The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene

by David Carter

  ‘Sorry sir,’ the woman said, as she switched language and put on a textbook English accent. ‘Will you accept a cost collect call from Buenos Aires?’ except she pronounced it quite deliberately Bwey-noze Air- rees?’

  ‘Yes! Sure. Course!’

  His heart skipped a beat, and then roared away like a scarlet Ferrari.

  ‘Go ahead, caller.’

  ‘Gringo?’ she said, pathetically.

  She sounded so far away, much further than the operator, as if she were on the other side of the earth, which of course, she was. That same sweet voice, the familiar and comforting sound bouncing up from the southern hemisphere, hopping the Atlantic Ocean, reverberating into his ear.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘You took ages to wake up.’

  ‘It’s gone four in the bloody morning!’

  ‘Sorry, Gringo.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in Argentina.’

  ‘I know that, soft bollocks. Whereabouts?’

  ‘I am outside a place called Santa Rosa; it’s about 300 miles from Buenos Aires, give or take. Right out in the sticks, the capital of the Pampas, so they call it.’

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘I’m paying for the call.’

  ‘Harry brought me, he’s here on business, trying to do some refinancing deals with some of the farmers’ groups, it’s all agricultural here, something like that, incredibly boring. You wouldn’t be interested.’

  ‘So what can I do for you?’

  There was a short silence and then she said: ‘I want to come home, Gringo.’

  ‘Haven’t we been down this road before?’

  ‘I know all that. I can’t help making the same mistake twice.’

  If only it were twice, he wanted to say.

  ‘So come home. What’s stopping you?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Harry burnt my ticket and took my money. He disabled my mobile as well, he thinks of everything.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘I need some cash, Gringo. Urgently. I’ll pay you back when I get home, every pound, every cent.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘A thousand dollars, US.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money.’

  ‘I need to fly across to BA, and pick up a London flight from there.’

  He paused as if thinking of it for a second. In that delay she imagined he either didn’t have the cash, or was about to refuse.

  ‘I’d better ring my dad. He’ll help.’

  ‘Just a moment, I’m thinking!’

  ‘I need help,’ and then she said: ‘Well, Gringo?’ and in the sweet way she said that, I need help and Well, Gringo? it melted his heart. He couldn’t refuse her, and he knew it, and she’d guessed that would be the case all along.

  ‘How do I send it?’

  ‘There’s a Western Union office in Santa Rosa. Here are the details,’ and she began reeling off numbers and addresses.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ he yelled, as he scrabbled about for a pen. ‘Go on, carry on.’

  She rattled through everything he needed; all the information ready to hand. ‘If you express wire it first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll get it tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Okay, Glen, consider it done.’

  ‘Thanks Gringo, I owe you one.’

  ‘Damned right you do! And don’t you dare forget!’

  ‘I won’t, Gringo.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘I am in this really odd hostel, it’s a kind of home for battered wives, I think they’ve sort of adopted me, they don’t speak any English and I don’t speak much Spanish, but they are very kind to me, though they all peer at me as if I am from the backside of the moon.’

  ‘I hope you are not a battered wife.’

  She ignored that and said: ‘I’ve just popped out for a few minutes, I’ve been thinking about calling you all day, I was worried about what you might say, I thought you might tell me to eff off. I’ve nipped down the road to the only public callbox in the district that works. It’s like the back of beyond round here.’

  ‘When will you fly home?’

  ‘I won’t know that till I’ve got the cash and buy the tickets. I’ll ring you again tomorrow to let you know.’

  ‘Try and ring earlier.’

  She didn’t answer but then said in a rush: ‘I’ll have to go now, Gringo, it’s late here, and there’s some crazy guy in a big hat standing right outside the phone box glaring at me, and there are two vile looking dogs at his feet. Christ, they all look famished. This is one scary place, Gringo, I can’t wait to get home,’ and then the line went dead.

  Jeez, how am I supposed to sleep after that, he thought. What exactly happened there? Did the big guy grab the phone? Did the dogs bite her legs? Did she get safely back to the home for battered wives, and why was she living in such a hellhole of a place anyway? It didn’t bear thinking about, yet he couldn’t think of anything else. There would be no more sleep that night. His mind was in turmoil.

  The following morning a bleary eyed Gringo made an excuse and left the office as soon as the banks opened. He wired two thousand dollars to her name at the Western Union branch she had given, and after that the day dragged horribly by until he could leave the office and hurry home and wait for her call.

  The bitch didn’t ring.

  He sat up all night waiting.

  She still didn’t ring.

  Bastard!

  She’d scammed him out of a thousand dollars, or so she imagined, as his confused mind flashed up a picture of her grinning evilly at her success, counting the money in some shady bar, ordering another round of cocktails for the crazy wild-eyed gang around her. She’d be doubly happy when she discovered that his concerned mind had sent twice as much. What a prick he was! And yet, and yet, did he really believe that? Truth was; he didn’t know what to believe. For some reason his mind flashed back to the altercation he’d had in the supermarket.

  ‘What do you think I am going to do? Commit suicide?’

  ‘Well are you?’ the woman snapped, glancing at the desperate looking unshaven character.

  Gringo didn’t possess the courage to commit suicide, or the stupidity or shortsightedness either, but that didn’t stop him feeling suicidal that night, and murderous. It was a good job he couldn’t lay his hands on her, for if he could, he’d have knocked her into next week, no doubt about it, except that Gringo Greene could no more hit Glenda Martin than he could whack Felix the cat. Like most men there was violence in him, latent and brooding, but not when it came to her.

  Sixty-Eight

  She rang the following evening, full of apologies. There had been a slight delay before Western Union would release the funds; some technicality on the paperwork they weren’t happy about to do with her marital status, though why that should delay anything was a mystery. She’d hurried back to the bucket shop travel agent in Santa Rosa but found they had just closed for the day, and when she arrived back at the hostel the only local phone was out of order.

  Gringo was just happy to hear her voice. She had no more scammed him than Father Christmas. In the intervening time he’d had plenty of time to think, and there were some big questions he wanted to ask.

  ‘Why did you two fall out?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘As I said the other day, I’m paying for the call, and as you’ve rung at a respectable hour, we have plenty of time.’

  ‘If you must know he thought it would be a good idea if we took up dancing lessons, the tango as it happened, help us integrate into society, so he said, make new friends and meet new people, all that jazz.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The tango teacher was very beautiful. Do I have to spell it out?’

  ‘You’re very beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks, Gringo. Not like her. She’s tall, slim, jet black hair down to her waist,
permanently bronzed skin, big red lips, huge eyes, amazingly striking, and to cap it all, she’s only nineteen, though she doesn’t look it.’

  ‘I can’t believe he’d exchange her for you after a few weeks marriage.’

  ‘You and me both, Gringo, but trying to figure out what goes on in Harry’s mind is like trying to make sense of a box of frogs on speed, and besides, she’s very well connected.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean? Is it so important?’

  ‘It is to him.’

  ‘How well connected?’

  ‘She’s the only child of the bloke who’s second in line for the leadership of the main opposition political party.’

  ‘Wowser. Wow-eee. So what?’

  ‘You don’t understand, Gringo. The bloke in charge is seventy years old and has a serious heart condition, could pop his clogs at any time. The party is riding high in the polls. If the old bloke dies, and if her father takes over the leadership, and if they win the election, he will become president.’

  ‘That sounds like an awful lot of ifs to me.’

  ‘That’s as may be but it’s going to happen. Harry’s convinced of it, he’s barely been able to talk of anything else since Francesca told him all about it.’

  ‘So he’s swapped his new and beautiful wife for a girl who moves in the best of circles?’

  ‘That’s about it, and get this, Gringo, if and when they win the election, her father has promised Francesca a top job in the Argentine Embassy in Washington. He can’t refuse her anything, talk about being the apple of his eye, and with Harry as her close advisor, him with all his American financial connections and all, they reckon they will be invited to the White House for dinner before the year’s out. Harry’s bragged to all his family about it and they’re all running round as excited as if they are going on a golden turkey shoot. They’re obsessed with one-upmanship and this is about as Up as you can get. Tell you truth, Gringo; it all makes me want to puke.’

  ‘It beggars belief.’

  ‘It does, Gringo, I feel like I’m suddenly involved in a world full of crazies.’

  ‘Let’s talk about you, Glen.’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘Have you booked a flight?’

  ‘Yes, course I have, didn’t I say? Arrives in London at noon on Saturday, no middle of the night job this time. British Airways, Terminal 5.’

  ‘And you want me to pick you up?’

  ‘I’d like you to pick me up… if you want to.’

  ‘I’ll be there, you know that. Have you told your dad?’

  ‘Nope. I’ve told no one, and you won’t tell him either, will you?’

  ‘I won’t tell a living soul if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘And can I stay at yours for a week or two, just until I sort myself out?’

  ‘You know the answer to that.’

  ‘Thanks, Gringo, I knew I could rely on you.’

  Yes, he thought, I am mister reliable, always there with a shoulder to cry on, and a warm bed to come home to.

  ‘Are you still there, Gringo?’

  ‘Yeah. Course.’

  ‘You’re not still angry with me, are you?’

  ‘No more than usual.’

  ‘There’s something else I need to ask.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Do you have a good doctor?’

  He didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘Course I do. Why?’

  ‘I’ll need to see a doctor as soon as I get home. Do you think you could fix me up an appointment?’

  ‘Well, you are not registered at my surgery so it might be a bit difficult. I might have to say you are my fiancée or something.’

  ‘Say whatever the hell you like, but fix me an appointment as soon as you can.’

  ‘And dare I ask why you need to see a doctor?’

  ‘We’ll talk about that when I see you…’ and then she paused as if thinking things through, a break in conversation where Gringo said nothing, and then she began speaking again: ‘Actually, it might be better to tell you now, get it over and done with.’

  He didn’t like the sound of that either.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The happy slappy guy has kind of rearranged my face.’

  ‘He’s what!’

  ‘You heard me. It was my ticket into the battered wives’ club. Actually, it’s not as bad as all that, my nose is broken, that’s all, it’s sort of pointing three ways at once, and a couple of black eyes,’ and she let out a short, cold laugh at her own predicament. ‘I’m sure a good doc will soon sort it out. I won’t look too horrendous, I promise.’

  ‘I’ll kill the bastard if I ever meet him!’

  ‘Hopefully you never will.’

  He shook his head in exasperation. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks, Gringo, thanks for everything, and I didn’t thank you for the money either, twice as much as I needed, I’ll give you the balance as soon as I see you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the cash; just concentrate on getting yourself home in one piece.’

  ‘Thanks for everything, Gringo,’ she said again, ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  He didn’t want her thanks; he wanted her home, safe and sound where he could keep an eye on her, even if she didn’t want him in the same way. He wanted her where he could ring her and speak to her whenever he felt the need, where he could ask her out whenever he wanted, even if she refused him a hundred times, to ask her opinion on any topic he desired. They had always been able to discuss everything in complete confidence, a confidence never violated on either side. He could talk to her of things he could never tell another living soul, and he liked to think she could do the same. He wanted her back. He wanted her home.

  It didn’t even matter now she’d married, even to that repulsive creep. Yes, it hurt him so, of course it did, but he could live with that, in these newfound circumstances he could, just so long as she was back with him, for at long last he felt he might be winning.

  ‘When you get home you’re going to have to start behaving yourself.’

  ‘Yes, Gringo,’ she said, like a reprimanded schoolgirl, and even at that distance he knew she was grinning.

  ‘I mean it!’

  ‘Yes, Gringo. I know.’

  ‘You drive me crazy. You know that?’

  ‘I thought that’s what we were supposed to do.’

  ‘Behave yourself, you goon!’

  ‘I’ll try, Gringo. See you Saturday, God willing,’ she said, before adding a far off sounding: ‘Bye, love,’ and then she was gone.

  He sat and stared at the dead telephone. It seemed hard to believe she was coming home, back to him, and though she might now be married, he knew he had another chance. It was their precious secret, and secrets, he believed, were the lifeblood of true love. Crazy ideas flashed through his mind. It is amazing to what lengths a man will go to win the heart of a woman, and often there is no rhyme nor reason to the thinking behind it.

  What was it his old dad had said? Faint heart never won a fair maiden, an old phrase true enough, but still an apt one. The question was; what exactly could he do to win the heart of Glenda Martin?

  He had some thinking to do, and some work to do too, but that was nothing new. He’d been trying to solve that particular riddle for more than three years and was still searching for the key.

  Sixty-Nine

  She looked like an Australian fast bowler.

  He spotted her the moment she came through the gate. The white bandage in the centre of her face reminding him of the sun cream that cricketers splash to protect their nose and cheeks, it marked her out; not that Glen ever needed marking. He noted the black skintight jeans she wore and guessed she’d dragged them on whilst lying down. Up top a long-sleeved silk blouse that wouldn’t be anywhere near sufficient in Britain in winter.

  She’d spotted him now as she came through the barriers and headed toward him, pushing her bags, and then she tried a smile t
hrough the gauze on her face.

  ‘Hi you,’ she said.

  ‘Welcome home, darling,’ he said, holding out his arms, and unhesitatingly she stepped into his embrace.

  ‘Darling,’ she said, mimicking his voice. He’d never called her that before. She reached up to kiss him on the cheek but brushed her nose on his shoulder. He felt her wince in his arms and heard her stifle a tiny ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Serves you right,’ he teased.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For getting involved with such a lunatic.’

  ‘The less said about that the better.’

  ‘You’ll need a coat; you can’t go out in this skimpy thing.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘And don’t be cheeky.’

  ‘You don’t change. I thought you’d like the blouse.’

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t.’

  They broke apart and she opened one of the bags and pulled at a purple and mauve cagoule.

  ‘Will this satisfy his majesty?’

  ‘It’ll do,’ he said, taking it from her and holding it up for her to slip on.

  She smiled at him gently, realising how happy she was to be back in his unthreatening company.

  ‘I like your trendy facial style,’ he said, smirking as he did so.

  ‘Yes, well, hopefully it won’t be there too long. Did you manage to fix an appointment?’

  ‘I did. Doc Downton, first thing Monday morning, he’s very good, though I had to register you, and say what I said I was going to say.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘That you are my fiancé.’

  ‘I’d be a bigamist if I went through with that.’

  ‘He doesn’t need to know the fine details.’

  ‘Just so long as you aren’t getting any ideas,’ she said, in a strange teasing kind of way.

  ‘I’m full of ideas, but then Miss Martin, I think you know well enough I’ve always been considered something of an ideas man. Nothing changes in that regard.’

  He took the luggage trolley and rolled it back toward the car, Glen happy to link his arm, happy to be back in England, and as they walked from the building an odd thought came to him.