Ice Cream Man

by Charles Puccia

  The criminal’s logical decision-tree process fascinated Dan. “Do we ask at the restaurant?”

  “Not us—we can’t be seen. The person has to fit in, which rules out anyone I know.”

  Dan had the opposite problem: he knew people that would fit the restaurant, but not the situation.

  Ben walked in while they talked, piling food on the table. He’d overheard, and he offered a solution to their dilemma.

  ****

  Without knowing why, Blanca arrived later that day to see Vinnie, two days ahead of her planned visit. She had hastily arranged for her husband to pick up their kids from school. It was a normal visit until Ben interrupted them, asking Blanca for another private conversation.

  Vinnie agreed, but he did grumble, “This is becoming a fuckin’ habit and I’m the fuckin’ patient, remember?”

  When Ben and Blanca were alone, he asked her, “Do you know the maître d’ at Bel Jour France?”

  “Yes, Lucien—not personally, but we speak often. His real name is Harry, Harry Finkelstein. Do you want his number?”

  Ben shook his head and held up his hand. “I need a quick reservation for two, and I heard they’re difficult to get on short notice. Could you…?”

  “No problem. I’m sure Harry will do it for me.”

  “It would be for the two of us.”

  Ben’s chin rested in his hand. Blanca’s hands moved to her face.

  “It’s not a date—remember I’m gay. This is important for Vinnie and Dan. I can’t explain, though; you’ll just have to take my word. If it’s too much to ask, I’ll find someone—”

  Blanca slapped Ben’s arm, shaking her hand after. “Are you kidding? Anything to help, plus dinner at a posh French restaurant to boot! I’m in. Be forewarned though: I have one hell of an appetite.” Blanca patted her stomach. “Not wafer-thin, and I drink too.”

  “That’s great. Thanks, Blanca. When can you make it?”

  “In two days Linda arrives from Paris, an unscheduled return visit. Bill always leaves early to ‘help’ her. Yeah, right.” Blanca pumped her right arm. Ben turned crimson. “Anyway, it gives me leeway in the afternoon.”

  They made arrangements for the same day as Linda’s arrival. Ben would pick up Blanca at six-thirty in front of the Hawthorne Building in his maroon Audi A8, vanity plate UFIT-1.

  “And not a word to Vinnie about our dinner. Who knows what’d he say.”

  They laughed with their throats, but not their eyes.

  Chapter 53

  Dinner Date

  The Audi double-parked outside the Hawthorne Building. Blanca flew out the revolving door, ignoring the cold and removing her overcoat with a twirl. She wanted to show off her perfect outfit: Ginny had selected it and Ben had paid. A Bloomingdale’s courier delivery had arrived shortly before five.

  Blanca’s beige skirt, knee-length and straight, had small flecks of gold running in vertical spirals. Her off-white blouse, embroidered with pastel flowers, revealed sufficient cleavage, and the back was cut low, displaying a significant amount of Blanca’s silky brown skin. Silver, tube-shaped earrings, long and thin, offset her round face; each tube contained five semiprecious rubies, and the theme was repeated in the necklace’s two-inch silver cylinder with a large revolving ruby. The necklace dangled above Blanca’s cleavage, accentuating her ample breasts.

  With red, three-inch heels—open-toed, with straps wrapping her delicate ankles—Blanca danced in her shoes to the car. Her lipstick matched the ruby stones.

  Stretching across the passenger seat, Ben opened the door with a whistle. “You’re beautiful! I’ve just become straight, and to hell with your husband. Honestly, you look magnificent.”

  Blanca blushed, every bit a teenager. “This outfit is unbelievable. I could never afford anything like this. No sauce for me tonight. You’ll be able to return it unmarked. The shoes stay, though. I’ll take out a second mortgage tomorrow.”

  Ben’s smile matched the glowing dashboard, and he shifted from first to third, both engine and man humming.

  ****

  The Audi glided into Bel Jour France’s parking lot and the valet opened Blanca’s door. He had seen a lot of expensive jewelry and high-priced clothing, all crass on rich people with no taste. But this was something else, a rare elegance. He held the door while high heels hit the ground like syrup flowing on a sundae. Ben exited before the valet got around to his side. The refrigerator stepped out, causing the valet to step back.

  Lucien escorted the couple to a choice location, their seats angled so both could see the entire room. As he returned to his dais, Lucien was perplexed. Why did Mr. Barrington bring trash to dinner when he had such a beautiful administrative assistant? He smiled at Blanca’s pretentious title, without considering his own name change from Harry to Lucien by Bel Jour France’s proprietors: Silvia and Arnold Grossman of Englewood, New Jersey.

  Dinner conversation began with history. Blanca’s troubled youth and her marriage to her childhood friend, Alejandro—Jandro. The two Puerto Rican kids escaped the gangs and the Bronx, and they now owed a mortgage on a small colonial in Garden City for their two boys. No dog or station wagon yet, but coming soon. When it was Ben’s turn to tell his own history, he chose to skip over the tragedies in his life, skimming past most of Davis McGregor III only to reveal his ultimate acquisition of UltraFit. He had accepted his homosexuality in his mid-twenties, when he started bodybuilding.

  “That was your entry into the gay world?” Blanca saw Ben’s slight smile. “I’m sorry, did I say the wrong thing?”

  “No. I was waiting for you to say that. Everyone does, like clockwork.”

  Now Blanca smiled. “You set me up, didn’t you? I’d beat the crap out of you if I could.”

  Laughing, Ben tapped Blanca’s hand. “In my case, I fit the stereotype, but I’m not the norm.”

  “Then why did you start bodybuilding?”

  “Drawn to it, I guess. It happened in college. Something clicked. I started to lift weights, and good genetics or whatever, but my body responded. I became strong, and my size increased. I liked it. Why does someone become a professional tennis player? Money? Maybe, but before that they have an obsession with tennis. Same for any sport, really. But god forbid it’s a sport society deems unusual, like ballet for men or boxing for women. The person must be a deviant.”

  This time Blanca tapped Ben’s hand. “I sort of get it. But if I’m totally honest, playing tennis doesn’t seem the same as bodybuilding. Don’t you agree? I mean, tennis requires skill and dedication besides physical exertion.” Blanca stopped. “Did I offend you again?”

  “No offense taken. Sure, tennis requires skill. Now imagine lifting three hundred and fifty pounds over your head or five hundred pounds off your chest. Maybe it’s not a skill in the same way hitting a ball is, but it takes dedication. And lifting isn’t enough. Bodybuilders need to diet, understand nutrition, metabolism, and—unfortunately—take drugs. But you know bodybuilding isn’t the only sport with drugs.”

  “Did you do drugs? Can I ask you that?”

  “You know, I’m enjoying this conversation. From someone else, it would be judgmental, but not you. I think you honestly want to know—there’s no cruelty or mocking.”

  Blanca’s hand covered her face. “I would never mock you. I want to know because I have two boys and I want to be prepared. One or both might be gay. Or be interested in bodybuilding, or ballet, or who knows what. I want to be ready to accept and support them. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “To answer your question, yes, I did steroids. I’d never have made it into the pros without them. I didn’t do as much as others—probably good genetics gave me quicker gains. I’ve quit using for reasons I won’t go into. I’ve learned about nutrition. For example, tonight’s entire meal is an antipasto to me. And when we leave, I’ll go home, cook two steaks, a half pot of rice, and drink a quart protein shake.”

  “I wish I could do that. Look at me. I’ve gone to pot… no,
I’ve become the pot. I wish I could lose some pounds.”

  “Now that talk I won’t tolerate. You’re beautiful. However, if—and I say this without trying to influence you—if you do decide you want to reduce, then let me know. I have a great nutritionist on my staff. And my personal trainers are the best. Of course, should you decide to take up bodybuilding, there’s me.”

  The laugh from Blanca shook her water glass.

  A serious look crossed Ben’s face. “You’ve never been to a bodybuilding show, I presume?”

  With a tilt of her head, Blanca said, “No, and I can’t imagine going.”

  Ben wagged his finger. “I’m inviting you to the next regional. I’m the guest poser. You’ll have the grand tour backstage and see men and women at different stages of development. And, again I say with no pressure, if you want to exercise, or lose weight, then you have an unlimited guest pass at my gym. Agreed?”

  Blanca pretended to flex her arm and feel her muscle. “Let me think about it. I’m not sure I’m ready to look like you.”

  This time it was Ben’s laugh that shook the glass. He flexed his pectorals so his shirt moved. “What, you don’t want to do this?”

  Blanca giggled.

  “Want to touch?” Ben said. “I’ll let you if you’ll let me.”

  Blanca picked up her knife and said, “Just try.”

  Heads turned at the uncontrolled laughter.

  Ben said, “Your threat might be more menacing if you hadn’t picked up the butter knife.”

  The two companions finished their meal, along with a one hundred and forty dollar bottle of wine. Blanca consumed most of the latter, given that Ben was the designated driver. Blanca now slouched, smiled, and grinned at random.

  “Jandro and I could never have afforded to come here. I can’t thank you enough. And I meant what I said about returning my clothes. See, not a crumb anywhere.”

  “They’re yours. My gift.”

  “No way. These must’ve cost a fortune. And the shoes… wow. I’ll sleep with them. Jandro can move to the couch. But I’ll box them up tomorrow.”

  “No argument: they’re my gift, for being such a good friend to Vinnie, and for your help tonight. Please, it would make me very happy. Can’t you do this for me? For Vinnie? I’m begging, really.”

  A small tear formed in Ben’s eyes. Blanca didn’t understand. What happened?

  “Ben, you’re the most wonderful man, generous and kind. I’ll divorce my husband and marry you, even if you’re gay. Vinnie will have to fight me for you.”

  Blanca stopped talking suddenly and covered her mouth.

  Ben leaned forward. “What did you say?”

  “Just that you’re kind and I accept your gift.”

  “Blanca Santos, you tell me now. What about Vinnie?” Ben’s face darkened and his chest expanded.

  “It’s not my place. I’ve had too much wine.” Blanca leaned back, but Ben didn’t. “Okay, fine, here’s the lowdown. Vinnie really likes you. Uh, this is in confidence, I might add, so this screws me royally. Vinnie’s confused. Please don’t be mad at him… that’s just Vinnie. Don’t be mad with him, please.”

  “Mad? Are you crazy? This makes the night perfect. I’ve had strong feelings for Vinnie for a long time. I can’t say I love him, but I want to give it a go. There’s something that’s grown over the last weeks… my heart pounds every time I’m with him. Should I say something? Ask him out when he’s better?” Ben stared into Blanca’s eyes.

  “You’d be crazy not to, and Vinnie would be just as crazy if he didn’t accept. He will, though. You two are right for each other; I can tell.”

  Ben smiled and stood. “Well, time to get to work. Follow my directions and ignore whatever I say that doesn’t make sense. Just follow my lead. Lucien and I need to chat.”

  Chapter 54

  Return to the Bedroom

  Perhaps it was just relief, or fear, but Ginny found herself desiring Dan. Maybe it was his quick action, his mobilizing Ben and Big John. Dan’s decision-making had been effective. This was unlike Paris—and here the stakes were much higher. This wasn’t a ranting little Parisian, but mobsters that murdered with impunity.

  But whatever the reason, Ginny felt a stir, a sense that she’d passed her stethy obsession. The only way to prove it was to have Dan in their bedroom. She’d test her theory, hoping to create a new beginning.

  Dan felt her mood. Ginny started with shooting-star kisses. His arms curled around her, forcing their bodies to meld. He observed everything with predatory eyes. He lowered her zipper, each notch unfolding dress and revealing skin. His first date trembles returned, the shyness of unfamiliarity, the areas unknown, unexplored.

  Her dress dropped, and Dan’s shirt was flung aside. Dan’s hand stretched out and held Ginny’s buttocks, kneading rocks.

  Stepping back, Ginny made a slow turn. Quotation marks formed Ginny’s ass as her spindled calves toe-stepped over discarded undergarments. Dan struggled to keep himself from charging her; immolation was guaranteed. He wanted to crease her, fold her over, consume her.

  Her disrobe was just a prelude. She bent at her waist, legs spread, ass spread, and her arch gave Dan all he desired.

  She fanned his flame: “Come rub me.”

  His limbs flashed his response, pants and briefs dropping, arms outstretched.

  Ginny placed her forehead to the floor, her between-the-legs view showing Dan moving forward. When he made contact, the impact moved her legs. Ginny steadied herself with one hand on the side of the bed. With her free hand, she searched behind her to grab hold of Dan. Her desire intensified.

  His actions came unplanned. He toe-lifted his body, his penis sliding up Ginny’s backside, his hands on her firm bulbous ass. Then, with his hands anchored, Dan gave way to his aching organs. His cock rubbed along Ginny’s anus; the friction increased his craving. He dipped, allowing his spring-loaded penis to brush Ginny’s vagina. Dan did not seek palliation but encouragement.

  Ginny obliged—for him and her. She wrapped her hand around Dan’s cock, wanting to pop the top and sate her appetite. She felt Dan’s firm six-pack rub against her ass as his penis went farther between her legs. Harder, she thought. She wanted Dan’s washboard abdominals to scrub her. She swallowed her breaths, appearing to inhale Dan. Her voice hushed instructions: “Closer, move your abs tight against me.”

  Dan accepted Ginny’s direction. He acceded when he should have overruled. He moved in, waiting for her next directive, the initiative all hers.

  He missed the subtle change. Ginny had barked instructions, and he had responded. He’d only wanted to quell his ache, his desire to enter her; his sexual drive took no notice of mental shifts. The point for him was climax, nothing more.

  But not for Ginny. She had abandoned her thought to invite Ben for a return session when she became convinced that Dan’s recent actions had sublimated her desire. For her, this night needed to prove her right. Dan would take charge, know what to do, show his strength in both body and mind.

  “Hold my breasts. Press into my back.”

  With his arms outstretched, Dan clasped the firm mounds. Each hand grasp caused shivers. He twisted Ginny’s Q-tip nipples, and for each swirl of his thumb and index finger his balls moved higher and his penis pulsed. Every ache in him was derived from Ginny’s body. He’d take directions all night to feel like this.

  She knew what Dan wanted—what she wanted too. She’d let him release, allow him his joy, take whatever she could. Her toes and legs pushed up, which raised her rear and pulled Dan along her back, his hand unwilling to release her breasts. Then she gave him a choice as a means of forcing him to take over: “Lipstick or Vaseline?”

  “Shaving cream.” Dan whispered.

  “Kinky.” He’d made a decision—and not one she had expected. Her smile was restored.

  When Dan returned from the en suite, Ginny was on her back, her V-spread legs across the bed. He handed her the tube and kneeled between her legs, his flag
pole at full parade.

  “What’s this?” Ginny said. “This isn’t cream, it’s shaving gel.”

  “I switched from cream to gel. I read it gives a better shave. Let’s see how it works here.”

  Assertive, Ginny thought. She heated up. She squeezed, and her palm filled Texas oilrig style.

  “Too much.” Dan didn’t want a soaking.

  “Not from this angle.” Ginny motioned Dan to kneel closer. But instead he shifted and moved to squat, his arrowhead aimed high, cool air entering his anus.

  This was her decision. Ginny slathered, feeling Dan’s hardness, wanting it to enter, the vein pulsing blood with her every stroke. She desired this, squeezing his root before returning to his mushroom tip.

  A breeze tickled him; he balanced on his toes while using Ginny’s breasts for support. His index finger extracted gel, which he spread across Ginny’s nipples, twirling. They were perfect. Dan felt joy with every touch; he was at the pinnacle of his desire. And he saw Ginny’s smile, another cause for joy.

  “More gel. Lube me again.” Dan’s bass voice was stern.

  Ginny massaged Dan’s penis, pleased with his manly lecture. Her desire now matched his; she wanted him to insert, and pure animal instinct took hold. Her vagina was ready, yet she did not rush. She had Dan spit-polish shined, yet she held him back, making the eventual entry count for more.

  Dan’s mitten hands continued to palm Ginny’s breasts. He gave her the next instruction. “Lift up.”

  If she did, Ginny knew this would complete his entry—and it was too soon for her. So she side-rolled underneath Dan’s straddle. Every region inside her was excited. She wanted this, needed it. She raised her top leg, impeding Dan’s passage further.

  “Let me turn you over,” Dan said. “I can’t get into you this way.”