Adam wondered if this was just the beginning. Maybe even his oldest, neediest patients would have second thoughts about seeing him and there would be a mass exodus from his practice. He was trying to decide whether he should do some damage control, or predamage control, maybe have Lauren contact some of his regulars and make sure all was well, when he remembered that he had a noon meeting with the reporter from New York Magazine.

He rushed over to the Starbucks on Madison and Forty- ninth, looking forward to the chance to set the record straight and to tell the public what had really happened the other night. When he entered, an attractive young black woman came over and said, “Dr. Bloom, right?”

“That’s me,” Adam said.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Grace Williams. I’m sitting right over there.” She pointed to a table behind her. “Do you want to get something?”

Wow, not only did she want to meet him for coffee, rather than lunch, she wouldn’t even pay for the coffee.

“That’s okay,” Adam said. “I had a cup today and don’t want to be overcaffeinated.”

He sat across from her, and she took out a pad, turned on a digital recorder, and said, “This shouldn’t take long.”

“I want to tell you, I’m really glad I’m getting a chance to talk to you. I’ve been kind of shocked, actually, by how this whole story has been misreported.”

“Really?” she asked, barely interested.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, they’ve been making me out to be a vigilante or something, but that isn’t the case at all.”

“I’m just going to ask you a few questions, Dr. Bloom, okay?”

“Okay, but-”

“Did you ever fantasize about using your gun to kill someone?” Was she serious? It seemed like she was.

“No,” Adam said. “Of course not.”

“Even someone you really hated. Like a boss or an ex- lover.”

“One time at the range, just for fun, a guy put a photo of Osama bin Laden on the target, but-”

“Did you ever feel like you want to blow all the bad guys in the city away?”

“No,” Adam said firmly. “And see, this is exactly what I’m talking about, how this whole thing has gotten distorted. I never felt that way at all.”

“So you don’t condemn the man who broke into your house?”

“Of course I condemn him,” he said. “He was trying to rob my house.”

“Why did you shoot him ten times? Wouldn’t once have been enough?”

He hated her sensational tone.

“Do you want the facts,” he asked, “or do you just want to write a provocative story?”

“I want the facts, of course,” she said, looking right at him.

“It was dark,” he said. “I didn’t know if I hit him or not, so I had to keep firing to make sure I got him.” He wasn’t sure this was true, because he vaguely remembered knowing that the first shot had hit Sanchez, but he continued, “And it happened very fast. When you’re in that type of situation you don’t think, you just react. It’s like a soldier in battle. You’re in fight- or- flight mode. You have to listen to your instincts, follow your gut. Oh, and since it seems very likely that my maid, who was killed yesterday morning, had something to do with the robbery, I feel like I absolutely did the right thing.”

“What do you mean?” Grace asked.

“You heard that my maid was killed, didn’t you?”

“You killed your maid?”

“No, I didn’t kill her. Jesus, whatever you do, don’t write that. No, it was another shooting.”

“In your house?”

“No, not in my house, but there was definitely someone else in my house the night of the shooting, and that person could’ve had a gun. The police know the guy I killed, Sanchez, was involved with my maid. They were lovers, boyfriendgirlfriend, whatever. It was either my maid with the gun or someone my maid knew. So it was just by chance that Sanchez wasn’t armed. You get what I’m saying?”

She didn’t seem to get it, or want to try to get it, and asked, “But doesn’t it bother you that you killed an unarmed man?”

Adam took a few moments to collect his thoughts, choosing his words carefully, then said, “Of course it bothers me. I didn’t ask to be in that situation, it wasn’t something I sought out. I’m sure I’ll be thinking about it for the rest of my life. But that doesn’t make me an aggressor, a vigilante.”

“So you’re saying you’d kill him all over again.”

“Kill is a strong word. You know, I really think you’re-”

“Would you shoot him all over again?”

“Yes,” he said. “I mean, I wouldn’t do anything differently except-”

She turned off the recorder, put it away in her purse, then stood up and said, “That should do it, Dr. Bloom.” She stuck her hand out to shake. “It was really nice meeting you.”

“That’s it?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry to run, but I have to get back to the office and write this up so we can post it this afternoon.”

“Post it?” Adam was confused. “Isn’t it going to run in the magazine?”

“No, it’s for Daily Intel, our online blog. But I got everything I needed, it should be great. Thank you so much, Mr. Bloom.”

On his way back to his office, Adam decided that it was better that the story was running online. He wanted to set the facts straight as soon as possible so he could start to put this all behind him and go on with his life.

Late in the afternoon, he went online to Daily Intel and saw the headline: 

 “That fucking bitch,” he nearly shouted. The story was even more skewed than the ones in the morning papers. It made him sound like a gleeful white- collar sociopath who’d been brooding for years, waiting for an opportunity to blow somebody away. Everything he’d said during the interview was taken out of context, and the article was filled with misquotes. She wrote that he “often fantasized” about using his gun to kill someone and that he had a lifelong disgust for crime and criminals. She added that he claimed he was “following his gut” when he unloaded ten shots into the unarmed intruder and observed that he expressed no remorse for the shooting. She ended with the completely fabricated line “ ‘I’d love to shoot him all over again,’ Bloom boasted.”

Adam called Grace Williams up, ready to give her hell. Of course he got her voice mail, and he left a message. “This is Adam Bloom. If you don’t take that bullshit off your site I’m gonna sue you and your fucking magazine!”

He must’ve been screaming into the phone, because Lauren rushed into his office, asking, “Is everything okay?”

“Just leave me alone!” he yelled, and when she left he picked up his phone’s handset and flung it across the room. It hit the filing cabinet, and part of it broke off.

This day was rapidly turning into the day from hell. And to think, he’d been convinced he was going to be the next Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever.

He didn’t hear from Grace, and the story was still online. No big surprise there. Why would they care about what he thought?

He rode the subway in rush hour back to Forest Hills. On the crowded R train, he felt like strangers were looking up from their newspapers and noticing him, scrutinizing him. At Northern Boulevard, a group of laughing teenagers got on. Adam didn’t know if they were making fun of him or not, but he felt like they were.

Adam decided there was nothing he could do to control what other people thought. If the press wanted to keep attacking him, and the public wanted to keep judging him, that was beyond his control.

In Forest Hills, he stopped at Duane Reade and picked up some stuff for the house- toilet paper, paper towels, dishwashing liquid- and then he went to the wine store around the corner and bought a bottle of $12.99 merlot, figuring, Why not splurge? He felt bad for arguing so much with Dana over the last couple of days, and he was looking forward to having a nice, relaxing evening at home. Maybe they’d order in some Chinese, have a couple of glasses of wine, and then make love. He had so much going for him in his life, and he wanted to start appreciating what he had instead of constantly wanting more. He didn’t need to be hailed as a local hero and be the basis of a Russell Crowe biopic in order to be happy.