Dan attempted to order a third bottle of wine, but JJ’s wagging finger forestalled the waiter. “I must return to the office. And actually, the office is why I wanted to see you today. I should have telephoned you sooner. If only I had talked to you… What happened didn’t seem important…”
JJ told Dan about Linda Lords’s recent arrival at the Paris office, her taking command as European Director, and the customary meet-and-greet with staff. She had been pleasant enough, and the staff had reciprocated, concealing their disappointment that Dan hadn’t been selected.
“As a senior staff member, I introduced Lords to the staff,” JJ said. “Of course I knew that she had met management during the selection process, but she hadn’t met any of the support staff. When she met Antoine, our head of IT, she called him ‘Tony.’ That is his nickname, but she wouldn’t have known that—or shouldn’t have. Tony—Antoine—blushed and stumbled.”
“So they’d met before. What does that mean?”
“Everything. I quizzed Antoine about it later. Apparently Barrington was here in July to announce the creation of the European Division in Paris and a new executive director. He asked Antoine to his hotel.”
Dan raised his eyebrows. “Why would he need to see the head of IT off-site?”
JJ nodded. “Exactly. Antoine said that Linda was waiting for them both back at Bill’s hotel; that’s when she met him. Bill and Linda told Antoine that there were some concerns about possible corporate espionage, and that as a result, all data was embargoed—and any data requests required Bill’s explicit approval. Moreover, Antoine was told that in order to catch the spy, secrecy was paramount. He’d lose his job if he were to reveal this embargo, or the hotel meeting, to anyone. He only told me because I questioned him about it directly—and, I suppose, Linda had insulted him with her informality upon arrival, unlike my long-standing friendship with Tony. Frankly, he seemed relieved to get it off his chest.”
Dan’s face flushed. “I was told the French screwed up the request—something to do with a strike. And that a technical problem blocked the New Jersey backup archives. You’re saying all of that was Bill Barrington’s bullshit?”
“Yes, bullshit is a good word for it.”
Chapter 13
Return Voyage
Papers on the desk sat in disarray, a ballpoint pen clicked in Vinnie’s fingers, and he rose for the third time to look into Dan’s office. He had been anticipating Dan’s return, and Dan was late. Sure, the days of Dan beating everyone to the office after his thirty pool laps were long gone; no more pool, no early rise. But this was late even for the new Dan. Here it was, nine forty-five, and there was no sign of Vinnie’s boss with his coffee and a bag of donuts.
Why the fuck isn’t he here? It’s nearly ten.
Vinnie had cleaned Dan’s desk and checked all the plans, but he did it all again as he watched the doorway.
Finally, without fanfare, Dan arrived. Yet even then, he hesitated for just a beat at the threshold to his own office—a cat’s entrance. At last Dan meandered to his desk, throwing his overcoat onto a chair and making only a small acknowledgment of Vinnie’s presence.
Vinnie’s blank stare hid his thought: What the fuck happened in Paris?
“Hi, Dan, welcome back. How was Paris? I read about Ginny’s success.”
With a slight lift of Dan’s chin, the slow reply came: “Thanks. It was a great show. I wish you’d been there. You’d have loved it, and I could have used your help in identifying who was who.” Dan stared blankly at his clean desk’s empty surface.
“I’m pleased for Ginny. I read about the fireworks inside the kettledrums. That must’ve been fantastic.”
That was apparently enough small talk for Dan, because his only response was, “Vinnie, there’s something we need to talk about. But let me catch up first. I’ll start with a review of your notes during my absence, and then we can look at this week’s schedule. Give me an hour.”
“Sure thing, boss,” said Vinnie, feeling… well, Vinnie didn’t know how he felt. Dan was acting weird. His responses were weird. Everything felt weird.
Vinnie grabbed Dan’s overcoat and hung it in the office closet, closing the door with care as he left.
****
The computer hummed to attention in the time it took Dan to replace his winter boots—an early snow had dusted New York—with office loafers. He calculated the six hours’ difference between Paris and New York and concluded it was mid-afternoon for JJ. As if due to his wish alone, right then his direct line rang. One ring was all it took.
“Bonjour, Dan. Did you have a good flight back? How are you feeling? How is Ginny? Did you have your special last night in Paris? Don’t tell me, I will be too jealous. What is the status at headquarters?” As JJ ticked through his rapid-fire questions, Dan drummed his fingers on his desk.
“We’re fine. Ginny and I want to thank you and Marion for your wonderful hospitality.”
“Our pleasure. Now tell me what you’ve learned.”
“JJ, this is my first day back and it’s not yet eleven in the morning—actually ten forty-six and two seconds. I was hoping it would be you with more information.”
“Oh, mon ami, nothing yet. I wanted to meet with Antoine today but he’s not here. His wife’s not well, so he stayed home to care for his infant. This is his right under French work laws. Let’s hope his wife has a speedy recovery. I’ll try again on Monday.”
A few additional exchanges on weather and matters unrelated to DV&N ended the conversation. Dan had hoped for more.
His next call was to Rodney in IT.
“Sorry Mister Livorno, Rodney’s with the group in a staff meeting,” said the IT receptionist. “I’ll let him know you called. They should be done at eleven-thirty.” A glance again at his clock, and Dan considered his options. Okay, that left him enough time to update Vinnie.
****
The inner corridor window was shaded before Vinnie even walked into the room. Vinnie knew that meant this was either a sensitive corporate matter or he was being fired—and he felt confident it was the former.
Placing the window remote in his desk drawer, Dan quickly informed Vinnie of Jean-Jacques’s revelation regarding Antoine, aka Tony, who had been instructed to hold all data.
Vinnie’s response was, predictably, a sequence of swearwords; but this time Vinnie went unchastised.
“I have news, too,” said Vinnie after he finished his swearing. “Bill’s and Linda’s calendars were adjusted for the so-called California crisis long before it even happened. They knew it was coming. And now, with your information, we have proof that this was a setup. We should tell Gary.”
“Not yet. Gary’s already warned me. This has to be a rock-solid case, more Perry Mason and less Rebus.”
“Don’t know who you’re talking about. I know about Perry Mason—saw all the old reruns with Raymond Burr, but the other one… don’t have a clue.”
“Rebus is… never mind. The point I’m making is that there can’t be any doubt. Everything we have is circumstantial; it makes it pretty clear they were up to something, but at this point that alone will not be enough. We have to have actual proof that Barrington and Lords manipulated the presentation. And we have to know why. Facts alone will not be enough. Gary will want a motive.”
“They’re screwing their brains out. What’s wrong with that for motive?” asked Vinnie.
“Two things. First, sex is less frequent with five thousand miles’ separation. Second, if I had gotten the European job, Linda would have taken over my position, increasing their sexual opportunities to pretty much limitless.”
“You mean I’d have worked for Linda? Fuck that. Never. I’d have come to work every day in farmer’s overalls and a mask to cover the rude smell surrounding Miss Piggy.”
“Vinnie, focus. Linda’s not coming. And we had arranged for you to go to NYU, which by the way, you should still do… I want you to enroll for the spring term. What might have happened doesn’t ma
tter. But let’s get back to the next step.
“I’m certain there’s more to the data holdup than just screwing me. Barrington requested all data pass through him, so I’ll check on that as soon as Rodney returns my call. In the meantime, could you review calendar dates and go back even further? Try six to eight months, especially for Paris trips for Bill and Linda.”
Walking out of the office with a swagger that may or may not have been Raymond Burr as Perry Mason, Vinnie said, “Okay, boss.”
Chapter 14
Family Membership Upgrade
The Swinburne family, like the rest of America, anticipated Thanksgiving, the busiest holiday of the year. Aside from travel plans for out-of-towners, the main focus was on the food: turkey size, cranberry recipes, traditional stuffing—with one new version—and, of course, several kinds of pies.
Thanksgiving dinner had been Ginny’s most cherished event at her Connecticut homestead. Of course, the holiday did have its drawbacks, not the least of which was being sequestered with family members—boors or opinionated—for hours or even days. Even the best of friends could become overbearing after eight hours; families could be even worse. And the Swinburne household was not immune to spats—probably more than the average family if such statistics existed—often provoked by Dr. Anna Swinburne, matriarch extraordinaire, whose lack of self-censorship encouraged others to speak their minds just as plainly. Of course, Anna Swinburne claimed that her candid manner had an academic bent and was for the benefit of others: “kindness through knowledge,” she said. The prevailing family opinion was that Anna’s claim was nothing but a self-serving rationalization. And in the spirit of “kindness,” they often told her so.
Still, for all the pitfalls, Ginny’s close relationship with her family made these minor irritations irrelevant to her enjoyment of the holiday. So every year, in the week leading up to the fourth Thursday in November, Ginny looked forward to the get-together with great anticipation.
But not this year.
As she looked around the condo, Ginny suddenly felt like the furniture seemed small, and the Thanksgiving decorations—piled in the far corner waiting to be loaded in the car—were inadequate to fill the emptiness. Ginny felt an absence of the love, the sex, the laughs, the intellectual exchanges, the friendship she’d once had with Dan. Her thoughts wandered. Dan promised me unconditional love. Did I reciprocate? For the last year I’ve withdrawn from him, and he from me. We’re both at fault. But I can’t help my actions—they’re part of my psychological makeup.
Maybe Dan’s are too.
Paris weighed heavily on Ginny in the week leading up to Thanksgiving. She had to make a decision or she felt she would implode. And there was only one real decision to make: she would refuse the Bloomingdale’s job. It no longer mattered. Her life was out of control; moving to Paris would only make things worse. And just as importantly, she could not allow herself to succumb to her stethy. If she couldn’t surmount her personal demons, then her marriage was doomed. And not just this marriage—any marriage. She would never be able to maintain a serious relationship so long as she was enslaved to her irrational desire. And without love, affection, devotion, trust—she had nothing. She had loved Dan, and she would not allow that love to be smothered by an obsession.
But she still thought that Ben could really help Dan get through his depression and confidence issues. It wasn’t about her fantasy; it was about Dan. Not that anyone would believe that. She knew that Ben wouldn’t like her to repeat a request he’d already refused twice, and there was no question Dan wouldn’t want her pushing Ben on him as a personal trainer.
So if she was to make this work, she would need two stories, one hand-tailored to each man—with overlap, of course, should they quiz each other.
****
Ben stood from his desk to greet Ginny, then escorted her to the guest chair in his office. “Ginny, why are you here? What is it that couldn’t wait until our next session?”
Before Paris, Ginny had believed she could never convince Ben to be Dan’s personal trainer, much less pose for her and Dan to fulfill her sexual fantasy. She still wanted both—there was no denying that—but she would keep her focus on Dan’s need. Ginny had analyzed Ben’s prior refusals, especially her fantasy about him posing in her condo. Sarah and Betsy had been incredulous when she’d told them about the idea; they’d lampooned her logic and praised Ben’s refusal. But now Ginny believed she understood where she’d gone wrong in her approach to Ben.
Her appeal needed to do three things: gain his empathy, gain his sympathy, and place his need for her intellectual companionship at risk.
With a whispering hush, Ginny filled Ben in on the Paris assault, watching Ben’s chest expand until his T-shirt stretched to its tensile limit. Empathy, check.
She sighed as she recounted Dan’s hesitation. She told Ben her marriage was about to end. “Geez Ginny, I’m sorry.” Sympathy, check.
A long pause, and then Ben lightly coughed into his closed fist. Ginny finally spit the words out.
“Ben, I’ll have to leave New York. I don’t know if I’ll go to Paris, but I can’t stay here. I just can’t be around Dan much longer in his state. It’s affecting me.”
“I’m sorry, Ginny. And I’ll be very sorry to see you go.”
Ginny leaned forward. “Ben, I was wondering if… well, I would like you to train Dan.”
Silence followed.
“Ben… ah, Ben… if I leave Dan, leave the city, I’ll no longer be your client.”
“Sure, Ginny. Just like if you had moved to Paris.”
“Yes, but in that case we’d have remained close friends.” Even as she said the words, Ginny felt guilty. I’m blackmailing him. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I’m not saying it would be a conscious decision. That’s just what happens when people move away. Especially if they—rightly or wrongly—feel a friend refused to help them. Ben, if you must refuse because of your principles, then of course you should.”
Whack. A blind shot and a bull’s-eye.
Again, silence. Ginny decided she’d have to go all the way. She had crossed the threshold anyway; now she would reveal her secret, the part she had promised herself she wouldn’t tell.
“Do you know about sthenolagnia, Ben?”
“Of course. It’s common knowledge among bodybuilders. Some say it’s an urban myth, and some believe it explains bodybuilding, or at least why many people attend contests. I’m undecided, but… well, I’ve suspected you had a form of it. You know, sometimes you’re kind of obvious when you go around asking men to flex.”
Ginny wasn’t pleased about that remark. She normally would have told Ben to go fuck himself, but not today.
“So you know the syndrome manifests differently among people?” Ginny went on to summarize her experiences with stethy, her mother’s diagnosis, and various fantasies. And once she got started, the words just spilled out. Before she knew it, she had confessed more than she had ever confessed to anyone—although she had stopped short of revealing her ultimate fantasy about Ben and Dan.
“I’m going to say something I thought I’d never say,” Ginny concluded. “I’ve become fixated on wanting Dan to have incredible power and brawn. But Paris… it’s completely emasculated him. He’s flabby, weak in both body and mind. I need Dan to be manly again for me, and not just his muscles, but his mental attitude. Ben, I know you can help Dan develop his physique and return his confidence.”
Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Ginny held up the palm of her hand. “Let me finish. You’ve told me what you’ve done for bodybuilders, men demoralized after defeat in a competition they should have won. You rescued them—and you can rescue Dan… and me. Please help. Please.”
Clarence-Ginny-Darrow waited for the one-man jury to rule.
Ben examined the backs of his hands. “Listen carefully. I’m not going to try to persuade Dan. Do you understand? Dan has to be the one to ask me to train him.”
Ginny’s leap wa
s the kind seen at basketball games. Victory.
As Ginny left Ben’s office, he held the door for her, as he had on her arrival. Ginny grabbed his rock-hard shoulders and pulled—which moved her closer to him—then gave him an open-mouth kiss: her paperless contract.
Two passing female patrons commented. “I thought he was gay.” “He is gay.” “Maybe he’s bi.” “I wish he’d be bi with me.” Laughter followed them into the women’s locker room.
Back at the front desk, Ginny asked Steve to book an appointment for Dan to meet Ben on the Friday after Thanksgiving; she wanted to preempt the possibility of Ben “inadvertently” overbooking.
“Yes, Ben knows,” she said in response to Steve’s question. “And Steve, remind Ben to wipe the lipstick off his face.” She smiled, her finger touching her bottom lip. Steve would pass on the message and Ben would understand: “Fuck you, Ben, for your smug sthenolagnia remark.”
The front door to the condo seemed heavier than usual as Ginny pushed it open. Her second round was about to begin. She had imagined this would be an even harder sell, so she was surprised when Dan acquiesced to the idea after only two simple questions: “When? And what time?”
Ginny should have felt joy, but she didn’t. She had interpreted Dan’s easy capitulation as further proof of his weakness, his emasculation, and his depression.
Chapter 15
Hard Liquor for the Girls
At about the same time that Ginny was leaving Ben’s office, Shareen and Blanca were sitting in a corner booth at one of their favorite post-work taverns, discussing their holiday plans. Like everyone else at DV&N, they were exhausted from six weeks of long, frenetic workdays. All staff had been mobilized for the European division announcement, and in addition, the two women had the self-inflicted burden of reviewing their bosses’ prior six months’ worth of appointments.
Shareen ordered a Jack Daniel’s and soda and Blanca ordered her favorite Mexican beer—Dos Equis—with two slices of lime. Maria joined them a few minutes later with a cafe latte.
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