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

“Oh, I’m not a big drinker,” Johnny said.

“Really?” He sounded impressed.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, “but I guess, since this is a special occasion, a glass of wine would be okay.”

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,” Johnny said, smiling.

“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.” Johnny hadn’t prepared any of this; he was just winging it.

“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,” Johnny said, “and I was a very happy kid, too.” Hey, he might as well go all the way with the bullshit.

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

He laughed in an uppity way, reminding Johnny of somebody, but who?

“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,” Johnny said proudly.

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

“It sure is.”

“Can I ask how you support yourself?”

Johnny was tempted to say, Well, you’re gonna be supporting me for the next couple of years or so, Dr. Bloom. But instead he said, “I have a benefactor.”

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 Johnny, “He’s not grilling you, is he?”

“No, no,” Adam said. “Johnny was just telling me about his burgeoning art career.”

“His art is amazing,” Marissa said proudly, putting an arm around Johnny’s waist. “He has so much range.”

“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,” Johnny said.

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

“I definitely will.” Johnny was smiling at Adam, thinking, I’m gonna be fucking your wife and daughter so hard later.

Dana came into the room and announced that dinner was about to be served. Johnny immediately excused himself and went with Dana into the kitchen to help her serve the food. She’d made a salad, some kind of tomato vegetable soup, meatloaf, and mashed potatoes with gravy. He thanked her for going to all the trouble of cooking dinner for him and told her how much he loved the way the house was decorated. Dana seemed to appreciate the compliments very much, and at one point- when she thought he wasn’t noticing- he saw her checking him out, looking him up and down. When she opened the refrigerator to get something, Johnny took a good, long look at her ass and was seriously impressed. Marissa had a flat ass, but Dana’s butt cheeks were meatier and she had wider hips. Cool, tonight Johnny would get a little variety.

At the dinner table, Johnny was his usual charming, likable self. He had everyone laughing, and he could tell Marissa and Dana both wanted his body. Adam did a lot of talking, going on about himself, obviously trying to impress Johnny, and Marissa had been right before, using the word “interrogation,” because that was exactly how Johnny felt when Adam started asking Johnny questions again, like he was being questioned by a cop. And now Johnny realized who Adam reminded him of, not a cop but Father Hennessy.

Father Hennessy, Father Fucking Hennessy, used to rape Johnny every Thursday afternoon in his office at the church, telling him about all the trouble he’d get into if he ever finked on him, how Johnny would get kicked out of St. John’s and wind up living on the streets alone. Hennessy was an uppity guy like Adam Bloom, always asked a lot of questions. He lived in an apartment in Queens, but he owned a summer house, somewhere out on Long Island, maybe the Hamptons. He used to keep a picture of the house on the desk in his office, and when Johnny was bent over the desk with his pants down trying to “stay quiet” he’d stare at the picture, imagining what it would be like to live there, how happy he’d be. Afterward, Hennessy would get all friendly. What did you learn in school today? What’s your favorite subject? What do you want to be when you grow up? On and on with the questions. Johnny had planned to kill Hennessy one day, get revenge, but he never got the chance. Hennessy died of a stroke when Johnny was thirteen. All the other kids went to the funeral, but Johnny stayed in his room at St. John’s. Later that night Johnny snuck off to the cemetery and took a big fat shit on Hennessy’s grave.

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

“No thank you,” Johnny said, still nursing his first glass. He had a lot of work ahead of him tonight, and he didn’t want to be drunk during it.

As Adam added more wine to his own glass, he said, “Johnny says he’s not a big drinker. That’s very impressive. You must have a lot of discipline.”

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

“That’s true,” Johnny said, smiling at her, wanting her. “It takes a lot of passion too.”

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 Johnny overcame it.”

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

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

“It was hard,” Johnny said coolly. “I guess if I’d been an unhappy kid, the art would come easier to me, you know? But I don’t think anyone’s ever really happy. I mean, look at you, Dr. Bloom. You have this great house here, a beautiful family, I’m sure you make a really good living, but I bet there are some things you’re unhappy about, right? You’re not one hundred percent happy, are you?”

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,” Johnny said. “I guess all of us have darkness inside us somewhere. Some of us just have to dig a little deeper to find it, that’s all.”

Johnny could tell Adam was impressed, and he’d impressed the women, too. He was such a deep, sensitive guy.

Throughout the rest of the meal, Adam continued drinking and asked more and more questions, and Johnny stayed on his game, giving the perfect answers, scoring points with the entire family. It was so easy to be liked; all you had to do was say the right things, tell people what they wanted to hear. When Dana mentioned that she’d done some gardening earlier in the day, Johnny told her how “fascinating” that was and asked her a lot of questions about the type of flowers she grew- annuals or perennials?- and whether she grew fruits and vegetables and said he’d always loved to garden. At one point, Adam commented he’d strained his back playing golf, and then Johnny started bullshitting with him about golf, asking him questions like “What’s your handicap?” and “What’s your favorite course?” and lying about all the golf he’d played as a teenager. Whenever he could, he complimented the Blooms, telling them how nice and kind and interesting they were. Of course, at least four or five times, Adam dropped that he was a shrink- he was so freaking proud of himself- and Johnny stroked his dick, telling him how exciting his work sounded and how much respect he had for people “who actually helped people.” Johnny could tell all this crap was going straight to Adam’s head.