Ice Cream Man

by Charles Puccia

  Ginny liked Steve’s rapid-fire nervous cheerfulness. She moved behind the desk to help him catch his breath. Steve froze.

  “Hi Steve, I’m Ginny Livorno. I’d like a membership. Any chance I can meet with the owner?”

  “That’s not a problem, except Ben’s away for two weeks. He’s always available to members. You’ll like him, everyone does. He’s impressive, too.” Steve pointed to the photos. “He has the best arms and the biggest chest on the circuit.”

  With her back arched, Ginny gave Steve doubts about his last statement. “Great. I look forward to meeting him, arms and chest included. You’re pretty good yourself.” Ginny reached up and squeezed Steve’s arm, then swished her hand to brush his chest.

  “Nice pecs. I see you’ve done good separation.” Ginny picked up the membership application, not waiting for Steve to unfreeze before she was out the door.

  Ginny spent the first week at her new gym nosing around. In particular, she persuaded Steve to give her an X-room tour, even though that was strictly for bodybuilders only.

  The X-room was an iron room: bridge iron weights, railroad-sized iron bars, and iron men. Thighs wider than waists, necks that were wider than heads, and forearms made for walking. The women were men with halter tops. The X-room made jumbo jet men. The women carried ordinary men in their gym bags as accessories. One-hundred-percent pure processed beef, a stockyard of cattle in contrast to the ground floor’s hopping sparrows.

  Ben approved all X-memberships. Steve told Ginny that each interview ended with Ben’s edict: “Work out, work hard, and don’t fuck around.”

  Voyeurism, drug-selling, and soliciting or offering sex to other members was forbidden. In five years, only two people had been booted out—due to overt solicitation. Steve hinted that Ben turned a blind eye to the other rules in the months before a contest: pills were known to be exchanged; needles were magic scepters; and the steroid-enhanced, high-octane, testosterone-fueled bodies made it likely that someone would fuck the vending machine. And if they did, it wasn’t a rule violation.

  Within two weeks, Ginny had established her UltraFit routine. She was doing cardio on a stationary bicycle when a double-decker bus parked next to her.

  “Hi, I’m Ben Hausen,” the bus said, hand extended.

  Ginny dismounted, pulling her T-shirt down to stretch over her sports bra as she did. Ben’s jaw moved. Ginny waited.

  “Wel… welcome to UltraFit. I hope you have everything you need. Don’t hesitate to ask any staff member or me for help.”

  “Hi Ben, I’m Ginny Livorno. Thanks. Steve’s been great. You’ve got a great setup here.” They shook hands, but Ginny didn’t let go.

  “Thanks.”

  “Everything’s perfect. Keeps me motivated to get stronger.”

  Ginny pulled her arm in to bring Ben closer—except she moved, not Ben. Her left hand rested on Ben’s arm.

  “Like you. Nice bi. I disagreed with your second place at your last contest. Your symmetry was better than the winner’s.” She squeezed.

  Ben instinctively flexed; it was a habit formed over time, as people would often touch him and request he “make a muscle.” Ginny might have said Ben’s arm felt like a bag of crushed stones, but she didn’t. Instead she said, “This curls more than the one-fifty posted on Facebook.”

  According to Ben, Ginny had been the first and only member who had grabbed his arm on the first meet and could recite his training weights.

  Four weeks passed before Ginny followed Ben down the staircase to the X-room. As Ben keyed the access code and swung open the door, he was startled by something touching his back.

  “What the hell? Oh. Hi, Ginny.”

  Ginny’s form-fitting workout clothes could make cotton cry. She watched Ben’s eyes move from her forehead to her chin, and then linger on her bosom. Oh yes, Ben, they’re real.

  Her inhale distracted Ben further, which provided enough cover for her stealth move into the X-room. Ben followed.

  “Got a minute? I’d like to talk to you about my training.”

  “Ah, okay. Shall we go to my office?”

  “Can I take a look around?”

  Ginny rubbernecked. She imagined there wasn’t a piece of equipment that didn’t shudder when the door opened at six a.m. Rustproofing saved the iron from disintegrating in this room that steamed with fire brigade sweat. But mostly she surveyed the members: men bigger than tanks, fueled by steroids.

  “Nice equipment.”

  In another corner Ginny spotted two rafter-size men, dripping with testosterone. “Are those two preparing for an event?”

  “Just Billy, in the blue mesh T, for the Manhattan Classic under-twenty-ones. He came in second last year.”

  Unreal, thought Ginny as she watched Billy curl a loaded barbell direct from a shipyard foundry. His veins were stoking his body and he looked like a bag of nails.

  “Under twenty-one? I’d be worried about skin stretch. We’ll be hearing more about Billy, won’t we?”

  Ben opened the door. “Shall we go to my office?”

  Although she had several UltraFit staff as alternatives, Ginny wanted Ben for her personal trainer. If not, Steve was next, she supposed, but she really craved Ben’s high-def muscle and his dual-core sixty-four-bit processor brain. Ginny knew he was smart due to his blog commentaries on movies, novels, music, education, and social politics. He quoted The New Yorker.

  However, Ben’s self-imposed rule was to only train competitive bodybuilders. And with two bulls in his schedule already, a third wouldn’t fit. Yet a non-bodybuilder could… if he changed his rule.

  “You’d be my first non X-member,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. And I’m just as serious as your other trainees, even if I’m not in competition.”

  “If you weren’t serious I wouldn’t consider your request. I’m going to be up front, Ginny: I’m doing this for myself. I spend so much time here that I miss intelligent conversation on topics other than weights and diet. Don’t get me wrong, the guys need to be dedicated, and they have no time for books, especially since… well, let’s say some of them would strain to read a picture book. If I take you on, it’d be for me as much as you. You’d be my relaxation.”

  “That’s fine, Ben. A mutual benefit is good, as long as we know it’ll be intellectual and nothing more.”

  Ben recoiled, and Ginny quickly moved forward. “Sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to be rude. Some gay men have tried it with me. I guess they were bis—if bisexuals really exist. Are you offended?”

  “No. Actually, I’m glad you said it. I can guarantee this is a professional training relationship. Now let’s pump. Er, iron I mean.”

  After that, Ginny quickly fell into a routine with Ben.

  He really was a great trainer, and Ginny loved the workouts. But training wasn’t all that interested Ginny. She also loved to watch Ben’s bulging arms, his striated legs, and the bulbous glutes of his buttocks as he moved to spot her lifts. On heavy presses, she would watch him inhale, his pectorals inflated. She even went with Ben to the Manhattan Classic and cheered Billy on to first place.

  But she only observed. It was harmless.

  Until the day sthenolagnia took over, six months ago.

  That was the day she walked out and closed the door on Dan, metaphorically speaking. She knew something had happened; Dan did not.

  Today, they both knew.

  Chapter 8

  End Run

  Weaving between the crowd, Dan walked the New York City streets, his head bent as he examined the sidewalk pattern. He headed west to the Hudson River, the breeze from the water chilling his neck and matching his cold inside. He ambled by the river until the edge of Hell’s Kitchen, then changed direction to go across town along 59th until Broadway, where he stood at the foot of the Christopher Columbus statue.

  Dan imagined what the explorer would have done in his place. Columbus must have questioned his voyage. What would he find? Would he survi
ve? Would his men? Would they return?

  Dan’s voyage back to his condo brought recriminations, not questions. I should’ve insisted the presentation be postponed until I had the data. I should’ve been better prepared even without the data. I should’ve challenged Linda’s data and model regardless of the stupid rules.

  Throughout the night Dan tossed in bed, sleep eluding him. Sometime in the dark predawn he rose and moved to the couch in the living room. He examined the failures in his life, starting with Ginny. He’d been inadequate for several months, which he blamed entirely on her trainer. No, Dan revised, it was more complicated than that. Maybe Ben had been the problem at the start, but it was Dan who had devoted too much time to working on his model and his presentation over the last three months. He had ignored Ginny, and as a result he had missed the signs of her emerging obsession—her so-called stethy—and her infatuation for bodybuilders. Ben wasn’t the problem. He was.

  Failure was the byword, and Paris was just the next installment. He gave a shoddy presentation, and he knew it. I should have been better prepared and not fixated on the missing data. The result was a big loss not only for him, but for Ginny and their relationship. The failure would also impact DV&N: Linda’s proposal would fail, Dan was sure of it. Dan hated himself for his performance.

  The room seemed even darker, even though a bit of daylight now lit the sky outside. Why did I wait so long for the data? Why did I not investigate with IT? Why did I not complain and make a big issue of my request? Why did I rely on Bill Barrington? Why didn’t I insist on a postponement? Why didn’t I question the nature of the emergency situation with Northrop that a technical team could have handled?

  Dan didn’t return to his bed until seven a.m., just as Ginny was rising for work. “I’m going to stay home,” he said. “I’m exhausted and I didn’t sleep last night.”

  “Good idea. Would you like me to stay with you?”

  “No. I’m going to sleep. You shouldn’t lose time over me.”

  Ginny had stopped dressing. “Just sleep? You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?”

  “Of course not, it’s just—I’ve got to talk to Gary about Linda’s data.”

  “Dan, you can’t just call up Gary with an accusation. I’m sorry, but you have to accept the board’s decision. Don’t torment yourself over what’s already past. You’ll get ’em next time. And Gary couldn’t change the board’s decision anyway, even if he does agree with you.”

  Dan nodded his agreement, and after Ginny left for work he slept a couple of hours. But at nine o’clock he dialed Gary’s number on his cell.

  “Gary, can you meet me? It’s important.”

  “Look Dan, I know you’re disappointed. Frankly, I wish it had gone better for you. But there’s nothing to be done.”

  “Gary, please. This is important. It goes beyond the Paris job. Can’t you at least extend me the courtesy?”

  ****

  Dan found Gary sitting at the rear table of the Fresh Fruit Cafe, a Tropical Special frappé in front of him. Dan sat down opposite the CEO and asked the waiter for another of the same. Gary had already explained that he had a tight itinerary—he had an afternoon flight to Argentina—so Dan knew he would need to be brief. But Gary spoke first.

  “Dan, before you say anything, I appreciate how much you wanted the position.” Dan tried to interrupt, but Gary raised his hand. “I know this was important. It was important for me, too, and for DV&N. But we made our decision and we’ll live with the consequences, good or bad. That’s business; you know that as well as anyone. Some decisions are good, and some aren’t, but you’ve got to keep looking forward, not second-guess the past. I’m sorry, but I’ll be blunt. You didn’t present a good case.”

  “And I would have if the data had arrived,” Dan said. “Gary, I’m seeing a disaster about to happen and I’d like to prevent it. Please let me examine Linda’s data for you.”

  The two men paused as the waiter returned with Dan’s drink. Then Gary continued.

  “I’m sorry, but no. You are not to snoop around. It will only create friction within the organization. I appreciate your concern, but it’s over. Period.”

  “Sure, sure. But listen a second. I’ve talked to our branches in Europe this morning, and Linda’s data doesn’t fit what I’ve heard. Her premise is invalid. You’ll have a stampede of clients to our competitors.”

  “I know this is emotional for you, Dan, but we asked these questions, too. Bill confirmed her data and several of her points. We’re not stupid. You need to stop this, now.”

  “But don’t you see? Bill was the one who didn’t get me my data. He’s helping Linda and—”

  “Enough.” Gary’s tone was firm. It was clear that, for him, this conversation was over. “Dan, you can’t accuse a senior executive of… well, I don’t know what. This has to stop. This will stop. Do you understand? Look, I appreciate your concern and I know you’re disappointed. You worked hard. But you lost.”

  Dan looked down at his Tropical Special and swirled his straw around without taking a sip. “I admit this was important to me. I really wanted this, and I accept that I screwed up royally. But I’m talking here about DV&N, not just about me. This will blow up in your face. This is not my pride speaking—this is me giving you my professional advice as an analyst.”

  “And I’ve heard you. You’re a valued employee and I consider you a friend. Now take my advice and move on.”

  Dan began to protest. “Her data are flawed. Her analysis relied on parameters that she extrapolated out of thin air.” Dan choked, coughed, and raised his hand with a finger extended. “She—”

  Gary held his hand up. “I said, enough. You’re ranting.”

  “No, I’m trying to tell you—”

  “Stop now. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not giving you advice now. I’m telling you to take a week’s leave of absence. If you go to the office in the next week, starting now, or if you in any way attempt to access Linda’s data, I’ll have you fired, as sorry as I would be to lose you. I can tell you’re upset, and I don’t blame you, but I won’t have you creating havoc at the office. Do not call Europe again. A disgruntled employee makes for a bad workplace.”

  The two men barely shook hands as they left the cafe, one going to Argentina, the other to sulk.

  Chapter 9

  A Lunch Klatch

  Vinnie, Blanca, Shareen, and Maria walked to O’Neil’s Pig ’N Poke, an upscale Irish pub. It was Maria’s choice, both for the alcohol and for the privacy afforded by the booths. The women settled in while Vinnie placed their orders: Guinness for Shareen, Dos Equis for Blanca, white wine for Maria and him. As he sat down, Blanca asked Maria, “Is it true about Dan?”

  “Yes. Gary met Dan and he’s on forced leave for a week. I’m to call security if Dan shows up. Vinnie, you better keep Dan away.” Vinnie nodded, and Maria continued. “Dan accused Linda of cheating, of fudging her data. He called the European offices about it, which upset Gary.”

  Vinnie wagged his finger. “But you know Dan’s right, don’t you? That fuckin’ bitch did something. Dan knows it and I know it.”

  Maria was visibly shocked. “Vinnie, I will not tolerate that language.”

  “Shit, Maria, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m angry and upset.”

  “That’s no excuse. Do you think you can control yourself?”

  “Yes, I promise. I’m a fucking idiot.”

  The three women laughed, acknowledging Vinnie’s sincerity.

  Vinnie explained, “It’s just, this puts me in charge of the office while he’s away. And don’t forget, I’ll be in charge again in November, when Dan’s off with Ginny, in Paris of all places. It’s not fair. I should be at NYU, not running a department.” Blanca’s look reminded Vinnie that he had chosen to withdraw from the MBA program over her protest. And over Dan’s, too.

  Maria patted Vinnie’s hand. “I’m in the same boat. With Gary and Bill away, it’s me and Brian Neale in charge, and he never
leaves his office.”

  Shareen’s husky voice percolated up her six feet. “I’m sorry, Vinnie. I know this is bad for both you and Dan. How is Dan? How can I help either of you?” Despite fifty-five years in Brooklyn’s tough Bedford–Stuyvesant, and with two brothers incarcerated and a few other family members dead due to either drugs or gang conflict or both, Shareen was as compassionate as anyone Vinnie had ever met. And she was smart, too: she was among the few African-American women of her age to have attended Columbia University. Smart, tough, and kind—all packaged into one.

  Maria preempted Vinnie. “To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do if Dan shows up. ‘Immediate dismissal’—those were Gary’s words.” It was unusual for Maria to allow herself to gossip like this; she must have felt overwhelmed by this particular responsibility.

  Silence hung over the booth. After the drinks arrived, Blanca removed her shoes and explained the oddities of Bill’s schedule. Before the Northrop crisis broke, he’d had a family vacation planned, a Tuesday night flight on the original presentation date. After the crisis, his calendar showed his new flight on Friday. “But guess what,” she said. “The calendar update was made before the Northrop crisis even happened. I missed that detail the first time I checked. So out of curiosity, I emailed Bill’s travel agent for his itinerary. And according to his itinerary, his departure was always for Friday, never Tuesday.”

  Vinnie stopped drinking his wine. “I don’t understand.”

  “It means the calendar dates were artificial. Bill never had a Tuesday departure. Unless the travel agency didn’t email me everything; I mean, I suppose it’s possible there was an even earlier itinerary than what they sent me. But if not, it’s like he knew the Northrop crisis would happen and had planned for it in advance.”

  The conversation paused, as if everyone was letting this sink in, and then Shareen piped up. “I was in the lobby a few minutes after Bill left the office. He got into a cab with Linda. What’s that about?”