The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene

by David Carter

  Thirty-Three

  Gringo bought a few things on the way home, petrol and groceries and an evening paper, and it was nudging half past eight before he was in the house. Piles of mail littered his doormat, more holiday brochures to exotic places, but nothing further from New York. Five minutes later the phone rang. It was Julie.

  ‘Hello Kevin,’ her soft, sweet voice filtered into his ear. He sat gently down, happy to listen.

  ‘How are you?’ he said.

  ‘I’m very well. How are you?’

  ‘All the better to hear your sweet voice.’

  ‘I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘I just wanted to tell you something.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I just wanted to thank you so much for yesterday…’

  ‘You’re most welcome.’

  ‘No, let me finish, I just wanted to thank you for yesterday, and to tell you that it was the very best day of my entire life, and I shall always be grateful to you, and will remember you forever.’

  Suddenly Gringo imagined there was a big but coming, and he was right.

  ‘But… I don’t want to see you again.’

  ‘What! Why not?’

  ‘Because it just wouldn’t be right. You see, I could never be just another of your string of mistresses, you said yourself you had three lovers in your life already, and were on the lookout for another three, and I instinctively knew that you were telling the truth. I could see it shining there in the diamonds in your eyes. I just don’t see myself as one of your harem, Gringo. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like that.’

  ‘I think with you, Gringo, it does. I don’t think you could ever change, so I was just ringing to tell you that you will always have a very special place in my heart, but we can’t see each other again. Sorry.’

  Her voice was wavering and for a moment he thought she might cry, but she rallied.

  ‘I think you need to find just one girl, Gringo, one special lady that you can really love, and until you do, I don’t think you will ever find true happiness.’

  ‘I am happy, thanks.’

  ‘Are you, Gringo, are you really? Honestly?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘But we’ll see each other at the next meeting, won’t we?’

  ‘More than likely, but it will be a strictly business meeting.’

  ‘Have you really thought this through?’

  ‘I’ve thought of little else. I must go now, darling. Farewell…. and stay well and I wish you well,’ and then the phone went dead, leaving Gringo staring at the mouthpiece.

  ‘Fuck it!’ he yelled. ‘Fuck!’

  The little demon that sat on his shoulder nibbling away on rancid pork scratchings chipped in: That’s what you get for being so fucking honest! When you don’t tell the truth you get along fine, but as soon as you level with a woman, what do you get? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Blown out of the water for your troubles. What is the bloody point in being honest? Fancy telling her you had three mistresses on the go! When are you ever going to learn? What is the fucking point?

  Gringo sat back in the chair and folded his arms and closed his eyes and in that brief moment he saw the remainder of Julie’s life mapped out before him.

  In a year or two she’d meet some boring accountant with a dull name like Johnson or Simpson or Hanson, a man she would never truly love, but would eventually accept his proposal because it would be the only one on the table, and they would luxuriate in a five bedroom detached house in a pleasant suburb on the edge of the city, and within a few years she would present him with two healthy children who would probably be called Julian and India, and those kids would grow up through the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides and Sunday School, and they would be well spoken, polite kids who played cricket and cared for their pets and the environment, and they would attend a good school and beyond that to the best universities, and within a few more years they would start the cycle all over again, with cloned kids all of their own, destined to lead identical lives, and then far beyond that into the future and the twilight of her life, she would sit alone in her twee country cottage, her walking stick to one side, before the newly fashionable far-in-the-future open clean coal fire, her fishes still swimming madly in circles in the tank perched up on the sideboard behind her, a purring and spoilt cat on her lap, and she would think back over all her days, and would think of him, and with a twinkle in her eye she would whisper that, aye, life really had been well worth living, simply because of that solitary night she had spent alone with Gringo Greene, that strange moustachioed bandit of a man who shared her equally odd birthday, two strangers together, and in the last few hours of her life, it would be his face that she would constantly see, and in those precious last few seconds, her final moments, her last gasp, it would be Gringo’s name on her lips, and in her final breath she would call out his name: Kevin, I love you, I love you! and her puzzled loved ones remaining there would look at one another and say: ‘What did she say? Who did she mean?’

  Gringo cursed again.

  Though he had seen Julie only yesterday he suddenly felt an overwhelming desire for female company, and he knew just the person. He picked up the phone and punched in the number. His call was answered immediately.

  ‘Hello you, how have you been keeping?’

  There was a short silence and then she said: ‘I’m surprised you’ve got the bloody nerve to ring! I never want to hear your vile voice ever again, do you hear? You’re an evil bastard, Gringo Greene. I wish you were dead!’

  ‘Brenda, don’t be like that,’ but his words were wasted because they were addressed to a dead phone.

  It hadn’t been a good ten minutes. Losing two women in quick succession was unthinkable. It had never happened before, and it must never happen again. He picked up the phone for the third time. He would make do with Maria Almeida, for now.

  She was pleased to see him, albeit a little puzzled, and of course she let him make love to her, as she always did, though she was not really in the mood, and afterwards it turned out as something of a disaster. She asked him what was the matter and he said nothing at all, but she knew there was something on his mind, and it just made her all the more concerned that things were not right between them.

  A little later, she was quite happy to see him slip away from her flat at just after half past one. It had gone two by the time he crept into his own bed, and barely five minutes after that, his phone rang. He knew it would be her, wanting and needing, at best, some kind of reassurance, at worst, his third final blow out of the evening.

  He grabbed the phone and tugged it down the bed, into the darkness, dropping it once, before yawning a ‘Hello there.’

  ‘Will you accept a call collect from New York City?’

  ‘Eh? Oh! Yeah. Sure!’

  ‘Go ahead caller.’

  ‘Is that you, Gringo?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘It’s Glen.’

  ‘I know who it is!’

  She sounded miles away, which was a stupid thing to think because she was, but she sounded much further away than the operator.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m great. All the better for hearing your voice.’

  She did that little giggle thing he liked so much.

  ‘I just wanted to ring and say sorry for the letter I wrote.’

  ‘No apology needed. I didn’t realise I hurt you so much.’

  ‘You did. You hurt me a lot.’

  ‘I know now. I’m sorry. Am I forgiven?’

  There was a brief silence and then she said: ‘Maybe, Gringo, maybe.’

  ‘I’ve written to you again.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad.’

  ‘Wait a minute; did you ring me the other night?’

  ‘I did, but there was no reply.’

  ‘I woke up just as the phone stopped ringing.’

  ‘
Sorry for waking you.’

  ‘Don’t be. You can ring me any time you like, you know that. The funny thing is I gave young Becky at the office a hell of a bollocking for doing that.’

  ‘Why would Becky be ringing you?’

  ‘She didn’t, and she doesn’t.’

  ‘I don’t understand, you said you thought it was her, but why would she ring you at home in the middle of the night? You’re seeing her, aren’t you?’

  ‘Course not.’

  ‘She’s far too young for you, Gringo.’

  ‘I know that. I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Another little lie but that’s life. ‘How’s New York?’ he asked, eager to change the conversation.

  ‘The view is unbelievable; I wish you could see it.’

  ‘So do I, maybe one day I will.’

  ‘We’re on the thirty-eighth floor and the buildings all around tower above us.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘So how’s everything at the office?’

  Gringo proceeded to tell her all about the VAT investigation brought to light by the overcharge that Melanie had discovered, he told her of how he had been assigned to sort the mess out, and all about his visit to see the VAT inspector, leaving out certain details he deemed inappropriate, and then he told her everything else that had gone down at work, though she didn’t appear that interested. It seemed to Gringo she just needed a sympathetic ear.

  ‘How are your parents?’ she asked.

  ‘They’re okay, though dad’s getting rather frail.’

  ‘I wish my dad was.’

  Gringo knew her dad and of his feisty nature and rapid temper.

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘No, maybe not, I just wish he’d calm down. He hates me being here with Harry. He’s always hated my boyfriends. There’s not one of them he’s warmed to.’

  I’ll bet he does hate Harry, thought Gringo, and he’s not alone.

  ‘How are your sisters?’

  ‘They continue to be a complete pain in the neck, Gringo, the pair of them. You don’t ever want to have sisters.’

  Gringo had met Trisha and Mary just the once. Trish came across as a conniving bitch, while Mary would at least say kind things to your face, yet behind your back, he always imagined she could express a completely different opinion. In any event, so far as Gringo was concerned, Glenda was head and shoulders above her sisters in the looks and demeanour departments, though he was aware that not everyone thought that way. Each to his own. It was just as well we didn’t all desire the same woman. There would be a hell of a queue. In any event, the sisters both thought they were God’s gift to men, maybe secretly Glen did too, though in her case with some justification. The three striking dark haired young ladies that their possessive father referred to as his three musketeeresses, and it was certainly true that the path to their four bedroom detached home was well worn by hungry suitors.

  ‘I’d love to have sisters, even yours,’ and for once he did mean just as sisters.

  ‘No you wouldn’t.’

  ‘I would.’

  ‘You have them then,’ and they laughed together at that crazy thought.

  They talked of where she had been and everything she had seen, and he told her of Paul’s forthcoming marriage to Kay, and that he had accepted the role of best man.

  ‘I think you’ll make a very fine best man,’ she said, and though he would never have admitted it to a living soul, her opinion brought real joy to his heart. They talked of her flight over and the terrible turbulence she had experienced, flatulence did you say, he teased her, turbulence, Gringo, she repeated laughing, turbulence, and they chatted and shared so much more, and when he next glanced at the clock the digital figures winked back: 3.31.

  ‘Your phone bill must be taking a real beating with this call,’ she said, not for the first time reading his mind.

  ‘I don’t care about the money, (which was not a lie this time,) you can call me any time you like, you know that.’

  ‘I’ll have to go in a minute, Gringo, Harry will be back soon.’

  ‘Okay, but you’d better ring me again.’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Promise me.’

  ‘I don’t need to promise, Gringo, I said I will, and I will.’

  ‘And write?’

  ‘Maybe, when I get yours, just so long as Harry doesn’t see it first.’

  He tried to say something else, but when he did, she cut him off in a rush: ‘Must go, see ya!’

  He turned over and lay on his back knowing full well that sleep would be difficult to find. He began going over the phone call in his mind, replaying her sweet voice, bouncing up and down from a satellite God knows how many miles high in the sky. His heart jumpstarted and it wouldn’t allow him to sleep for another hour.

  Is that you, Gringo? Is that you?

  Thirty-Four

  He rose at seven and staggered to the waterfall in the corner of the bedroom and covered himself in the expensive shower wash he had treated himself to at Cardingberry’s.

  He was still thinking of the call. Truth was he couldn’t think of anything else. But as it turned out she didn’t ring again that week, and he didn’t date a woman either, putting Maria off saying he had a dreadful cold, so by the time he was ready to set off to meet Sarah Swift on the Friday evening, he was really in the mood for female company.

  He arrived at her Willerby flat at twenty to seven and as he pulled into the car park, a woman was leaning into the back of Sarah’s car, fiddling with something in the boot. It took him a moment to realise it was Sarah, for somehow the tight blue skirt made her appear slimmer. He pulled the car to a standstill and jumped out. She stood and watched him, a welcoming smile on her face.

  ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,’ she said, flicking her wrist and glancing at her watch.

  ‘Never a doubt,’ he said, closing in on her, ‘traffic was terrible.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ she said, clearly not believing him.

  ‘Have you lost weight?’

  She held her stomach in and rubbed her hands down her trimmer tummy.

  ‘Maybe a little.’

  The truth was that she had been on a dieting frenzy, no cakes, chocolate, less gin and wine, and certainly no pies, pizzas, doughnuts, or jam scones. It’s amazing what a younger man can do for a middle-aged woman, and vice versa.

  ‘I hardly recognised you, you look fantastic.’

  ‘Thank you, you don’t look so bad yourself.

  Her spiky hairdo had been reinforced with fresher, blonder streaks and he liked that too. The sky blue blouse complimented her darker skirt, and the glossy pink lipstick demanded he kiss her, though he didn’t, not yet, she could wait a little longer.

  After their previous soirée where she had shown up his lack of clothes, he’d brought a larger bag crammed with designer gear.

  ‘I like your shirt,’ she said, and she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. Lace curtains in the flats blew in the wind, yet it was a particularly still evening. His shirt was a beige woollen number with a light blue check running through it, and Gringo thought it matched his fawn slacks and loafers perfectly.

  ‘Let’s get the stuff shifted,’ said Gringo, taking her bags from her car and storing them in his. ‘And the water,’ and a couple of minutes later she’d locked up and they were on the road. They hadn’t been going more than five minutes when she said: ‘Can you pull over a moment.’

  They were passing a small estate of local authority homes that had lay-bys opposite for the tenants to park, but being Friday evening there were plenty of empty spaces, the thirsty tenants not yet home. Gringo pulled in and cut the engine and turned toward her, wondering what was on her mind. She leant inward and smiled. They kissed a long and gentle kiss, lips only, no hands or arms, no embrace, no rubbing knees, warm and demanding lips alone, a long and caring kiss that more than anything was a promise of things to come.

  As they came apart she whispered: ‘Have you t
hought about me?’

  ‘I’ve thought of little else,’ which may have been a slight lie, but it was certainly true that he had thought about her a great deal, and more to the point, what he was going to do to her this weekend. Past memories were all fine and dandy, but Gringo lived for the here and now and the immediate future. Today, tonight.

  ‘I just wanted to check the magic is still there,’ she said.

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘It is for me.’

  ‘And me.’

  ‘That’s all right then. You better start the car,’ and in the next moment they were back on the road, heading for the country, and her wonderful secret shack of a cottage, her right hand back in its natural place on the inside of his left thigh, a resting point it automatically now adopted whenever they travelled.

  They followed the same path as before, neither keen to try anything different, both anxious to preserve the magic from two weeks before. He took her to the Black Cat again, there was never any discussion about that, they both chose the fish, and Gringo bought a better wine than last time, a tiny point that Sarah noted. They sat together in the car park afterwards, in no hurry to head off to the bungalow, embracing and kissing again, more passionately than earlier, and later as they bumped and jerked down the dark lane, a dozen rabbits came out as if to welcome them home.

  At the gate to the field Gringo stopped and took the key from her outstretched hand in silence, opened and closed the gate behind them, steered the car across the sea of the long grassed meadow, and pulled it to a gentle stop beside her brooding cottage.

  His lips and mouth were dry.

  Her heartbeat noticeably increased.

  She disappeared inside without saying a word, and slowly a hint of candlelight appeared through the curtained windows. Gringo took in the gear. As soon as he’d finished, he locked the car and hurried inside.

  Within ten minutes of the bolts being drawn the soles of her feet were staring at the sloping bedroom ceiling, her legs swaying about the softly lit room like hypnotic cobras, all clothes scattered to the floor.