Berserker by Jack Lively

Author:Jack Lively [Lively, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-08-30T16:00:00+00:00

Back in DC, Undersecretary of State for Politics Victoria Neuman was eating cake. Not just any cake, a great big fluffy thing with strawberries and whipped cream, white and red and pink, where the first two were bleeding together. The mouthful was incredible, a soft and sweet fluff with hits of tart fruit amid the gloss of thickening agents in the strawberry sauce.

Bob had taken an overly ambitious bite. She watched him actually push the piece into his mouth with a forefinger. Thankfully they were with friends, one of whom guffawed at the sight. Guffaw being a word that Victoria Neuman appreciated, and had resolved not to abuse, ever.

It was midnight and she’d had six martinis over the four-course menu at Pineapple and Pearls. For a main dish she’d chosen the lobster and octopus lasagna thing, with Bob going for the Shenandoah lamb, which was of course some demented version of what the name suggested, par for the course in a two-star Michelin restaurant. Her phone rang; it was the office.

“What?”

Her assistant sounded very relaxed. “It’s a call from Kathy Jensen in Ankara. She says it’s important.”

“Tell her you couldn’t get ahold of me. I’ll call her back in the morning.” The martinis had begun to kick in just before half time on the menu, after the roasted potato ice cream with caviar.

Her assistant said, “Yeah, well, Ms. Jensen had a message for you, in case you couldn’t be reached.”

“What is it?”

“She said to tell you she was wearing red socks.”

“Oh.” She glanced at Bob, who was noticing the turn in the conversation, from a quick screw you to something that needed dealing with. She said, “Hold on a second.”

Neuman rose from the table, putting the fork into the cake plate, eyeing some part of the restaurant where she could have the conversation. Moving among the tables, still feeling good in the black dress from Alexander McQueen, as the one Melania had worn at some MET gala, the same dress everyone in DC was now craving.

The flashback.

Third year in college, Jensen was her roommate in the house, Alpha Chi Omega. A mixer with Sigma Chi. They’d started at the sorority house with pre-drinks, of which she had a hazy memory, tequila and cheap margarita mix in a blender with cucumbers, crushed ice, and mint. The party had been at the frat house, a vaguely disgusting place that smelled like a football team’s locker room. What Neuman really remembered, seared into the brain: being pushed into a bedroom by two frat boys that she already knew, shit-faced and ready to pass out but not harmless. She suddenly sobered up, terrified because the guys had turned mean on her.

Maybe it was the alcohol or they’d done too much blow, or maybe they were just evil; whatever it was, they’d pushed her down into the bed, pushed her face hard into the sheets. She remembered the feeling of a big guy’s palm on the back of her head. Other fingers grasping at her, groping at flesh, pulling at her clothes.

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