by David Carter
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said aloud, as he found himself wiping away a tear that had become damned in his moustache. As always he was torn between not visiting often enough, and not visiting at all. He tried to think of other things. He flipped the talking book CD into the player. It was the latest John Grisham lawfest. Gringo was a lazy reader. He preferred someone else to do his reading for him. The narrator had a typical American voice, an unnaturally deep sound that somehow seemed unworldly. Gringo couldn’t get into it and turned it off.
He forced his mind to think of other things, specifically Maria Almeida. Yes, that would keep him occupied for most of the way home. He pondered on what she might look like. He wondered what she would wear. Tonight, certain things would be decided. If she turned up in trousers he would dump her. It was as simple as that, and probably before he had gone to the expense of the meal. It was her last chance. His father’s words flooded back into his mind.
You find yourself a nice girl, Kevin, and settle down.
Maria Almeida? Not a chance. Never.
But who? And where? And when? Fact was, he seemed further away than ever.
The journey home was uneventful and he arrived back in the close at half past four. There was a huge pile of mail on the mat. He grabbed it and flicked through it. There had been plenty of time for his letter to reach New York and for it to have been answered, but there was no airmail envelope, no handwritten letter, just bills and brochures and all the other postal detritus that falls to the bottom of the hall.
He tossed the lot on the kitchen worktop and sprinted up the stairs to take a shower. He threw his clothes on the bed, headed for the en suite and stepped into the waterfall.
He hadn’t been under for two minutes when the telephone rang. He heard it well enough, but had no intention of leaving a trail of wet footprints across the expensive beige carpet. Whoever it was could ring back. If it wasn’t important, they wouldn’t ring.
His mind pondered on who it might be. Probably some salesperson trying to catch the householder in at the weekend. No, I don’t want any bloody double-glazing! Or a new kitchen; or burglar alarm. Of course it could be Maria. Perhaps she had picked up a cold and was calling to reschedule, perhaps his letter had upset her in some way and she was cancelling, even blowing him out altogether. It was possible, though he doubted it. He thought it was Maria, and if it was, he was quite happy to keep her sweating, guessing, waiting a little longer, as to where he was and what he was doing. That was always par for the course. He’d just finished drying and dressing when the phone rang again.
‘Nineteen sixty-six,’ he yelled down the phone as he was wont to do.
‘Good afternoon, nineteen sixty-six,’ said the woman cheerily.
‘Oh, hello, Bren.’
‘Are you coming round later? I’ve bought some superb steaks and those two new movies on DVD you liked. Thought we could snuggle up on the couch and have a lovely night in.’
It didn’t sound like the worst invitation in the world, but one that had to be refused. The long planned showdown with Almeida could not be missed.
‘Can’t Bren, I have my cousin in town, I have to look after him.’
‘Oh, Gringo, you are the end. There is always some excuse.’
‘Can’t be helped, Bren. I can’t leave him to fend for himself on a Saturday night, now can I?’
‘Well can’t you come round later?’
‘Doubt it, Bren, he’s a groover and mover and I’ve promised to show him the town. We’ll be out late.’
‘Can I come?’
‘Sorry doll, it’s a boys only evening.’
‘You mean you’re going out on the pull?’
‘No, nothing like that, just a few drinks and a laugh, that sort of thing.’
Brenda had never heard Gringo talk about his cousins before, which was no surprise because he didn’t have any male cousins.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Harry,’ said Gringo, spouting the first name that came into his head.
‘What does he look like?’
‘Oh, you know, tall, dark and handsome, a little like me,’ he said, without a hint of humour.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Well it’s true, Bren, look, I’ll have to go; I’m just on my way into the shower. Tell you what I’ll do, I’ll try and fit you in on Monday.’
As soon as he said that he knew he could have phrased it better.
‘Fit me in! Fit me in! I don’t want you to fit me in, you greasy schmuck!’
‘Sorry Bren, I didn’t mean it that way. You know me, bit clumsy with words sometimes.’
‘I’ll tell you what you can do, Mister Greene,’ she shrieked, and showing no sign of calming down, ‘You can stick your head in the oven for all I care, you shit!’ and she slammed the phone down.
Gringo stared at the handset. It couldn’t be helped. He hated to close off any potential avenues, but felt sure she’d come round, eventually, he was confident of that. One night soon he’d turn on the charm and ring her and offer to visit bearing gifts. She wouldn’t be able to resist him, along with a crate of red wine. She’d relent, she always did.
Time was creeping on and he needed to shave and get dressed and that always took an age on a Saturday, because everything had to be just so. There could be no cut face and no badly ironed shirt either, not on a Saturday night. Saturday was far too precious to be ruined in such a hideous way.
He pulled into the car park at Telford Buildings a ten past eight. Unusually, she did not come jumping through the doors. He locked the car and went to the entrance and buzzed the intercom.
‘Hi,’ she said.
She sounded excited. A good sign.
‘It’s Gringo.’
‘I’ve been expecting you. Come on up.’
The door jumped open and he stepped inside. The next moment he was tapping on her apartment door. He heard footsteps inside scurrying down the hall, and in the next moment the door was pulled open. She stepped back a pace so he could see her better.
His eyes widened.
‘That’s the business!’ he said, stepping inside, and grasping her bare shoulders as he continued to admire her.
She’d had her hair done, that was clear enough, more styled than cut, he would hate it if she were to have it cut short, but it was the dress that caught his eye. Bright red, made of a fine material. He wasn’t sure what it was, though it could have been satin or silk, something shiny and very expensive looking. It was cut half way across her breasts and almost backless as he discovered when he twirled her round. There were two thin ribbons that came up and over her shoulders that seemed to be keeping the whole thing together. Two thin ribbons that he couldn’t wait to slip off. He envisaged biting them off. He adored it, the dress. Loved it.
‘New dress?’
Maria nodded.
‘Expensive?’
‘Oh yes.’
It was only as he expected. No matter what happened from here on in, she had extended her tenure, for now. He reached out and pulled her close and hugged her hard.
‘Thought about me?’ he whispered.
‘I’ve thought of nothing else. Have you thought about me?’
‘Course I have. You know that, darling. I wrote to you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes you did, and what a letter!’
Her arms were still around his neck as she pulled her head back to examine his face as she said that.
‘Didn’t you like it?’ he asked.
‘Some of it.’
‘Which bits?’
‘I’m not saying, not now anyway.’
Maria had to check her speech. She almost repeated something that Vicky had said, and that might have spoiled everything.
‘Are we going out, then?’ she asked.
‘Course we are. Are you taking a coat?’
‘Do I need one?’
‘No, not really.’
They went down to the car arm in arm and drove into the city.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ve booked a table at the Richmond Grille.’
Maria had never been there before. She’d heard of it of course, and of its fancy prices, but more than that, it had a reputation where men wined and dined their women before uttering a proposal, prior to producing a diamond. Her heart skipped a beat. Could he possibly be thinking of doing the same? If only. She flashed a scrambled silent prayer to her God. Yes please. Oh God, yes please. I’m ready.
The Grille was rapidly filling by the time they took their seats. Most of the diners were considerably older than they were; a fact that Gringo didn’t notice, but Maria did, because most of the men stared at her, and she couldn’t figure out if it was because of her colour, her dress, her beauty, or the cleavage on display. She tried to ignore them for she was determined to enjoy the date, but it was hard.
There are only so many fabulous evenings in life, her mother always drilled into her, only so many days and nights to remember for any pretty girl; and Maria should make the most of every single one when they came along. She was striving to do precisely that.
The food was superb, though for the price Maria couldn’t help but notice that she could have bought two, maybe three month’s groceries. Perhaps it was her accounting training coming to the fore, always looking at ways to reduce overheads. She shook her head to forget anything to do with work, and her hair shivered like the curtains in the pictures before the film starts. He didn’t know why she’d done that, but he liked it well enough.
Gringo made short work of the sea bass and then said: ‘It’s owned by that celebrity chef off the TV, this place.’
‘Is it?’ said Maria, glancing about to see if he was lurking about somewhere, but all she saw were several mixed looks coming back.
‘The foulmouthed one?’
‘No, not him.’
‘The spiky haired one?’
‘No.’
‘The black fella?’
‘No, not him either.’
‘The school dinner fiend?’
Gringo laughed. ‘No-ooo.’
‘That buxom dark woman?’
‘No, it’s a man, definitely a man.’
‘The fish fan?’
‘Nope.’
‘I know who it is,’ she said. ‘The fat dwarf!’
Gringo guffawed. ‘Nope, not him either.’
‘I can’t think of any others.’
‘It’ll come back to me later, I’ll tell you when it does,’ and after that they began talking about their respective parents.
All too soon the meal was over without any proposal forthcoming, and no hint of a diamond. There was still work to be done on him, thought Maria, but she was making progress, she was certain of that. Minutes later they were back in the car, snogging like teenagers. He said he’d waited long enough, he said he’d missed her warm and responsive lips. Maria wasn’t an over-keen snogger, but if that was what he wanted, well sometimes a girl had to give a little, and certainly Gringo was a smoother kisser than most of the groping creeps she had been out with.
Half an hour later they were home, back at Gringo Towers, her brewing the coffee, him closing the curtains and blinds and setting up the sitting room just as he liked it, the modern wall mounted fire displaying its dancing flames up the wall, the beige woollen rug he adored set out invitingly before the fire.
They cuddled up together and kissed and caressed, between sipping black coffee, and it was during one of the later refreshment breaks when Gringo sat back on the sofa and nodded across the room and said: ‘Go and stand on the rug.’
‘Eh? Why?’
‘Go on. Just do it.’
She stood up and swayed across the room, her shoes long discarded, and turned and stared down at him. He was sitting back with his arms folded, examining the goods like a farmer at the cattle market.
‘Put your hand behind your back and unzip the dress.’
So that was it. He wanted a strip show. Weren’t men so predictable? They all wanted exactly the same things. She could manage a strip show if she had to. Jason, one of her earlier boyfriends, could only get excited if she’d stripped for him first. But to hell with it, that was water long sucked under the bridge of life. All she could think of now was the present, as her mind returned to Gringo’s letter.
And if you are really lucky, before the midnight hour, I shall carry out a full kit inspection, and woe betide anyone who does not pass muster.
She glanced at the digital clock. It showed 11.38. He was running early. She stared down at him, right in the eye, pleasantly, but without smiling, and reached around with her right hand and unzipped. It was a long zip. It took a lot of unzipping, and in the silence the slow downward movement sounded like staccato gunfire.
Gringo’s mouth turned tinder dry. He reached forward and sipped more coffee. It made no difference.
‘Ease the ribbons off your shoulders.’
Slowly, she did as he asked.
‘Take it off!’
She hesitated. She would make him wait. She would make him ask again.
‘Fucking take it off!’
She eased the dress to the ground and stepped from it. He adored the dress, but preferred it lying in a heap at her feet. Gringo sat back and admired the woman, his woman, for now, her hair and face, her bronze skin, her taught, slim, yet curvy body, her black low cut bra, the jet suspenders, shiny lacy knickers, and sheer black stockings. She looked perfect. For a moment he thought of fetching the camera and taking pictures, but some birds don’t like that kind of thing, and he didn’t want to spoil the night.
She reminded him of Melanie. Other than the obvious differences of height and skin tone, they were vaguely similar. They fitted very much into the template of Gringo’s perfect woman, long wavy hair, slim waist, pretty face, curvy hips.
‘This kit is all new?’
‘Yes,’ she said, suddenly quite breathless.
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Cardingberry’s.’
Cardingberry’s, he thought. Yes, it would be from there, a better than average city department store that vended quality gear, with a hefty price tag. He approved. The girl had made a big effort, and not before time. He had never seen her legs before, not outside the bedroom. They were a decent set of pins and he couldn’t figure out why she was so reluctant to display them.
There was a short silence and then he said: ‘I never want to see you in trousers again, ever. Understand?’
‘I like my slacks.’
‘I don’t care! I mean never! If I ever see you in trousers again, we’re finished. Understand? Finished!’
There was something in her that wanted to tell him to Piss Off! But there was another contrary feeling running deep within her telling her she must obey. She had never felt that way before. This was important to him, and maybe to her too, a defining moment perhaps, and the second feeling was winning, hands down.
‘All right, Gringo, if that’s what you want.’
‘It is! Now get up those stairs!’
That surprised her. She was sure he was going to ask her, nay order her, to strip naked in front of him, most men would have done, she was sure of that, yet he hadn’t, though in truth she was quite relieved. She had never been that comfortable with her own body, and anything that avoided total nakedness in front of anyone else, even Gringo, was all right in Maria’s book. She stood still before the fire. Gringo took another look.
‘Get up those stairs before I put you over my knee and thrash the living daylights out of you!’
There was something in his tone she didn’t quite like. He was quite capable of frightening her when he wanted to.
‘Gringo,’ she said, pleadingly.
‘Git!’ he yelled, pointing to the door that led to the staircase.
She ran past him and began up the stairs. He stood and headed after her. By the time he reached the bottom stair she had flown to the top of the house. She could hear him coming. He made sure of that, setting each s
tep on the stairs with a loud thump, as she lay on the bed, quivering, waiting.
In the morning they were once again the best of friends as they lay together naked, a smile never far from either of their faces, as they caressed each other’s skin, whispering encouragement, and those soft words that only come in such circumstances.
The night had been long and torrid, just as he had predicted. During one brief break, and even then he hadn’t fully stopped, the phone had rung. Maria had snatched a glimpse at the clock. 1.28.
Who could be ringing at such a time?
Gringo figured it might be New York, it could be important, or maybe it was Brenda, checking up to see if he really was out late.
He grabbed the phone but didn’t speak.
‘Gringo?’ said the soft voice. ‘It’s Mel.’
‘I know who it is. What do you want?’
‘I just wanted to thank you.’
‘Thank me? What for?’
‘For bringing Brian and me back together. We haven’t been this close in ages.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He’s gone down to the fag machine, run out, no cigarette afterwards, if you get me.’
Gringo sniggered.
Whether by accident or design Maria chose that moment to let out a loud sigh.
‘Is there someone with you?’
‘It’s Saturday, of course there is someone with me.’
‘Who?’
‘Never you mind.’
‘Well have fun, Gringo, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
‘That leaves me plenty of scope,’ he said, as he dropped the phone.
‘Who was that?’ Maria whispered.
‘No one. No one at all.’
‘Why don’t you make me some breakfast,’ said Gringo. ‘I’d like scrambled eggs on toast, and then afterwards, if you’re really good…’
