Short. His full name. Most of all he hated to be called a pimp. He said he was a CEO, an entrepreneur, a self-made man. He told Helen that he was her savior—and maybe he was. But he was, inarguably, short. Shorter than Helen, fine-boned, seemingly incapable of putting on weight although he tried just about everything to add mass to his frame. Protein shakes, heavy lifting. Not steroids, though, never steroids. He heard they gave you pimples on your back and shrank your testicles. A redhead, Val had found freckles difficult enough to surmount and had no inclination to see his testicles reduced. He had bright red hair, the orangey kind, Bozo hair, the type of hair that people are teased about. Only no one teased Val, not in all the time that Helen knew him. Occasionally a new person moving in his circles made the mistake of underestimating him, but that didn’t happen often. Most people were quick to figure out that a small man with that hair had not gotten where he was by being soft.
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