The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene

by David Carter

  The girl exhaled through rumbling lips and for a moment Gringo thought she might burst into tears. She tugged the door open and stormed through the general office.

  Gringo hadn’t closed the blinds.

  Melanie could see something of the heated conversation going on before her, though she couldn’t hear a word, and as Rebecca stormed past her, Mel said: ‘What’s going on, Becky?’

  ‘Don’t ask me! Gringo’s gone bloody mental!’

  It was half past six when he arrived home. He was greeted by a huge pile of mail, pushing against the inside of the door. He’d been thinking of taking a holiday, somewhere hot and far away, and had made the mistake of signing up for some brochures. They’d become a torrent, more than a dozen fat catalogues that day alone, all boasting of better climes and scantily clad creatures.

  He tossed the heavy load onto the worktop and it was only then he saw the slim airmail envelope peeping out from between Cyprus and New Zealand. He glanced at it again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, then snapped it up.

  The letter was postmarked New York and dated five days before. His name and address had been neatly written in green ink, that unmistakeable hand that he would recognise anywhere. His heart skipped a beat. He tore the envelope open and dragged out the contents.

  It was a large single sheet of paper, lined, narrow lines, lots of tiny torn holes on the left hand side, but to hell with that. His eyes went into overdrive.

  Dear Gringo,

  I was very surprised to receive your letter. Where on earth did you get my address? – but we both know the answer to that, don’t we. That woman could never be trusted with anything, but it will do you no good.

  Harry and I are now living together as man and wife. He’s a wonderful man and I am hoping to stay here for good. If he were to ask me to marry him I would jump at the chance.

  You asked if I could ever forgive you, Gringo, but I don’t think I will ever be able to do that. I worked very hard for you and you didn’t even turn up to my leaving do. That was unforgivable. Sorry Gringo, but there we are.

  Please don’t write again.

  Lots of love,

  Glen

  XXX

  Gringo cursed and set the letter down. He half expected something of a telling off, but not this. Not such a cold slap in the face. What should he do now? There was only one thing he could do, he would write to her again. He read the letter one more time, searching for any crumb of comfort, but there was none to be found, none that he could detect even between the lines, and yet maybe there was, right at the very end.

  Lots of love, Glen, XXX.

  Why would anyone write such a cold letter and then end it with love and kisses? Perhaps it was a slip of the pen. Perhaps it was just the automatic way she always ended letters, as one always starts them with Dear So and So, even a letter to a murderer would be started with Dear Murderer, wouldn’t it?

  It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.

  He thought of Ed again. If only he were here, he would know what to do. Eddie Wishaw, his former running mate.

  They’d met when they were both nineteen and had immediately formed a cast iron bond. Perhaps it was because they were so opposite, little slight Eddie with his cute face, bright blue eyes, and perfect blond hair. A puff of wind would have dispatched him to Siberia, but that didn’t stop the girls flocking to him like bees to delphiniums. The funny thing was he attracted an entirely different crowd of girls to the women who went for Gringo. That worked out fine, for there was never any serious jealousy or rivalry between them, not once in the six brief years they knew one another.

  They would go out on the prowl together, seeking new conquests, and would rarely come home alone. Afterwards they would compare notes as if it were the most important thing in their lives, which at that time, it was. What strategies had been a success, and which had failed, how far they’d managed to get, where they’d ended up, and plenty more intelligence to do with girls, and women, especially if one of them had hooked an older woman, who might have taught them a few new tricks.

  They were constantly on the look out for the new deal, something with which to impress the girls, anything fresh and exciting; anything the birds would never have heard of before, or felt before, or seen before, or experienced before. Little tricks to give them an edge over their competitors, when in truth, few rival firms could match Eddie and Kevin, as he still was back then.

  What would you do now, Ed? said Gringo aloud, as he sat alone in the kitchen.

  Charm, my son, charm, that’s what you need to give it, loads of charm and flattery. No woman I have ever known has ever been able to resist a dose of the old C and F, turn on the charm, chuck in a bit of flattery, and you are home and dry, and while you are about it, don’t be afraid to use the L word either, because at the end of the day that’s what every woman really wants to hear, the L word. Chuck that in too, anything that gives you an edge, mate, and the world is your oyster. Oh, and one other thing, you can’t go wrong with a big bouquet of flowers, and preferably not from the supermarket, and never from a petrol station. Women adore flowers, even if they suffer from hay fever, it isn’t the flowers themselves, it’s the associated meaning.

  It was almost as if Eddie was there now, so clear was his southern voice, divvying up his precious advice.

  Fact was; Gringo had never used the L word, not in anger, not really meaning it. True, he’d answered the age old question Do you love me, Gringo? in the affirmative countless times, and had written Valentine cards by the hundred ending with: Love you loads, but in all of his life he’d never used the L word as it was meant to be used. How could he? Gringo Greene had never been in love. He didn’t know what it meant.

  Twenty-Nine

  One Friday night shortly after Eddie’s twenty-fifth birthday they went out for an early drink, prior to going girl hunting. Gringo had bought two halves of lager and before either of them could take a sip Eddie had said: ‘There’s something wrong with me knackers, mate.’

  ‘Dose of clap, is it?’

  ‘No, no, much worse than that. The doc says I’ll have to have an operation, chop one of the old fellas off. This is serious.’

  The following week Eddie went into the General and had an operation. They opened him up to take a good look inside to see how far it had gone, and when they did, they couldn’t believe what they saw, and promptly closed him up again, still in shock.

  Three weeks later, Eddie was dead.

  The doctors said they had been amazed that he hadn’t been in severe pain, agony; that he had still gone about his urgent business, as any normal driven man might have done.

  Gringo had a crazy idea as to why Eddie hadn’t experienced pain. Because he was so full of love, for women, and for men too, for it was true that the gay community found him hugely attractive, though Gringo never had any reason to suspect he reciprocated in that area. Eddie loved life itself, and everything to do with it. Eddie Wishaw loved life more than anyone Gringo Greene would encounter in his entire life, and in the end, love defeats everything. Eddie Wishaw was a natural born loving man, and would be hugely missed. Thinking of the man, a tear formed in Gringo’s right eye and tumbled down his seven o’clock shadow face.

  The little church down in the dell was crammed from font to doorframe for the funeral service. Most of the mourners were attractive young women; girls Eddie had known right back to kindergarten, sniffling into their freshly ironed and embroidered handkerchiefs. None of them bore any bitterness toward him, and that is a rare thing for a philanderer. They had known of his flighty character, for he was a delicate and beautiful butterfly, destined to rush from bloom to bloom, somehow knowing that its life would be short, that it must drink all the nectar before the frosty nights of winter returned, as if that same nectar could ultimately protect it for all eternity.

  If that were true, Eddie was protected beyond measure.

  Neither was there any rancour between them, the women that is, and that was unusual to
o. They were simply grateful they had known Eddie Wishaw during his brief but eventful life. His soft southern voice returned to Gringo’s head.

  Get on and write to her, my son. Turn on the charm. A little bit of C and F will always win the day, and throw in a good dollop of the L word for good measure.

  Gringo pulled the pad and the pen from the drawer and began writing.

  Dear Glen,

  Thank you for your kind letter. I didn’t realise I had hurt you so much and I apologise unreservedly for that.

  I am so pleased you are happy together with Harry. I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you (no doubt you will keep reminding him!) In the end the only thing that’s important is your happiness.

  Nothing much has changed here. Don’t forget, Glen, the offer’s still open; you can always ring me anytime you like, if you ever want to, that is.

  You look after yourself bonnie lass, and have fun, and be careful. Come what may, you will always remain in my thoughts, always.

  All my love,

  GG

  XX

  He set the pen down and read the letter aloud. He considered whether Eddie would have approved. Nah! He’d say; you need to lay on more of the old C and F, my son; there simply isn’t enough of the charm.

  Gringo considered it was as charming as he could manage. As for flattery, Glen was no fool. She could see through frippery and flannel quicker than any girl he’d ever known. As for using the L word, well he didn’t feel comfortable with that, but then, he never had.

  Don’t go fucking moping around!

  That was another of Eddie’s prized sayings. Get on with life while you can. Gringo twiddled Ms J Cairncross’s card in his hand. He picked up the phone and dialled 246-1549.

  Three rings and a young woman answered.

  ‘Is this the VAT after hours service?’

  ‘That depends on who is calling.’

  ‘It’s Gringo, I mean, Kevin Greene.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know you.’

  ‘I was just wondering…’

  ‘Wondering what exactly?’

  ‘If you would care to have dinner with me on Sunday?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Because I thought it might be a pleasant evening for you, because I’m sure it would be a pleasant evening for me.’

  ‘Are you a flatterer, Mister Greene?’

  Strange that you should use that word, he thought, a little bit of charm and flattery works wonders.

  ‘I am sure flattery would never work on you, Ms Cairncross.’

  ‘You’re right there.’

  ‘So? Is it a yes or no?’

  ‘On one condition.’

  Another woman with preconditions. Was this a result of the increasingly litigious society in which we live? It seems that no one can answer a simple proposition without tagging on terms and conditions.

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘At no stage do you mention your employer, or their dealings with the VAT office.’

  ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘If you mention anything, even once, I shall walk away.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Do you know Sammy’s Bar?’ she said.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I’ll be there at eight o’clock on Sunday night. If you are not there by five past, I shall leave.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘We shall see.’

  The phone went dead as Gringo smiled to himself. He put the phone down and picked it up again and dialled Maria.

  ‘Hello there,’ she said sweetly, happy and surprised to hear his voice.

  ‘You know our date tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh Gringo, you are not cancelling again!’

  ‘No, not cancelling exactly, just re-scheduling.’

  ‘For when?’

  ‘How about tonight?’

  ‘Tonight?’ she said, in a mixture of anticipation and surprise. ‘It’s not like you to want to go out on a Friday.’

  ‘No, well, I thought I might do something different this week for a change, and I’m really in the mood.’

  ‘The mood for what, Mister Greene?’ she said, her smile clear as day, beaming through the telephone.

  ‘For you, of course.’

  ‘Mmm, well I might consider it.’

  ‘Good, get yourself ready. I’ll pick you up at eight.’

  He took her to a steak bar on the other side of the city. He’d been there three times before, on each occasion with a different girl. The only thing constant about it was the middle-aged waitress who remembered him well. This guy tipped big, and always gave the girls a good time, and men like that were not ten a penny.

  The waitress wasn’t bad looking either for her age, and there was a brief moment when she imagined the guy gave her a look that told her something, though she wasn’t sure exactly what. You just never know with men, she told her mate later, just for a second it was as if he was saying It’s your turn next, and if he asked me, do you know what, I’d jump at the chance.

  Afterwards he took Maria back to her apartment and stayed the whole night. In the morning she made him coffee, threw off her robe, crawled back into bed and cuddled into his lean body.

  ‘What’s got into you, Gringo, what’s the matter?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, when we were out last night, you were as quiet as a church mouse, I think that waitress got more conversation out of you than I did, but when we were back here, boy oh boy, you couldn’t wait to get started, and after that, you simply wouldn’t leave me alone.’

  ‘You’re not complaining?’

  ‘No, I’d just like to know what brought this on.’

  ‘I told you, I was in the mood.’

  ‘In the zone,’ she said, parodying some sports commentator off the TV.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, in the zone.’

  ‘Sometimes you can be a bit animalistic, and there are other times when I get the impression you forget I am here at all.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Don’t say to me: don’t be silly, I don’t like it.’

  ‘You should chill out more, Maria.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s as if you are thinking of someone else.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Gringo, don’t keep saying things like that!’

  ‘Who else would there be? I gave you a good time, didn’t I?’

  ‘Well… yes, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Sometimes a girl needs a little more than a good…’

  ‘Fucking?’

  ‘Gringo! You know what I mean.’

  ‘You mean charm… and flattery… and love, and things like that.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe. Something like that.’

  ‘I’ll try harder in future, I promise.’

  ‘I suppose that’s the best I can expect.’

  ‘You’re right there, and anyway it’s to make up for next weekend.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Trade conference, I told you.’

  ‘You did not!’

  ‘Yes I did. Sometimes you just don’t listen.’

  ‘What conference?’

  ‘Allied Steel Trades. You know what these things are like, just an excuse for the boys to have a big piss-up.’

  ‘Well, where is it?’

  ‘Torquay.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound a very steely kind of place.’

  ‘That’s the whole point. They choose these freaky coastal towns so they can forget all about bloody work.’

  ‘I might come down and join you.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Wags are strictly verboten.’

  ‘Just in case you haven’t noticed we now live in an equal society.’

  ‘I know, doll, but this is a strictly boys only weekend. Lots of talk about football and heavy rock and beefed up cars. You wouldn’t enjoy your
self at all. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll really spoil you when I come home.’

  ‘You mean you might write me another sexy letter?’

  That wasn’t what he meant at all, but if it got him off the hook, then so be it, ‘I might,’ he muttered. ‘Now come on, get dressed, I have some shopping to do.’

  Thirty

  On Sunday night he arrived at Sammy’s bar at five past eight. Ms Cairncross turned up a minute later.

  ‘You’re here, then?’ she said, checking him out as if to remind herself he looked as she remembered.

  She’d made an effort, Gringo thought, gone was the maroon granny cardy, and in its place a tight white blouse, short sleeved to display an expensive silver wristwatch. Dark grey pencil skirt with a light stripe that fit her like a second skin, emphasising her diminutive waist, not that he would ever have missed that, and all complimented by expensive designer shoes. He’d correctly imagined that shoes might be her weakness, and guessed a goodly portion of her heavy pay cheque was spent in the shoe departments.

  They went through to the lounge bar and he bought drinks, zero alcohol beer for him; red wine for her. He’d booked a table and knew they would call them over the tannoy when it was ready, and anyway, he was in no hurry to eat. She sat opposite at a small table and waited for his opening gambit.

  ‘We mustn’t mention the war,’ he said, sipping the drink.

  ‘That’s right, Kevin, not the once.’

  ‘Please call me Gringo.’

  ‘If I must.’

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me all about yourself, come on. Married? Single? Lovers? Children? Lesbian tendencies? Age? Family? Ambitions? Star sign? I am all ears.’

  ‘Yes, they are rather large,’ she said, smirking, glancing at the side of his head.

  ‘Yes, okay,’ said Gringo, grinning too, and touching his ears, protuberances that he’d never once considered to be Linekeresque.

  ‘As for the other things you mentioned, I’m not married as I suspect you know. I doubt if you would have asked me out if you thought I was.’

  He would have.

  ‘I don’t have a lover at present, though why I should tell you such secret information, I have no idea, children, no thank you, lesbian tendencies, no, not that I know of, though I like to keep an open mind in all things, so you just never know what lies in the future, age, none of your damned business, family, my mother is long dead, my father lives with his German whore on the Costa del Sol, while my brother works on the rigs out of Aberdeen. I haven’t seen him for at least five years, no sisters so I don’t know whether that is a good thing or bad, ambitions, well yes please, lots of them, ambition has been the one driving force in my life, the one guiding star, if you will, and as for a star sign, I don’t have one.’