The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene

by David Carter

  Gringo continued to gaze that way, and at Naomi’s husband Jackson beyond. For a moment the two men found eye contact and Jackson rolled his eyebrows, set his bottle down on the bar, and hurried down the wooden steps to the tiny basement, ostensibly to check on how the lager was running.

  ‘It’s a strange business,’ said Gringo.

  ‘Life is a strange business,’ said Melanie, hugging his arm and pulling herself closer, before pecking him on the cheek, just as his mother had done when seeing him off to school. ‘We just have to make the best of it. We need to find happiness where we can. In the end, Gringo, happiness is all there is.’

  Sixty

  He collected Linda from her flat at just gone eight and took her to a quiet steak bar where the food was good and the service better. She’d slipped on a black leather skirt and tight blouse, and judging by the fragrant heat she radiated, she’d recently taken a bath, and all through the meal she gave him come-and-get-me signals that a bloke on an aircraft carrier with hand-boards would have been proud of.

  Afterwards she suggested returning to her flat, which might mean he’d get the brush off on the doorstep, but it didn’t happen that way.

  In truth, she preferred men in her own bed to playing away. She was happier staring at her pristine clean ceiling. There were never any cobwebs on display in Linda Drayton’s neat flat, and the white ceiling emulsion was religiously renewed every January, as if it were an old Drayton family ritual.

  As for Gringo, he rid himself of some of his frustrations, still thinking of Glen. He could never keep her entirely from his mind, not of seducing her, or having her, as he was having the nurse right there, but of the cold conversation he had put them through when he’d rung her on the Sunday evening.

  ‘I am sorry about what I said.’

  ‘I seem to rub you up the wrong way.’

  ‘Can we go out again and make a better fist of it.’

  ‘Yeah sure, Gringo, but not just yet, eh? I’ve a busy week ahead.’

  Oh yeah, he remembered now. What was it she had said?

  My personal life is so complicated at the moment I don’t know whether I am coming or going.

  Lovely. Just what a man wants to hear.

  Linda was busy examining the light fitting. It was chrome and modern, but were these things still in fashion? Maybe she ought to check it out at the upmarket home furnishings superstore on the edge of town. Come to think of it, she’d seen differing pieces of equipment in some of the Homes magazines she sometimes flipped through in the big newsagents on the high street. Smoked glass seemed to be the in thing.

  Gringo was full of beans that night. You had to give the man his due. He didn’t lack stamina. A man with purpose, that’s what he was, so she imagined, and women are always attracted to a purposeful man.

  She let out a sigh and smiled at his instant response.

  She planned to be pregnant by the end of the month. She hoped she might be pregnant now. She sighed again, louder and more wanton. It was time the man lodged his missile into the bull’s-eye.

  Some time later as they lay together Gringo said: ‘You are on the pill, aren’t you?’

  Melanie’s recent revelations contributed to bringing that thought to the fore, but the question surprised Linda; and it wasn’t an altogether happy surprise.

  ‘Course I am,’ she said in a rush, and she reached over to the bedside table and produced a half used strip of pills.

  ‘See?’

  Gringo nodded and nuzzled into her dormant breasts.

  ‘Just checking.’

  She stroked his head and smiled to herself and recalled flushing the last six pills down the loo. Just as well she had.

  ‘I’d like you to go soon,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you here in the morning. I don’t want to look cheap.’

  Given the choice he would have stayed till breakfast, but it wasn’t unusual to be turfed out into the cold night air once the deed had been done.

  ‘But before you go, you can do me again if you want.’

  How romantic, he thought, but the truth was, he was going to do her again, as she put it, whether she wanted to or not, for he still possessed pent up anger over Miss Martin, and her damned busy personal life, anger and angst that seemingly whatever he did, would not go away.

  Later as he drove home he was still thinking of Glen, and especially where she might be at that moment, and more importantly, who she was with, and what she was doing, right at that very second; as he glanced down at the dashboard clock. 2.32. It didn’t bear thinking about. He hated everything about it. He buzzed down the window, searching for cold air to clear his head, and keep him awake.

  He was approaching the Argosy Hotel where the traffic lights were on red. The good old Argosy, a regular watering hole of his, old fashioned quality at its very best, now Arab owned, but still one of the best hotels in the city. At least they’d had the good sense not to re-christen it the Gulf Argosy, or something equally crass. He braked at the lights and pulled the car to a standstill.

  A brand new sky blue Jaguar was coming the other way. At the last moment it dipped into the forecourt of the hotel and eased to a stop. Gringo glanced at the traffic lights. Still red. He looked back at the Jag and wondered whether he should consider acquiring such an impressive beast. What was it his long dead pal Eddie Wishaw had called his very first car, that old red Ford coupé that he’d saved so hard for? A fanny magnet, that was the phrase, a dreadful expression that Gringo would never have used, but one that described exactly what that old car became, but then again, Eddie Wishaw was a walking fanny magnet in himself, whether he turned up in a car, or on an old set of buckled and rusty roller skates, it wouldn’t have made one jot of difference.

  A striking girl jumped out of the fanny magnet, the Jaguar, and giggled aloud, as if she had spent an enjoyable evening on the drink, or maybe she was just loved up. She jauntily made her way toward the steps. Christ she was pretty. Dusky and very sexy in what looked like a dark green skirt, a skirt that showed off her neat butt to its best, though the sodium lights and tiredness might have been playing tricks on Gringo’s eyes and brain.

  The young woman giggled again, the happy sound floating on the crisp night air, as she trotted up the stairs on uncertain shoes, and threw herself at the brass revolving door, before disappearing inside.

  The girl was Maria.

  Gringo’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. A guy jumped from the car and ran after her, a faintly arthritic jog in his best business suit, his gaudy silk tie out and swinging from side to side.

  ‘I’m going to get you!’ he shouted toward the door.

  Gringo watched him gingerly negotiate the stone steps, the bloke’s eyes fixed on the doorway. The traffic lights had now turned green. For a moment it didn’t matter, not at that time of night, for there was little traffic about.

  The guy was Raman Ganesh.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Gringo aloud, as a taxi came up behind him. Gringo moved off and relived in his mind what he had just witnessed. A pretty twenty-six year old girl cavorting into a top hotel, clearly on a high, at coming up to three in the morning, a girl he still considered to be one of his girlfriends, a woman he believed it would only be a matter of time before she was back in his bed, and there she was, being chased by the randy proprietor of the Bombay Kings, a man with clearly one thing on his mind, a man who must have been fifty, if he was a day.

  What on earth could she see in an old git like him?

  He thought of the Jaguar again, the fanny magnet, and the bustling and profitable restaurant Ganesh owned, and his background in preparing and cooking the very best meals, the precise cuisine that she so adored, while Maria herself was such a hopeless cook, and maybe, just maybe, he could see some pointers falling into place as to what she might see in the suave and debonair and wealthy Mister Raman Ganesh.

  Gringo’s mind flashed back to their date in the Bombay Kings. What was it Ganesh had said to her? Gringo had a good memory and particularly
when it came to recalling conversations.

  You will always be welcomed here, Maria. Any friend of Gringo Greene is a friend of mine.

  Yes, quite.

  He remembered now, the guy had smiled at her in that lounge lizard way of his. For one moment Maria had appeared flustered, and that wasn’t like her at all, and Gringo was certain that it was nothing to do with him, and then the boss fella had said: You must call me Raman. Oh yeah, you really must! He’d taken a shine to her right back then, hadn’t he, and he’d wasted no time in taking her under his wing.

  I’m going to get you!

  The kind of thing a father might shout at his daughter as they played in the garden. The kind of thing an older man might shout to his lover as he chased her up the stairs.

  I’m going to get you!

  The dirty old dog; and later during that same date, back at his house she’d said: That Mister Ganesh seems a very nice man. Was it possible she had marked his card that very night? And how had they met again, anyway? Had she just strolled into his restaurant all alone, appearing vulnerable, waiting to be accosted? And how long had this been going on? Vicky Williams never mentioned anything about it, but then Vicky Williams wouldn’t, not to him. Women always stand together on these things, unless there is an ulterior motive involved, just like blokes.

  Perhaps he should ring Vicky and invite her over and get to the bottom of it, so to speak. Gringo began laughing. He was still giggling to himself as he turned into the quiet close, the only sign of life being not one, but two, night owl cats sitting patiently on the drive next door, waiting for an unwary rat to stroll by. They barely gave him a second glance.

  Sixty-One

  He couldn’t quite recall when he decided to end it with the nurse; he preferred to think it came to him in his sleep, as some of his big decisions occasionally did. It hadn’t been an easy choice. Linda was an attractive and vivacious woman, an undeniable head turner, something that Gringo attached some importance to, but once his mind was made up; there would be no turning back.

  If he had to give reasons, as he knew he would when he broke the news, and that would be a difficult moment, his words might differ to how he felt inside. Fact was; he didn’t have clear reasons. The whole business was befuddled in confusion.

  She seemed distant, that was it, present but absent at the same time, as he had reflected on before. That was about it, a poor reason, maybe, but enough for him to bring the curtain down on their brief affair. He was always reluctant to end anything unless there were good reserves lined up, ready and willing to take the outgoing one’s place, and he’d debated long and hard over that.

  Trisha Martin figured prominently. She had practically begged him for a date. She was attractive, though she would forever sit in her stunning sister’s shadow, and there was something weird in her character that grated, as it had with many a potential suitor, which was probably why she remained unattached and available. But that wouldn’t rule her out. If Gringo needed female company on a Saturday night then Trish would fit the bill just fine, and if it annoyed and irritated her sister, then so be it. Occasionally a touch of jealousy can work wonders.

  Whilst considering the Martin family, there was also the youngest girl, Mary, who in some ways was more beautiful than Trish, with her long black hair tumbling witchlike down to her waist, though occasionally it would be set up in an almost Victorian bun. True, Gringo had no indication that Mary would be amenable to his dating her, but he imagined that if he turned his charm offensive that way, he could, and would, be successful. Again it might irritate Glen, but that didn’t concern him in the slightest.

  Mary came with a reputation of saying one thing to your face, but an entirely different thing behind your back, but he could live with that, for a short time. Perhaps she needed training up, and training a pretty young woman could be fun. Occasionally she portrayed a picture to the wider world of being spoiled; something that Gringo imagined was to do with her being the youngest. As a child he could imagine her sulking terribly until everything went her way. Gringo could live with that too, if he had to. If the girl needed disciplining, then so be it. Disciplining can be fun too. No, Mary was still within the scope of his radar. Rule no one out!

  Then there was Vicky, the redhead, who had scrawled her telephone number on his body. How much more of a hint that she was ready and willing did a man need? Gringo was confident, nay certain, that he could introduce Vicky Williams to his bedroom on their very first date, should he ever be that way inclined, but she was nowhere near as good looking as any of the Martin sisters, and she came with a reputation of being somewhat easy, maybe too easy, and that rang alarm bells.

  If all else failed there was the internet, a veritable mine of unattached ladies, all in need of manly company, readily available and looking for someone just like him, or so he vainly imagined, an inexhaustible supply, a well that never runs dry, a source of treasure that even Gringo had stooped to on occasion, though he would keep that nugget of information firmly to himself.

  But his preferred option remained Rebecca. True, she was only nineteen, but she was the best looking of the four, friendlier, more genuine, sexy, and she seemed keen to know Gringo better. It might raise eyebrows when the thirty-four year old boss began dating his nineteen year old junior clerk, but he didn’t care about that, and anyway, maybe they could keep it quiet, and that in itself could make an affair more exciting, the very illicitness of it. Those raising the eyebrows would, he imagined, be doing so through jealousy, than anything else. He didn’t take any of the girls for granted for he knew that could be fatal, but he remained confident in his abilities, and with good reason.

  The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Rebecca Walker was the future. In some ways he was surprised he hadn’t made his play in that direction before, but now his decision had been made. He would attempt to lasso Miss Walker during the next working day, and that would be Monday. For now, on Saturday morning, he had a phone call to make. He’d ring the nurse and invite her round for a heart to heart, and this he did a moment or two later.

  He suggested she came round at eleven for a chat, but she put that back half an hour, making some excuse about needing to get ready. Her real reason for delaying was because she wanted to ring her mother with her fabulous news.

  ‘Guess what?’ she said, the excitement dripping from her voice.

  ‘No idea Lin, what?’

  ‘He’s asked me round for a chat, right now.’

  ‘So? Is that so earth shattering?’

  ‘There’s something on his mind. I can tell.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I think he’s going to pop the question.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m sure of it!’

  ‘And you want him to?’

  ‘Damned right. Of course I do! I’ve waited so long for this moment! He’s the one, mum, he really is. I love him! I think you might need a new hat, mum, I can feel it in my water. You’ll adore him when you meet him, he’s so handsome, and… debonair, you’ll see.’

  She’d hesitated over using the word debonair because she wasn’t quite sure what it meant, though is sounded grand, and correct in the circumstances. In her mind Gringo Greene was most definitely debonair.

  Her mother spoke again. ‘Well, just so long as it’s what you really want, Linda. You’re a good girl and you’ve had your disappointments. You deserve a decent man.’

  ‘I know mum. I’m so excited!’

  ‘When are you seeing him?’

  ‘I’m going round in a minute or two, just as soon as I’ve put the phone down.’

  ‘Okay love, have a great day. I hope it all goes well.’

  ‘Thanks mum; I’ve got such good vibes about this, bye.’

  Linda retreated to the bedroom and brushed her hair and reapplied her makeup, bright red lipstick, even on a Saturday morning, you tramp, and she winked at her image in the mirror, and left the flat and hurried to her little car in a jaunty Satur
day morning kind of way.

  He heard the Ford hatchback pulling onto the drive next to his big black beast at twenty-five to twelve, and in the next few seconds she was ringing the bell. Gringo ambled to the door and opened up.

  ‘Hi Gringo,’ she said, her demeanour one of absolute cheer. She was a breath of fresh air, as she often was, and that cheerfulness would make it all the harder.

  ‘Hi Lin,’ he said, unable to keep an unforced smile from his face, as she entered his house, squeezed past him, pausing to deposit a fragrant, red lipped image on his cheek, before hurrying inside.

  He had been sitting at the table, that much was clear; there was a half finished mug of black coffee on one side and his bunch of keys, and some opened letters he’d recently received. She put her bag down on the floor and sat opposite. There were no little wrapped gifts on display so far as she could see, but that would have been far too obvious, especially for him, for Gringo always played his cards close to his chest. A crazy thought entered her mind. Perhaps he was going to get down on one knee right there in the kitchen, and if he did, she would milk the moment for all it was worth.

  Let me think about your proposal for a moment, just stay there a second!

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘No, just had one,’ she answered, eager to get on with the pressing business, but then she added: ‘Wouldn’t mind a glass of wine though, it’s nearly noon after all.’

  He hadn’t envisaged serving alcoholic drinks, but there was a half finished bottle of Spanish white in the fridge that had been there ages, and anyway, maybe a little snifter might smooth the way of things.

  He went to the fridge and took out the bottle and poured a measure into a glass, then topped it up, for she might be in need of a stiff drink when he told her what he had to say. She watched him come back to the table. She liked the speckled tweed jumper he was wearing, and the beige slacks. He was immaculately turned out in what appeared to be brand new clothes, even on a Saturday morning, and that was another reason why she liked him so. Debonair he was, without question, and that brought a smirk to her face.