by David Carter
‘What do you with this?’ she said, waving the hot coffee bean before his eyes.
‘I could tell you.’
Mel giggled. ‘Don’t be so naughty,’ and she glanced around at the emptying dining room. ‘I need the loo, Gringo,’ she whispered through slightly slurred words.
‘You know where it is, I’ll meet you in the bar in a few minutes.’
She stood up and smoothed down her dress and said: ‘Don’t go away. I haven’t finished with you yet.’
Gringo winked at her as she turned away. In the next minute the waitress returned and sat in Mel’s chair. A little familiar, thought Gringo, but she was a decent looking thing, with her bright red lipstick and pageboy short, black hair.
‘Your wife certainly seems to be enjoying herself.’
‘You think?’
‘I should say so.’
‘So you think I’m on a good thing tonight?’
‘I’d get her home right now, if I were you.’
‘Thanks for the advice, but I think there’s some dancing to be done first.’
‘I hope she knows how lucky she is.’
‘I think it’s slowly dawning on her.’
‘Sorry to introduce a sour note, but here’s the bill,’ and she slipped it across the table.
Gringo glanced at it. A few pennies shy of £300. He would wager right now that Melanie would be shocked to see such a thing. It wasn’t far short of what she earned in a week. Probably as well she didn’t see it at all. Gringo took out his wallet and counted out fifteen twenties, and an extra one for the girl.
‘Thanks for looking after us,’ he said, nodding at the cash.
She thought of that for a second and then stood up and collected the money, but before leaving she bent down and whispered in his ear: ‘If you ever get fed up with her, you come and see me, you know where I am.’
‘I will,’ he said, slightly taken aback, and his answer must have surprised her too because she stood there for a second, gazing into his eyes as if to discover whether he meant it or not. Then she turned and skipped away as Gringo headed for the cloakroom.
When he came out Melanie was standing outside the door of the Ladies, looking relaxed and radiant. She was chatting to one of the young kids from behind the bar. He must have been about six years younger than her, but it hadn’t stopped him taking his chance to speak to her, and ask her out, but when he saw Gringo and that fearsome moustache that conjured up visions of six guns and duels in some dusty Western town, he hopped off in a hurry.
Gringo offered her his arm and she took it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
‘Now then, Miss Harris, I believe you’re fond of dancing.’
‘I love dancing!’
‘Yes, I thought you might. Time to get down those stairs.’
A long and straight staircase led down to the disco, a set of stairs that many a giddy punter had struggled to negotiate. Mel’s heels insisted she take great care, but they were soon through the door to be met by banks of waving blue light, pulsing toward them like something from a science fiction film.
The music started again; a crashing beat that matched the light show perfectly. Gringo grabbed her arm and dragged her onto the packed dance floor. She threw her arms in the air and shook her head, her hair exploding around her like a halo, and then they were lost in their own little world, their eyes locked together, their bodies jerking and swaying to the overpowering rhythm.
Brian hated dance of all kinds and never ventured onto the floor. Gringo disliked dancing too, but hid it well. He’d learnt early in life that the best way to get jiggy with a woman was to get her on her feet and set her dancing. He wondered if it would work tonight. If he had to bet on it he thought it might, but, don’t forget, he reminded himself, she was an underling from work, and more than that, she was married to the brutish and violent Brian. Gringo tried hard not to think of such distractions.
There was slowy on the mixer deck and Mel was now draped all over him. He cupped his hands around her back, across her buttocks, as she pulled herself closer. Gringo began to stir, and she knew it.
‘You are a very naughty boy, Gringo Greene.’
Just for a second he thought of Glen. All thoughts of her had vanished up till then, after that difficult question he’d asked Mel earlier, a pig’s ear of a question to issue, in retrospect. If I’m a very naughty boy, then what does that make you? he thought, but said nothing, contenting himself with pecking the porcelain neck that had presented itself.
‘How did you know to kiss me there? I love being kissed there, more than anywhere else… almost.’
‘I didn’t know,’ he said, though he was lying again. In his experience every woman he’d ever met adored being kissed there. Leastways, he’d never met one that didn’t.
He glanced over her shoulder at the bespectacled guy playing the music. On the near side of the deck in big silver letters it said: This is a Celine Dion Free Zone. Don’t ask. Don’t even think of asking. Show respect!
That was fair enough so far as he was concerned. He wouldn’t ask, not in a million years. The slowy was coming to an end. In a moment everyone knew the heavy beat would be back. Hip-hop, House, Dance, Trance, Techno, Jungle, whatever it was called this week, Gringo liked it, when in truth he wasn’t into music at all.
‘Can I have a drink?’ she panted.
‘Sure. What do you want?’
‘Lager, extra cold.’
He took her hand and dragged her to the bar and ordered two beers. He wasn’t going to leave her alone in an ocean of ravenous sharks. Melanie was the tastiest creature in the sea by some distance, and the place was full of hunters.
‘Where’s your bag?’ he said, noticing it was missing.
‘In the cloakroom,’ she said, gulping her drink. ‘I left it there.’
‘Go steady on the booze.’
‘Yes, Mister Boss.’
‘And don’t be cheeky.’
She giggled again. ‘I’m just refuelling. I haven’t finished dancing yet, not by a long way.’ She emptied the glass and took his hand and dragged him back to the floor.
Some time later people began leaving. A little while after that the DJ said: ‘Make the most of it, guys; this one’s the last one.’
It had all ended so soon, yet they’d been there hours. Predictably, there were one or two moans and groans, but not so much from the guys. The last tune started, it was a slowy of course, Gringo didn’t recognise it, a young woman singing a big ballad, not unlike the banned Celine herself. Mel clearly knew the track, for she was already singing gently every word into Gringo’s left ear. It was the winning song off one of those Saturday night TV talent shows that Gringo never watched.
Mel tugged herself closer. Gringo returned the hug, and as she turned and stared into his eyes, it was the moment. He kissed her, just as he knew she wanted him to. In that second she looked precisely the same as every woman yearning to be kissed. She displayed that same moony face, those identical steady, expectant, and demanding eyes. Gringo had seen that look a thousand times before, and it was true. At that exact moment, every woman, regardless of height, build, colour, creed, or age, looks identical. He couldn’t explain it, and he doubted if any one else could.
The kiss was gentle, to begin with, turning harder, and hotter and more passionate as it progressed, as the best kisses always do. He was getting excited again, and he wasn’t alone.
When they came apart Mel said breathlessly, ‘You know something? I’ve always fancied you, Gringo.’
‘Have you? Really?’
‘Yeah, course. Didn’t you know? Even before I married Brian. I always thought that one day you might ask me out.’
‘Then why didn’t you say?’
‘It wasn’t for me to say! It was for you to act!’
He thought back to the day he’d first met Mel. Interviewing her in the boardroom where he’d liked her from the very first moment. She’d landed the job before she’d opened her
mouth. What was it his old boss used to say? Always employ the one you’d most like to screw.
Sure, it might have been politically incorrect, and sometimes it went against what was best for the firm, but overall it was sound thinking that often paid handsome dividends. He remembered too that soon after she’d joined the company she’d become engaged to the big-mouthed fool, and the very next day she was seen to be wafting her engagement ring in front of the girls and fellas alike. Maybe that unconsciously put him off, though he still found that hard to believe, both back then, and now.
‘You should have said something.’
‘I didn’t think you would be interested in a dizzy young thing like me, what with you being the big boss and all.’
‘Your trouble is; you don’t understand how beautiful you really are… and how clever.’
No one had ever referred to Melanie as clever before, and certainly not to her face, and though she suspected he wasn’t being serious, she loved it.
‘Are you trying to get into my knickers, Gringo? Clever? Me? You’re having a laugh.’
‘You are cleverer than you think. You don’t give yourself enough credit.’
Before she could answer, the record came to a swirling end and the brighter lights came on. The bar shutters were down, the barmaids had all gone home, barmaids downstairs, barmen upstairs. On the dance floor only three couples remained, and it wouldn’t be long before the cleaners appeared.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘time to go.’
He followed her up the stairs and watched her make for the cloakroom to collect her bag and scruffy Mac. Gringo went to the men’s room and when he came out she was there waiting. She’d fixed her lipstick and slipped on her coat. They shared a fleeting smile and headed for the door.
The same three guys were back on parade, the opposite of meeting and greeting. The younger one was yawning. Couldn’t stand the pace, thought Gringo. Richie saw them coming and held the door open.
‘Thank you for your custom, Mister Greene; hope to see you again soon.’
‘Thanks Rich, excellent as always.’
‘Nighty-night, boys,’ said Mel, flightily, stepping out into the night.
‘Goodnight, Melanie,’ said Richie, as he closed the doors behind them.
They heard the bolts going on, they must have been the last ones out, unless they were having an all night lock-in, which was not unheard of at the Henderson Country Club, when the card tables would be set out, and the big money high rollers from dubious backgrounds would begin playing poker.
In the past Gringo had let himself be lured down that track just the once, with the inevitable result. He’d had his pants removed, not literally, but not far off. He’d never stray that way again, and anyway, what would your average red-blooded male prefer? To stay behind and play cards? Or take your chances with the beautiful girl? No contest. Never was, never will be.
They stood at the top of the six stone steps for a moment and breathed in the cool night air. There was a moon, a whopping yellow presence glittering down on all those lucky enough to notice.
‘Look at the moon,’ she said.
Gringo would normally notice the moon about once in ten years. Maybe that night was the night. He offered her his arm and she linked him closely, as they danced down the stairs together and headed across the car park toward the car.
Seven
He pulled the car key from his pocket and pointed and fired. The doors unlocked with an audible click, emphasised on the still night air. Lights went on, inside and out. She hopped round to the passenger side and jumped in. For a moment they sat quietly together. She’d turned in toward him, sitting with her knees together, pointing at the gear stick.
‘Enjoy yourself?’ he said, gently.
Mel nodded.
‘Really?’
‘One of the best nights ever.’
It couldn’t get much better than that. Gringo smiled.
‘Come here.’
They leant closer and kissed, the only contact between them, lips. And again. She tasted of mint, as if she had been chewing gum, or had freshened up her mouth in the cloakroom. It was pleasant, but she didn’t need the flavour of mint to taste wonderful. He’d pulled her closer, deep into his arms, and she let him reel her in. She didn’t think she could stop herself, and anyway, she didn’t want to stop.
‘Wow!’ whispered Gringo, when they eventually came apart.
‘Where did you learn to kiss like that, Gringo?’
‘I’ve had lots of practice.’
‘I’ll bet you have, you bugger.’
‘Do you fancy a coffee?’
‘Sure, so long as there’s a big slug of whisky in it.’
‘Maybe, if you’re good, now do up your seatbelt.’
‘You are awfully bossy.’
‘Someone has to take control.’
She didn’t answer. She was beyond caring.
Gringo started the car and roared from the car park. A sixth sense kicked in. He had been drinking, not a lot, it was true, but drinking nevertheless, and it was late on a Saturday night, or to be more correct, early on a Sunday morning, and the local patrolmen would be under strict orders to stop and arrest anyone over the drink drive limit, and especially anyone speeding and driving like, well, a drunken driver. He eased back on the accelerator. He may have wanted to get her home as quickly as possible I’d get her home right now, if I were you. But it was more important to arrive safely, and without any interruptions from the boys in blue. He turned on the radio. It was that song again; it was everywhere, the young woman off the TV.
‘I love this record,’ said Mel, and she reached down and turned up the volume. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘Course not.’
She turned it up still further and began singing aloud, and after that the news came on.
‘I hate the news,’ she said, ‘it’s freakin’ boring,’ and she turned it off.
Gringo didn’t say a word.
‘What sort of house have you got, Gringo?’
‘Modern, warm, comfortable.’
‘Expensive?’
‘Not when I bought it.’
‘But it would cost you a lot now?’
‘Now I couldn’t afford it.’
‘Describe it.’
‘Three stories, three bathrooms, modern, minimalist, I hate clutter, it does me fine.’
‘Three bathrooms?’
‘Yep, one on each floor.’
‘And you live by yourself?’
‘Most of the time.’
‘Don’t you get lonely?’
‘Not often, and when I do, I go out and find some company.’
‘Like me?’ she giggled.
‘Yeah, like you.’
‘I’ve always wanted to see your house.’
‘Have you?’
Gringo wondered why that should be, though he didn’t say. He glanced across at her. Her first finger was in her mouth. She was sucking it as a kid might, and she was nodding.
‘Well, you will see it, just as soon as we get home.’
The close was quiet and deserted as he pulled into the street. Three sodium lights cast their orange macabre beams across the parked cars and closed windows. An old cat ran from beneath one of the cars and yowled, before taking refuge under next door’s Mercedes. Gringo drove the car onto the drive right in front of the front door and cut the engine.
‘Home, sweet home.’
They exchanged a brief look, Mel rolling her eyebrows, then stepped out of the car and closed the doors, hers a little noisily for his liking, as they stood and stared up at the sleeping red brick house.
‘It’s fab,’ she said.
‘You like it?’
‘I love it.’
He opened the door, flipped the hall light on and beckoned her inside. Off the hall to the right was the open plan kitchen, dining, and sitting area with a small bathroom behind that. The main sitting room was on the first floor but Gringo used the ground floor as often
as not. His favourite white leather sofa was there, and his big new TV fixed to the wall. He couldn’t tell you why, but he much preferred lounging on the ground floor. He closed the blinds and curtains and put on some discreet lighting.
‘Can I use the bathroom?’
‘Sure, it’s through there. Coffee?’
‘Yeah, so long as it’s strong.’
Gringo fired up the coffee machine and took out a bottle of whisky. It was four fifths full, not his favourite drink; in fact he was a moderate drinker altogether, leastways, he told himself that.
Melanie had returned. She’d ditched the coat. She’d fixed her lipstick again, and done something to her hair. Gringo couldn’t keep his eyes from her, as the coffee machine was coming to a climax.
‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.
‘Anything you like.’
‘Can I have another kiss?’
‘You can have a kiss any time you want.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure. Anytime.’
‘Come here then,’ she said.
‘You come here.’
‘No, you come here.’
‘You come here! Or the offer’s lapsed.’
‘Don’t be such a goat,’ she said, as she ran to him and threw herself into his arms.
The kiss was longer this time, hard and passionate. She’d generously reapplied Frantic Fever, all over, it seemed to him, maybe too liberally, but hey, if that was the worst thing to happen that day, then so be it. She thrust her groin toward him, she was a fireball when roused, no doubt about it, as Gringo returned pressure in that special area, and she must have approved of the feeling because she let out a long deep sigh like an animal. When they came apart Gringo said, ‘Go and sit down,’ pointing to the sofa, ‘while I finish the coffee.’
‘Okay, bossy boots!’
He turned his back on her, smiling to himself, as he poured coffee into the china mugs, leaving room for a top up. He opened the Scotch and splashed a dash in hers, she’d had enough to drink and he didn’t want her falling asleep, or worse; and a larger slug for himself. He didn’t mind whisky in coffee, and he hadn’t drunk too much. He took the mugs to the sitting area, put them on the glass coffee table, and sat beside her.
