Ice Cream Man

by Charles Puccia

  “For what it’s worth, I never believed your bullshit explanation for all the bodybuilding mags in our college apartment. ‘For exercise tips,’ right…” said Sarah.

  “Well they were. Only… different exercises.” A sheepish grin crossed Ginny’s lips.

  “Oh my God, you didn’t,” said Betsy.

  Ginny’s grin grew teeth.

  “You slut. I get off on women getting off on men,” said Sarah.

  “I’ve been to bodybuilding contests, too,” Ginny said quietly, her smile gone. Her friends wanted more detail, so Ginny described the X-room assembly line: rocket-sized men constructed from iron bars; surface veins on rice-paper skin stretched over hardened steel-forged limbs; the volcanic, lava-hardened twenty-one-year-old, Billy.

  The friends smiled throughout Ginny’s bodybuilding digression. But frowns followed when she revealed her fantasy: Ben flexing while she and Dan had sex. Until Paris, she had sublimated her desire. Now her preoccupation was to fulfill it.

  Ginny interpreted their silence as a rebuke. “You both think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  Gulping her drink, Betsy spoke. “Not crazy, but… you won’t get the satisfaction you want. Dan won’t see it your way. Or Ben.”

  Sarah rested her face in her hands. “Betsy’s right. Have you talked to your mother, or a shrink?”

  “So you do think I’m crazy. Fuck you, Sarah.”

  Sarah moved back. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”

  Ginny looked sideways at Sarah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m desperate.” Ginny’s gaze turned to the people outside the cafe, hurrying past. “There’s more.”

  The waiter arrived with refills. For a half hour Ginny revised her original Paris narrative. The new version featured the little Frenchman and Dan’s passivity.

  “I snapped.” Ginny began to cry, her tears dropping to the table. A few people looked over. Betsy passed her napkin.

  “Dan was a shit, no doubt about it,” said Sarah.

  “He did something I didn’t think possible.” Ginny took a big suck of her power drink. “It made me stop loving him… No, I still love him—but I don’t like him. Sometimes I can’t stand being in the same room with him.” Ginny choked, the liquid stuck in her gullet.

  In a subdued voice, Ginny began: “There’s not much to say, is there? How can I love and hate the same person? I can’t imagine having sex with Dan. He’s miserable, and I’m miserable.”

  Sarah spoke first. “You need counseling—both of you. I’m sorry, and you can tell me to go fuck myself again, but it’s all I can offer.”

  Without missing a beat, Betsy chimed in: “You might as well say the same to me, because I agree with Sarah.”

  They don’t understand what my obsession feels like. The security I gain from bodybuilders. The pleasure I used to get from Dan’s strength, his arms curled around my waist to scissor-squeeze my buttocks. The joy I still get from observing Ben’s massive body. My dreams about a bulkhead-sized man who crushes puny men.

  Ginny tried to explain the effect on her of Dan’s effete intellectualism and his limp confidence. She despised Dan’s weaknesses. Yet, she was ashamed of her callous apathy.

  She wanted the original Dan to return: virile, confident, goal-oriented, sexy. “I’ve never been unfaithful, to answer your original question. But I can’t last much longer.”

  Ginny revealed that she had arranged for Ben to train Dan. While Betsy and Sarah discussed this fact, Ginny brooded and lost the thread of the conversation.

  “Sorry, Betsy, could you repeat that?”

  “I said, you’re asking a lot of Ben. Shouldn’t Dan see a therapist?”

  Ginny answered without thinking. “Yes, but I don’t think a shrink can help Dan with my stethy problem.” Even Ginny thought her answer was lame.

  Betsy replied sharply, “Then talk to Dan.”

  “How? We’re not communicating at this level. Besides, he has another problem.” Ginny proceeded to explain the other omitted Paris event: JJ’s revelation that data had been withheld.

  Sarah banged the table, and Betsy crossed her arms.

  “Damn it, Ginny, can’t Dan use that? No wonder he’s depressed. I’m depressed.” Betsy unfolded her arms to swing them around her head.

  “Get Ben to beat the crap out of Bill and Linda. That’s a good use of your stethy,” Sarah said, making a fist.

  Ginny shook her head. “The information can’t be proved, and if JJ were to tell anyone about it, he would risk his own job. There’s no motive. And worst of all, Dan’s too weak, too timid, to do anything about it—which brings me back to my problem. I know Dan didn’t set off my stethy, but his constant whining hasn’t helped.”

  More tears from Ginny. More sipping power drinks. Ginny wiped her eyes, stretching the silence.

  “Here’s an idea,” said Betsy. “Ask Ben about your obsession, even your fantasy.”

  Placing her glass on the table, Sarah added, “I agree. Maybe Ben’s heard of stethy, or whatever the real name is. Isn’t this what bodybuilders have?”

  “Ben knows. And bodybuilders don’t necessarily have it. Pro bodybuilders are obsessed with training and size—like any professional sports person. Even non-sports competitors, like chess players, are obsessed with what they do. That’s normal.”

  But Betsy’s suggestion did strike a chord with Ginny. Leaving the S&L Health Café, Ginny walked at a slow pace. Ben was already training Dan; could she persuade him to do more?

  Chapter 26

  Setup

  As she went through her email on Monday morning, Blanca was even more displeased with her boss than usual. Bill had sent her a detailed email outlining his unexpected return to the office Sunday night, including his late-night dining arrangements at Bel Jour France. Why the fuck do I care? He had also forwarded Linda’s email requesting he meet her at JFK because of the sensitive European documents. So she could screw him at the hotel. And finally, Bill had copied Blanca on his email to Dan requesting that he preside over the morning meetings; he had left his paperwork from Sunday night on Blanca’s desk.

  Extra work. Wait until I tell Vinnie. Vinnie had yet to respond to her two phone messages. And Bill’s email had alarmed her. Did Bill catch Vinnie when he returned early? Did Vinnie chicken out? Where are you, Vinnie?

  It wasn’t until nearly one p.m. that Bill and Linda entered the office. Bill dimmed the corridor glass as he barked to Blanca, “No interruptions of any kind, understand?”

  “Yes, Mr. Barrington, I’ll make—”

  Slam.

  Shithead. I hope you both catch an incurable disease. Blanca’s hateful thought would have to be recited at Holy Confession.

  With the door closed, Linda fidgeted, waiting for Bill to explain his cryptic comment—“One problem’s solved”—in the back of the limo ride from JFK. He’d placed his index finger to his lips when she’d asked for an explanation.

  “Geez Bill, what did you mean?”

  “Just that the homo Vinnie Briggs is no longer a problem. He’s relinquished the recording.”

  “You bought him out? That’s great. How much?” Linda was excited. Bill wasn’t sure how much detail to reveal.

  “It’ll be fifteen grand for your share of the cost.”

  “What? You paid thirty thousand? Wasn’t that a bit high?”

  Bill took his time responding, a surfeit of ideas in his head. I’m going to have to tell her more—although not that she’s paying more than half. But why shouldn’t she? I used my contacts. I took the risk. What’s she going to do, ask for an invoice?

  Bill’s chuckle caught Linda by surprise. “Well, Bill, I’m waiting.”

  “It wasn’t a payoff. Vinnie had… ‘an offer he couldn’t refuse.’ Har har, har har.”

  Linda put a hand up. “Don’t say any more. I don’t want to be involved. Not another word.”

  “Right. Give me your fucking morals. You’re in the big league now, and this is the way the world works. Y
ou should be pleased I’ve taken care of the problem.” Bill walked around and bent over Linda with a sneer. “No problem with white-collar crime. Just don’t want to get dirty, huh?”

  Bill smacked his lips. Goddamn slut. Time to get dirty, Linda.

  He offered her a scotch on the rocks. Bill had already finished half his own drink in the time it took Linda to open a sparkling Perrier from his office refrigerator. “Oh, so French, after two months in Paris.”

  “It’s in your fridge, isn’t it, chérie?”

  “Smartass. Now it’s your turn to do something for the team.” Bill finished his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Don’t give me orders. I won’t be involved in violence. And what’s left to do? With the Vinnie problem, how did you put it? Oh yes, ‘taken care of’…”

  “Vinnie Briggs isn’t enough. There’s still fucking Livorno. He’ll be looking over our shoulders. Your shoulder. He’s been angry ever since he lost to you, and he’s been asking questions. I hear he’s taken a sudden interest in retrieving the archived data that I withheld. Once he gets it, and sees that you doctored it, he’ll make the leap. And that’s game over. The recording Briggs stole would have exposed us immediately, and Livorno may take a few months, but they both end up with the same result. He needs to go.”

  “And you’ll make him an ‘offer he can’t refuse,’ too? I won’t be part of it, Bill. You’re crazy. You’re a shithead, just like everyone says.”

  First this fucking cunt refuses to take directions from me, and second—no, not second, this should be first—she called me a shithead. Bill said nothing until he had poured himself another drink.

  “We’re both at risk, Linda. Dan’s not a wimpy homo, and his wife has clout. You think I’m stupid—and don’t even think of responding to that. But I have a plan, and you play a central role. You’re going to entrap Dan on charges of rape.”

  “What? You really are out of your fucking mind. There’s no way Dan would rape me. He hates my guts.”

  Bill smiled. He, too, could not imagine Dan wanting to have sex with pug-faced Linda when his wife was the best piece of ass he’d ever seen. Bill wouldn’t mind having a go with Ginny Livorno—like that would happen in a million years.

  “You’re right, he wouldn’t. That’s why his rape will be based on anger.”

  “And how am I supposed to get Dan to try to rape me?”

  “You miss the point. He doesn’t have to actually rape or even attempt to rape you. It only has to look like it. Appearances are everything. You must know that by now.”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’m not stupid either. So what’s your goddamn genius plan?”

  With a quickness that surprised Linda, Bill was over her, his hands on the arms of her chair, his face inches from hers: a big dog facing down a small pup. “Cut the attitude. I’ve had enough.”

  Linda turned her head away from Bill’s whiskey breath.

  “Fuck it. What do I have to do?”

  Bill stood up straight and took a step back. “Good girl. The rape accusation needs an independent observer, someone impartial and credible. Can you guess who? My Puerto Rican bitch assistant Blanca. It’ll serve her right, because I know she helped Vinnie gain access to my office and computer. I’m going to enjoy it so much when she serves Dan’s head to Gary on a plate.” Piano key teeth spread across Bill’s face.

  “I like it,” Linda said. “Blanca has always treated me with disdain. I’m sure she calls me a whore behind my back.”

  “Well, she got that right.”

  Bill watched Linda’s eyebrows rise to touch her hairline. How’s that for instant payback, bitch?

  “The anger is good,” he said. “It’ll help you act. We’ll set it up a few days before you return to Paris. Vinnie Briggs’s incident will add to Livorno’s rage.”

  “And why would Dan be upset about Vinnie Briggs? You still haven’t told me that part.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. To be honest, I don’t fully know, other than that the queer won’t be cooperating with Dan.”

  “So how does this rape plan of yours work?”

  “I’ll invite you and Dan to my office. The pretext will be that we need to integrate your former Southwest division with Dan’s East Coast. So your input is necessary, if Dan questions your presence, which he won’t.”

  After further discussion, modifications were made to Bill’s plan. They sharpened the reasons why both Bill and Blanca had to go to Maria Benfatto’s office, leaving Dan alone with Linda.

  “And when and how does Dan ‘fake rape’ me?”

  “I’m not finished. While I’m out of the office, you stand up with Dan’s back to the door… you’ll have to improvise that part. I’ll leave the door open. Keep him talking until you see Blanca in the corridor. That’s when you grab Dan and push him over. You do know a few wrestling moves, don’t you? I’ll show you the night before—in your hotel. Har har, har har.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “That, too. Seriously though, you’ll need some practice. I’m bigger than Dan, so if you can push me over you’ll be able to do the same with him. Then just remember to scream and say ‘rape’ a few times. The more cursing and screaming the better—something you’re good at. Har har, har har. Wear a blouse that you can rip the buttons off of, and where it’s not too hard to tear the fabric. Then when Blanca enters the room, slap Dan’s face and roll onto the floor. You’ll need to improvise, but the physical show is important. Throw out your tits, too.”

  Bill placed his right hand, open-palmed, under his chest and motioned upward.

  “Do you have to be so crude? And I’m not at all convinced I can even touch him, much less push him down. He’s more likely to push me away.”

  “Even better! Just take hold of him any way you can. Slap him, and he might slap back, leaving a mark on your face. But none of that matters unless you’re on the floor when Blanca enters. Screams, blouse ripped, you prone, and tits flying are key for this to work. Livorno on top of you is a bonus, but not essential. Blanca will have no choice but to corroborate your physical position and your screams.”

  Bill recognized Linda’s billboard grin. “You know, this might work. I know exactly the blouse to wear: my cleavage power blouse that distracts men. The buttons are tiny and will easily rip. I can loosen some threads and slit the buttonhole to make ripping easier.”

  “That’s the spirit. Be creative. Put your acting abilities on show. Har har, har har.”

  The two collaborators left for an early supper, with a pit stop at Linda’s hotel room for a quick screw.

  Dan’s screwing would come a week later.

  II.

  Too Much

  Chapter 27

  The Call

  DV&N staff loitered in the hallway, with caws of “How was your Thanksgiving?” passed around like leftover apple pie. Dan avoided these pleasantries, taking long strides to his office. Only one conversation interested him: Vinnie’s excuse for ignoring his messages.

  The office lights were off. No Vinnie. Dan’s annoyance rose. He sat at his desk, too preoccupied and fueled with anger to complete simple tasks. Where the hell is he?

  A half hour later Dan called Shareen. “Have you seen Vinnie? Is there a staff meeting?”

  Like Dan, Shareen was puzzled. Her speculations were plausible but unconvincing: Thanksgiving travel delays; Vermont snowfall; cell phone uncharged. She’d let Dan know the minute she had news.

  Around eleven o’clock Dan’s cell rang. The caller ID flashed Vinnie’s name.

  “Vinnie! Where the hell have you been? I’ve left you messages yesterday and this morning. Couldn’t you have at least returned my calls?”

  “Hello. Is this Mr. Livorno?” came a voice from the other end of the line.

  “What? Who’s this? Who’s calling me?”

  “This is Detective Schwartz from the ninth precinct. Is this Mr. Livorno?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Livorno, you were th
e last call from this cell phone. Are you family? I need to contact Mr. Briggs’s family. What is your relationship to Mr. Briggs?”

  “Vinnie… I mean, Mr. Briggs is my assistant at DV&N—Del Vecchio & Neale. What’s this about?”

  “Mr. Briggs’s been the victim of a mugging, and he’s now in a coma at Belgravia Incare-Z Hospital. His cell phone was damaged in the assault, but our technical team was able to activate the last call function, which, like I said, was you. Do you have contact info for his relatives?”

  Dan was stunned. “I—yes, of course, Human Resources should have that information. I’ll ask them to call you immediately.”

  Dan went to the conference room door and signaled for Shareen to leave the meeting. When she joined him in the hallway, his voice had a flat tone. “Vinnie’s been mugged and…”

  Shareen’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Dan explained the situation, and Shareen hurried off to get the necessary contact information to Detective Schwartz. But her shocked expression didn’t help Dan’s thinking. This cannot be happening. This is the second time I’ve had bad news at DV&N. Fate shits all over me again.

  As he stepped back into his office, Dan covered his eyes. I’ve become them. It’s only about me. I equate my loss to Vinnie’s mugging.

  Faced with his own selfishness, Dan resolved to help Vinnie, to prove he wasn’t like Bill and Linda. He laughed at this contradictory resolution. This was how he appeared to others. He never truly thought about Vinnie’s needs—nor Ginny’s, for that matter.

  I should be punished. The cheerleader was right after all.

  ****

  A week dragged by, and Dan waited impatiently, like everyone else, for some sign that Vinnie would awaken. In the second week, Dan reduced his daily hospital visits to every other day. His presence there felt pointless anyway. He talked to Vinnie, but it was ineffective; Vinnie didn’t answer.

  Dan’s temporary assistant maintained a proper decorum, which reminded him even more of Vinnie’s absence. She never said, “The weather’s fucking awful.”

  The DV&N hallway buzzed: Would Vinnie recover? How long before he woke up? Dan avoided everyone’s questions, held back doctors’ updates. Paris was struck from his agenda, and he forgot all about follow-ups with JJ and Rodney. He kept his distance from Linda and Bill. And he increased his UltraFit sessions, which resulted in twelve pounds’ weight reduction and fifteen pounds heavier lifts. But this brought no relief from his depression—only less time with Ginny.