“Don’t go anywhere,” Dana said, and she reached for the phone.
“Wait, don’t call the police,” Adam said. “I’m sure it was nothing.”
“What did it sound like?”
It had sounded like footsteps, but he didn’t want to tell her this, especially when he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined it.
“It was probably just the house settling or something. Just wait a second, okay?”
He went to the door and listened for several seconds but didn’t hear anything. He looked back at Dana and held up an index finger and mouthed, “Wait,” and then he walked as quietly as possible toward the staircase.
Unlike last night, when it had been almost pitch- dark, tonight he could see the staircase clearly because of the light in the hallway and a light he had left on downstairs in the foyer. He had a flashback to nearly twenty- four hours ago- firing off those shots. It was so vivid he could feel the gun in his hand, hear the shots, see Sanchez’s body falling. It felt like it was actually happening all over again. But what if it did happen all over again? Without his gun, how was he supposed to defend himself? He felt extremely vulnerable and defenseless. He didn’t care what he’d promised Dana; there was no way he was ever getting rid of the gun. If they were going to get rid of the things that protected them, why not get rid of the locks on the doors and the alarm system? Hell, why not just keep the doors wide open?
He went to the top of the stairs and bent down to get a view of the front door. It was chained, just as he’d left it.
Then he heard, “Dad.”
It was just that one word, but it might as well have been a rifle fired right next to his head. He was so startled he jerked forward, lost his balance, and almost fell down the stairs. He had to grab onto one of the wooden posts on the railing to steady himself.
“You okay, Dad?”
He managed to stand up and turn around. His pulse was pounding.
Looking at his daughter, who was by the door to her room, holding a glass of maybe diet soda, he said, “For God’s sake, Marissa.”
“Is everybody okay?” Dana had come out to the hallway.
“What’re you freaking out for?” Marissa said. “I just went downstairs to get something to eat.”
Adam took a few moments, trying to catch his breath. Then he couldn’t restrain his frustration and snapped, “Just get the hell to bed right now, okay?”
“What did I do?” Marissa asked.
“Just go,” Adam said.
She returned to her room, slamming the door. Adam shook his head in frustration and disgust and marched past Dana and got back into bed.
“Are you okay?” Dana asked as she got in next to him.
“Fine,” Adam said. “Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”
They lay in the dark silently for a few minutes.
Then Dana said, “Thank God you didn’t have your gun. You might’ve shot her.”
Eventually Adam fell asleep.
eleven
At five in the morning Adam got out of bed, wide awake. He decided to go the Hollywood route- the black button- down shirt with the black sport jacket and jeans. He checked himself out in the bathroom mirror and thought he looked great, though he wished he’d had time to stop at his barber and get a little trim. Ah, well, his hair still looked nice and thick and healthy. As a last touch, he grabbed his sunglasses- the one he’d bought for eight bucks on the street- and put them in the pocket of his jacket. It was cloudy out, and he wasn’t going to wear them on the air, but he thought they looked cool with just the tip sticking out.
He was waiting in the living room, looking out the parted venetian blinds, waiting for the limo to arrive. The woman from Fox had said it would be here at six, and it was already five after. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a limo, especially a big, fancy one. It would probably have a widescreen TV and a fully stocked bar. He normally took the subway to and from work, and it was going to be fun- well, a nice change of pace, anyway- to ride into the city in style, to feel like a celebrity. Then after he was on TV he’d probably get phone calls nonstop, from old friends- wouldn’t it be a kick if Abby Fine called?- and there’d probably be more interview requests. At noon he had his New York Magazine interview. This one hadn’t fully set in yet-New York Magazine was interviewing him. Wasn’t Saturday Night Fever based on a New York Magazine article? Okay, maybe he was getting a little far- fetched now, but so what? It was fun to fantasize. He wondered who they’d get to play him in the movie, Hanks or Crowe? Hanks was too sincere, too hokey, but Crowe had the right combination of vulnerability and toughness. Yeah, he could definitely see it: Russell Crowe as Adam Bloom, a working guy, just going about his life, when somebody breaks into his house one night. It’s Bloom’s moment of truth, his life is on the line, but he does what he has to do to defend his family and in doing so becomes a local hero. The movie would probably make millions at the box office. Who doesn’t love a good courage- under- fire story?
Then Adam, on a roll, wondered, And why not a talk show? He could be the next Dr. Phil. Dr. Phil wasn’t even a real psychologist, or he’d had his license revoked, or something like that. Dr. Adam could take over for Dr. Phil in no time. Even if he couldn’t land a TV show, Adam knew he’d be a natural for radio. He was so well spoken and articulate and could talk on any subject, and he’d be great with guests, get very introspective and personal. His show wouldn’t be just fluff. No, Dr. Adam would tackle serious issues.
Adam was looking forward to riding in the limo, relaxing, sipping coffee and nibbling on a croissant, or maybe having a bloody Mary to loosen up before going on the air. He was so caught up in his fantasies that he barely noticed when the navy sedan pulled up in front of the house.
At first he thought the driver, a stocky black guy, was looking for a parking space, but then he got out of the car.
Adam came out and said, “Can I help you?”
He really thought the guy must have the wrong address.
“You order a car?”
“Yes, but it was supposed to be a limo.”
The guy laughed, like this was a joke. Adam felt the letdown, naturally, but he didn’t let it get to him. Okay, so there wasn’t a limo. Limos were overrated anyway. They were too cheesy, too Donald Trump. He was still looking forward to his big moment, getting the most out of his day in the spotlight.
When he arrived at the Fox studios a producer- a girl who looked Marissa’s age- greeted him and told him how happy they were to have him on the show. Then she took him to a room where a makeup artist powdered his face. Okay, now the star treatment was starting. When the makeup was done Adam looked in a mirror and thought he looked thirty- five, tops. God, he hoped Abby Fine was watching
The producer returned and told Adam that he would be going on in about a half hour and led him to the greenroom. Adam wasn’t nervous at all. There was another guest waiting- a leggy blonde.
“Hi, I’m Annie,” she said, smiling. She explained that she was the star of a new Broadway musical, then asked, “Why are you here?”
“Oh, I’m a local hero, I guess,” Adam said, trying to sound modest, like he was almost embarrassed about it.
“Really?” she asked, impressed, her face brightening. “What did you do?”
“Oh, it was no big deal,” Adam said. “My house was robbed the other night, and I… well, I shot one of the robbers.”
She cringed and said, “You mean you killed somebody?”
Somehow this wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.
“Yeah, unfortunately,” he said, “but I didn’t have any choice. It was the middle of the night, and he broke in. He was coming up the stairs.”
She still seemed almost horrified and asked, “Oh my God, did he have a gun?”
