, and those guys didn’t know anything he didn’t know. In one book, some French guy claimed he’d been with over a thousand women and had satisfied all of them. Johnny laughed when he read that- no one could give a woman more plea sure than Johnny Long. The last time he’d counted he estimated that he’d been with 450- plus women, but he was only thirty- one years old and planned to be in the thousands by the time he was thirty- five.

Johnny knew that writing a book about his own sex techniques would be impossible because he had no techniques. He couldn’t tell people to do this or do that and you’ll get a woman off every time, because nothing worked every time with every woman. Women were like trees: They were all different. It was all about instinct, getting into the woman’s head, feeling what she was feeling. He kissed Theresa very slowly and softly on her mouth and her neck, then moved to her breasts and stomach and inner thighs and finally worked his way lower. The entire time, like when he was talking to her at the bar, he was very attentive, picking up on the cues she gave him and playing off them. Like a super sex computer he instantly pro cessed the information she was giving him and transformed himself into her ideal lover, the man of her dreams. He pleasured her for a long time with the perfect intensity, and then he began to make love to her at the exact pace she wanted. She climaxed easily, moaning, “Oh, Gregory, oh, Gregory.” For a moment he’d forgotten he was Gregory and thought she’d confused him with somebody else.

He got her off four times, and he knew there was no chance she was faking.

No one could fake orgasms with him because he knew, he always knew. Afterward, he held her in his arms and gently stroked her hair and kissed her ear, gently sucking on her lobe for a while.

Later, when she finally fell asleep, he got out of bed, dressed silently, and got to work robbing her apartment.

He started with her purse, scoring $237- not bad at all for purse money; it more than covered the cab ride, so already the night was a success. He easily found her jewelry box in the top drawer of her dresser and took everything, noticing a couple of necklaces, both sterling, and rings that he thought would get him several hundred dollars for their gold value alone. With a little luck this would turn out to be a great score, and he knew that as long as he got away cleanly, he had almost no chance of getting caught. Theresa had no real information about him, and she probably wouldn’t even report the crime to the police. Johnny wasn’t sure why the women he screwed and robbed almost never tried to rat him out. Part of it probably was that they felt so ashamed and embarrassed about what had happened that they didn’t want their friends and family to find out about it, but Johnny liked to think that it was mainly because he’d left them so satisfied, giving them the best sex of their lives, so that in the morning they’d decided that, yeah, losing their money and other valuables sucked, but what did they really have to complain about?

He was about to leave the bedroom when he noticed, on the night table, the gold crucifix Theresa had been wearing at the bar. He snatched it and, on his way out, smiled, thinking how he’d have to go to church later and confess. He was still giggling about that one as he left the building and headed toward the subway station.