The Street Angel

by Robert Gollagher

  “But you’re miserable. Do you love him?”

  “Love? What does that really mean?”

  “Do you like him? Is he a nice guy? Do you want to be with him?”

  “No. Not for years.”

  “Then you’re crazy. Leave him.”

  “I don’t know if I can. I made a vow in the sight of God. I promised.”

  “Religion. I might have known.”

  “Not everyone has the luxury of being an atheist like you, Bob. Not all of us enter lightly into marriage and then just skip out of it when it suits us. Some of us have our faith to deal with.”

  “Hey! Emily left me! She treated me like dirt for years, then took every penny I had. If I had any sense I would have left her years before, but I hung on till the bitter end and got the shit kicked out of me. I didn’t skip out, Susan. Just because I don’t believe in God doesn’t mean I don’t believe in commitment.”

  “You’re right, Bob, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Look, you can’t stay with this guy if you’re unhappy. All this charity work and all this noble concern for your husband is great, but when it comes down to it, twenty years from now, you’re going to look back on your life and realise you threw it all away. You’re going to kick yourself for not leaving him while you were still young. God isn’t going to strike you down for leaving your husband. God helps those who help themselves, isn’t that what they say?”

  “I know, but I still can’t bring myself to do it. I even feel guilty just being here with you. I know that sounds terrible.”

  “We’re not having an affair. I haven’t even shaken your hand.”

  “But, that’s why I called you. That’s why I called you in the first place.”

  Richards sighed. He was unaccustomed to being chivalrous. “Look, Susan. You don’t want to do this. You’re a pretty lady, I like you. I like spending time with you. But we’re just friends. You don’t want to complicate your life. You don’t want to have an affair. What you want to do is leave Adrian. I don’t care what the church says, that’s what you need to do.”

  Susan disliked the way he could see right to the heart of her problems. It scared her. “I know you’re right, Bob. I know it. But there’s still a part of me that doesn’t respect myself enough to do that. I still think it’s wrong to leave one’s husband. It’s just wrong.”

  “Is it wrong to care about yourself?”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Who the hell taught you that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just the way I feel.”

  “No wonder you walk around the slums with a video camera. You are trying to get yourself killed. You hate yourself.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Lady, you’re completely nuts.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, Bob. It really helps.”

  Richards laughed. “You’re welcome.”

  The following Thursday, Richards agreed to meet Susan after the orphanage kids had been put to bed for the night. He drove her to the beach and they ate hamburgers in the dark, listening to the waves and smelling the salty, warm ocean. Then Susan uncharacteristically said she wanted a drink, so Richards pointed at one of the tall buildings a few blocks further along the beach. He led her there.

  “Here it is. The Golden Beach Hotel. They’ve got tables on the deck upstairs, see? Want to go for a drink up there?”

  Susan looked up at the five-star hotel. There was a large, open balcony for dining on the second storey. The view would be magnificent and Susan fancied the idea of sitting out in the warm night air. “I’d love to.”

  By the time they were seated and enjoying their drinks, Richards was already wondering what the hell he was doing seeing her again.

  “What are you thinking, Bob?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about a jewellery deal I set up. I met the buyer in this hotel, early last month.”

  “I didn’t know you dealt in jewels.”

  “I don’t. I’m just the broker. The dealer’s an old French friend of mine, Pierre Fontaine. He’s in Rio this year. So he’s flying up next week to meet the buyer and make the transaction.”

  “What kind of jewels are they?”

  “Oh, it’s just an old diamond necklace. A French antique. But Pierre’s got a few deals to make with his regular clients here. He’ll bring a mother lode of rocks with him.”

  “Very exotic, isn’t it? Trading diamonds in Brazil.”

  Richards shrugged. “It’s just business to me. No big deal. But it is a big commission, about twelve grand. That kind of money goes a long way down here. It’s one of the advantages of leaving the States.”

  “That’s about seven thousand pounds, isn’t it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Adrian spends that much like it’s small change.”

  “I’ll bet he does. There was a day when I did, too.”

  “But not now?”

  “Have you seen the rust on my car? No, not now.”

  “Do you miss it? The money, I mean.”

  “Oh, yeah. I miss it.”

  Susan was sorry she asked.

  “But there are other things you can’t put a price on. The beach. The good people here. Freedom. Not having the IRS banging on your door. Having time to think. Friends I’ve made. It’s not all bad, being broke in exile.”

  “And the women?”

  “Sure, the women. This is Brazil.”

  “And the thong bikini, I suppose?”

  “The thong bikini,” Richards agreed.

  “It’s all a bit juvenile, isn’t it, Bob? Chasing after girls in bikinis?”

  “You live life your way, I’ll live it my way. You don’t always have to take life seriously down here. People like to enjoy life. So do I.”

  “Are you saying I don’t enjoy life?”

  “Whoa! Stop right there. I’m not getting into that argument, Susan.”

  “But what do you see in these women of yours? Do they mean anything to you? I mean, at the end of the day, are they just a convenience or do you actually have ... feelings for them?” Susan took a large sip of her Bacardi cocktail. She seemed much less inhibited than Richards had ever seen her.

  “Why do you want to know? What difference does it make?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just ... conversation.”

  “Well, I don’t know. They’re my friends. Sometimes we sleep together. They use me as much as I use them. We just have fun together.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  “Well if you don’t want to know, don’t ask.”

  “Maybe I do want to know,” Susan said provocatively.

  Richards tried to ignore it. He drank his Scotch.

  Half an hour later he had driven her back to the orphanage and was waiting impatiently for her to get out of his car. He wanted to go home and forget about her. That would have been sensible. Susan didn’t give him the chance. She learned across and kissed him, suddenly and awkwardly.

  “Look, this isn’t a good ...”

  She kissed him again.

  “... idea.”

  Susan ignored him. She kissed him again, longer this time.

  Against his better judgement, Richards kissed her back. After a few long moments, he spoke again. “What are you doing, Susan?”

  Susan spoke her words with conviction. She had decided. There was no turning back. “There’s a party at a farm, next Tuesday. Fabriola’s invited me to stay. There’ll be dancing, fireworks, a barbecue. Come with me.”

  “Come on, Sue, you know this isn’t what you want.”

  Susan kissed him again. “Come with me.”

  Richards put a hand on her cheek. “Are you sure?”

  “Come with me.”

  Richards couldn’t help admiring her courage. No one ever did anything uncharacteristic of themselves, he had always thought. “Okay. I’ll come.”

  “Pick me up at three, on Tuesday? We could drive out together.”

  “All right.�
�

  As Richards reversed the car between the orphanage gates and saw Susan standing in the beam of the headlights watching him, he wondered how the hell he had let himself get talked into this. A married woman. What the hell was he doing? And why did he have to like her so damn much?

  He drove away.

  Chapter 7

  It was a slow night at the club. Apart from the poker game going on quietly in the West Room, to which waiters occasionally took drinks and cigarettes, respectfully closing the big doors behind them as they left, there was hardly anyone around. The West Room was for senior members of the club. Lowly plebeians like Richards frequented the bar and the lesser rooms.

  Membership to the exclusive Southern Cross Club was expensive and limited to successful male pillars of the local business community, with the occasional exception of a few hangers-on like Richards who had managed to talk their way in. Occasionally there would be family days on weekends, and the place would be overrun with children and wives, but on weeknights the club was a male domain. Bringing girlfriends was strictly forbidden. Richards shelled out the annual subscription mainly to make business contacts, but he also enjoyed the club as a place to unwind.

  Sitting at the bar, Richards watched a waiter walk over the plush blue carpet on his way back from the West Room with a tray of empty glasses.

  “What’s the matter, my friend?” said Ricardo Fuentes, in English.

  Richards looked gloomily into his Scotch. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Bobby, Bobby,” Ricardo said expansively, “you Americans hide your feelings too much. You must speak of them. You will feel better.”

  “You think I should have more Latin passion?”

  “Of course! Life is too short.”

  “A little less passion might do me more good.”

  “Ah. I knew it. It had to be a woman. What else could be bothering Bobby Hichards? You have lost one of your harem? Don’t worry, Bobby, there are – How do they say? – plenty of new fish in the ocean.”

  “No. The harem is fine.”

  “Then what, Bobby?” Ricardo swivelled on his bar stool and put a hand on Richards’ shoulder. “You have business problems? You want me to loan you some money? No problem, my friend. How much do you need?”

  “You know I won’t take money from you, Ricardo.”

  “Bobby, the price of sugar is good this year. I built a new mansion on the farm. My son is going to move in, with his wife. Everything is wonderful. If you need a little money, it is easy for me.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t borrow money from friends. Anyway, business is okay. I’ve got a jewellery sale going down with General del Campo, as soon as the dealer gets to town.”

  Ricardo lowered his voice to a whisper. “Bobby, you are doing business with the general? This is not wise, my friend. This is a bad man. People he don’t like sometimes just ... disappear.” He drew a finger slowly across his own throat. “They just disappear.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s just one deal.”

  “You should be more careful how you make your money.”

  “Ricardo, you know me. I’m always careful.”

  “Yes, this is true. And it is good for you that you are.”

  “I always am, Ricardo. I always am.”

  “Then it is a woman?”

  Richards sighed. “Yeah, it’s a woman.”

  “Don’t tell me, Bobby, you are in love?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Do I look that stupid? No, I’m not in love. Americans don’t fall in love overnight.”

  “But you have feelings for her, this woman?”

  “I don’t know, Ricardo. I don’t know what I’m doing. I had my life so well worked out. One week I’d see Carina, another week Patricia, then Maria. No problem. It’s all very ... sensible.”

  “Yes, Bobby. Here is to sensible women.” He raised his glass.

  “Right, exactly.”

  “But one day you will marry, Bobby. I know you will. You say you are not interested, but I can see you settled down here. Brazilian life suits you.”

  “I still have fantasies of going back to the States. All I have to do is come up with a million dollars in back-taxes.”

  “You’re a dreamer, Bobby. That’s what I like about you.”

  “I’m an idiot, is what I am. I’ve got this crazy Englishwoman, she’s kind of a schoolteacher ... we’re going for a night in the country.”

  “She is attractive?”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Well, go. Enjoy. What’s the problem?”

  “She’s married, for a start.”

  “Ah,” Ricardo said flatly.

  “Her husband’s some high-flying politician in London. A powerful man.”

  “Don’t sleep with the wives of powerful men, Bobby. That is the first rule. And the second rule, don’t get caught.”

  “It’s not just that.”

  “There is more?” Ricardo raised his eyebrows.

  “I’ve got the damn woman on my mind all the time. I don’t know what it is about her. It’s not just physical. I don’t know. I can talk to her.”

  “You have slept with her already?”

  “No.”

  “And she wants you?”

  Richards raised his drink to say yes.

  “You are talking to a woman and you have not slept with her? This is something I have not heard before. And, a married woman? Ai, ai, ai.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  At that moment the doors of the West Room swung violently open and a man stormed out. He stomped angrily through the bar, past the security guard, and straight out the exit to the car park. He looked about seventy years old, but large and strong in stature, and he had untidy white hair and wore an expensive grey linen suit.

  Ricardo whistled. “Hey, look at that. They beat him again.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Judge Marcus. Looks like he lose a lot of money. You know your friend the general is playing him tonight, don’t you?”

  “Del Campo? He’s in the West Room?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I didn’t know he was here tonight.”

  “Sure. He must have taken big money from the judge again. The judge comes with his lawyers and the general comes with a couple of his men. Usually the general wins, or they let him win.”

  “They let him win?”

  “Sure, sometimes. Who wants to make an enemy of such a man?”

  Richards nodded.

  “But the judge, he is different. He plays to win.”

  “Isn’t he afraid?”

  “Judge Marcus is a powerful man. Many connections. The general cannot touch him. But the general, he plays better poker. The judge always lose his money. They say it is because he is only half a man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They call him Spaghetti Marcus. He is a limp-dick.”

  “He’s impotent? So what? The guy must be seventy years old. It happens to the best of us in the end, Ricardo.”

  “Speak for yourself, my friend.”

  Richards laughed loudly. “I apologise.”

  Ricardo laughed back. “But with Marcus, it was different. His wife left him twenty years ago, and never since then, not one woman. You must have heard about this.”

  “I try and stay away from the courts, Ricardo.”

  “Of course. Well, the general loves to taunt him. They are like two bulls in the same arena. Each knows they cannot win, if they should charge at each other, so they snort and scratch the dirt, make a lot of noise, but nothing ever happens. But I feel sorry for Marcus the judge.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not right for one man to disgrace another man’s reputation the way this general does. As soon as Marcus has his back turned, the general is making his little jokes about the spaghetti-dick. Sometimes even in front of him, little comments. I hate to be in the room when he says this.”

  “And the judge has never tried to, I don’t know, have him killed?”
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  “The army is too powerful. Marcus tried a few times to bring a case against the general in court, for this murder or that missing person, you know the kind of thing. But nothing ever sticks.”

  “Yeah. The military police cover their tracks. No evidence makes it to court. You know, Ricardo, we don’t need this kind of feud going on in town. It’s bound to be trouble.”

  “Ah, Bobby, these men are idiots. They are dangerous idiots. That is why I am telling you, you should not be doing business with del Campo. Make this your last deal with that man, if you want to live a long life.”

  “Living a long life is my motto. Don’t worry.”

  Ricardo looked at him, concerned. “Be careful, my friend.”

  Richards nodded soberly. “I always am, Ricardo. I always am.”

  “This time, make sure you are.” Ricardo Fuentes was still worried.

  Firecrackers exploded like gunshots at the feet of the children – little girls in pretty party dresses, boys in their best shirts and jeans. Crackling, sizzling, dangerous fireworks detonated right by their feet.

  “Don’t get too close, Guillerme. You’ll get burned,” said one of the mothers. Her boy obediently stood back from the exploding firesticks.

  Richards stood with Susan, watching the spectacle. The adults had lit a huge bonfire. It was burning brilliantly against the dark country landscape. Nearly everyone was dancing on the concrete floor of the outdoor entertainment area. It had its own tiled roof, supported on concrete pillars, just in case a tropical downpour should dampen the celebrations.

  A small band took up one corner of the floor, playing loud forro, samba, and lambada music in their shirtsleeves, getting sweaty in the evening heat. The drummer pounded out driving rhythms on big snare drums, the singer crooned his lyrics with unsophisticated joy, and the veteran musician with the piano accordion pumped out racing melodies. There must have been thirty people there, plus a handful of their children, and everyone was dancing and laughing as if they had all just won the lottery.

  Richards examined the two blocks of cheese he was holding over the coals of the barbecue on long sticks. “They’re nearly ready.”

  “Are you sure this is good?” said Susan nervously. “Barbecued cheese?”