Gringo

by Cass J. McMain

  “Well, baby animals are always adorable. Gringo was so cute as a puppy. He had this big soft belly. And that puppy breath.” She smiled briefly. “Everyone gets to be young once, I guess.”

  He finished the touchups and stood back. “This is looking pretty good.”

  “It is. I can’t thank you enough. It looks so much more acceptable. I hope it helps.”

  Daniel set the paintbrush down and wiped his hands, looking around. It had to help. Whether it would lead to a sale, he couldn’t say, but it had to make it more likely. Nobody would have bought it the way it was.

  They worked together to clean up the mess from painting. “It really is a lot better, Ellie. Much cleaner. It looks bigger, too.”

  Ellie put her hands on her hips and looked at the walls, nodding. “Yes. I think so. I’ve been trying to make it more ‘sellable’ as they say. Tidying up. Getting rid of stuff. I emptied out some of the closets, too. I tried to call some churches to come get the clothes, but …” She looked at Daniel hopefully. “I wonder, would you mind…?”

  She was taking advantage of him. He knew it, but he didn’t mind. Not really. It made him feel at least a little bit better about Gringo. “Which church?”

  “Oh, doesn’t matter much. They all have programs, don’t they? Clothing drives.”

  “Which church did you go to?”

  She looked down at the floor. “Doesn’t make a bit of difference. I’ve been away from the church for a long time. Take them to any one you like. Or to the Goodwill. Whatever’s easiest. The clothes are in the other room. Here, let me get some sacks to carry them in.”

  She grabbed a handful of garbage bags and led the way to the room, where clothing was piled in drifts against the wall. Daniel raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t anticipated this many.

  “You might go through them first, to see if you want any. Some of these would fit you.” Ellie took a few steps and picked up a shirt, held it against Daniel. “This would look good on you. Here.” She thrust it at him, and then picked up and put in his hands another one.

  “I don’t need any shirts, Ellie. Thanks.” He put them into the bag he was holding.

  “I just thought they might fit. They’re nice shirts, real nice ones.”

  He continued to sack up the clothing. They’d fit, but he wouldn’t wear them. How could he explain that without hurting her feelings? One look at her told him he couldn’t, so he didn’t try. Underneath one pile of clothes, he found a box of Christmas ornaments. He asked if she wanted those taken away too.

  “Oh. I wondered where those were. Maybe you could help me put them up.”

  “Christmas was over a month ago, Ellie.”

  She seemed surprised to hear it, and looked distractedly around the room. “I’m going to make us a snack,” she said eventually and slipped away, leaving Daniel with the mountains of clothing.

  The clothes were dusty. He wondered how clothes that had been in closets could have so much dust on them. He held up a small dress and shook it gently, watching dust sift out of it onto his thighs. Must have been the granddaughter’s. Under that one, he found others. Tiny dresses for a tiny girl. Everyone gets to be young once. Why would she have kept these for so long? But he knew, or thought he knew: because getting rid of them would hurt worse than keeping them.

  At least she was doing it now.

  He heard her coming back down the hall and quickly stuffed the girl’s clothes into the sack. There was a thud as a small shoe fell out of the pile, and Daniel snatched at it, thinking absurdly of Margie and sneakers that squeaked with every step. He didn’t want Ellie to see it, and he palmed it so she wouldn’t, because the sight of this miniature sneaker with its perfect pink laces had made his own heart want to break, and he couldn’t imagine what it might do to Ellie. Better not to know. Not today.

  “Lunch is ready.” She glanced at his hands, folded into his lap, and he almost held his breath. But she didn’t seem to notice anything. After she went back out, he stuffed the shoe into the sack and went to wash his hands.

  He washed them until they were red.

  Chapter 29

  Hector balanced on the ladder, one foot on the top step and the other in thin air, kicked out far to the side as he stretched to reach the corner of the overhang. Margie hovered nearby like a mother cat.

  “Jesus, Hector. Be careful.”

  He laughed at her with the easy bounce-back strength of youth, the strength that has never seen failure. “It’s fine, Marge. Relax.” Straightening out again, he looked down at her. “Hand me that end.”

  She reached up and he reached down, fingers barely touching, a Michelangelo scene. They were hanging Valentine’s decorations. This one was a long string of cardboard Cupids. They were also taking down Christmas and New Year decorations as they went along, trading Santa and Baby New Year for Cupid and hearts. Soon, they’d be hanging St. Patrick’s things, as they measured out time in drinking holidays instead of weeks.

  Hector climbed down partway and hopped with the ladder to move it to the next spot. Margie covered her eyes and he grinned at her. “I’m fine. I won’t fall. Watch.” He hopped again, moving the ladder another six inches, a foot.

  “Just climb down and move the ladder. Look, you’re scuffing the floor.”

  “I’ll mop it later.”

  “Don’t scuff it and you won’t have to.”

  “Faster like this.”

  She shook her head and handed another piece of string up, watching him tie it. He broke the loose long end off with his bare hands and sat on the ladder looking down. “What next? That side? Or out front, for the rest?”

  Margie spun in a slow circle, looking the bar over. “I think this is enough in here.”

  He vaulted off the ladder and landed, laughing, at her feet. “Ha-cha!”

  They approached the bar, where Daniel was eating onion rings out of a basket. Hector reached in and stole one. Daniel offered a ring to Margie.

  She took it and passed it back and forth in her hands. “Look and see if these decorations are good enough. Hector’s ready to move out front.”

  “Just plastic ones out front, remember. No paper.”

  “Duh,” Hector said. He folded his fingers and cracked the knuckles.

  Margie winced and shook her head. “We can do a few more in here if you want. How much you think for outside?”

  “Not much.” Daniel took another onion ring and followed them around the bar, looking around at the décor.

  “Enough, yeah?”

  It was enough, and Hector swept the ladder into his arms and carried it out the front door. Margie reached for the box of supplies. “Heard from Bud?”

  “Not today. I talked to him a couple days ago. Before the funeral.”

  The funeral had been on Saturday. Almost nobody from the bar had been able to attend. They probably hadn’t wanted to anyway, Margie said. That may have been true for most of them.

  Daniel had wanted to.

  “He’s coming back next week, he says. At least part-time. Try to get his life back in order again.”

  “That’s good. Is he ready for that?”

  “I guess so.” Daniel hadn’t asked Bud if he was ready. Did it make any real difference? “He needs to get back to normal. If he just stays home, he never will.” The plan was for Daniel to transition to nights again. Not all at once, but over a period of weeks. He’d move slowly, so Bud could, too.

  The back door banged open and shut and a deliveryman came around the corner with three boxes on a dolly. Tequila and rum, that dangerous duo. Another bottle of Clive’s favorite whiskey. And vodka, at last, four bottles. Daniel reached for the clipboard and signed for it.

  “Thanks,” the man said, glancing up. “They said to tell you, this is the last until you get paid up. Sorry.”

  He nodded and waved his hand. He knew. At least they had something to work with for a while. The door banged again and Daniel carted the boxes to the
bar and began stocking them.

  Chapter 30

  Greg waved at him as he got out of the car. “Danny!”

  “Hey, Greg.” Daniel waved back at his neighbor, who was carrying a large pot of blooming tulips. “Gardening already?”

  “Oh, no, no. Too early for that. I’m having dinner at Mary’s. I stopped to get her some wine, and saw these.” He held up the flowers. “Just a gift. For the house. She’s over near the church. Nice little place she’s got there, really. It’s a mobile, you know, but still. It’s nice.”

  The trailers. Around every fourth or fifth house on the street was a mobile home, but there was a thick drift of them by the church. Perhaps they were trying for salvation. Daniel had looked at one of these to rent when he was looking, but he didn’t like them. They were cheap, and they felt cheap. The floors squeaked when he walked on them. He blinked, aware that Greg was still waiting for a response. “Gift, yeah. They have the flowers all over the place now. Valentine’s.”

  Greg’s face flushed. “No, she’s just a friend. I’m too old for… you know. Dating. You don’t think she’ll take this the wrong way?” Greg held the flowers at arm’s length and scowled at them. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine. Valentine’s is a week off, anyway.” But he didn’t know it was fine; how could he? Maybe it was. It was on his mind to say something else, but he fell silent instead, his eyes roaming over the tulips. He’d once had a contract to plant tulips, those same ones – Pink Impression – by the thousands, on the estate of a woman named Marchmont. Pauline Marchmont. She’d seen them somewhere; at the zoo or the museum, just some somewhere, and fallen in love with them. So he’d ordered them in by the crate and planted them for her that fall. But she’d lost interest in them the next year after they’d bloomed, and had him plow them all under and plant Petunias instead. She wanted color, not boring tulip leaves, she said. What a horrible waste.

  Gringo startled him with a cold nose against the back of his hand. Daniel glanced down. He hadn’t known the dog was there.

  He wiped his hand on his shirt and watched Greg walk off down the street with the wine and tulips, their pink heads bobbing up and down. They looked happy: the chilly temperature was just right for tulips. Daniel knew once they hit the warm indoors, the flowers would blast open like a shot. It was on the tip of his tongue to call Greg back, warn him. But his jaw snapped shut. It wasn’t his business. Flowers weren’t his business. Not anymore. He turned and went inside.

  He clicked the television on and sat on the couch, thinking about Greg. The way he said he was too old to be dating, as he stood there with his wine and flowers. Tulips, no less. Daniel found a movie and let it drift past him in waves, not watching. He lit a cigarette and leaned back. Maybe he’d give Ellie a little pot of flowers. Just to be nice, cheer her up. Nothing romantic, obviously. She was far too old. Too old for him, anyway: thirty years older at least. Maybe more.

  “Gotta be in her seventies,” he muttered around a mouthful of smoke. He shaped his mouth and puffed, trying for a smoke ring and failing. He’d never gotten the hang of them, when he used to smoke. Well, he was smoking again, wasn’t he? He didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. He’d had an excuse to smoke at Ellie’s, but now he was smoking here, too. He puffed again: no ring.

  Yeah, he’d probably take Ellie a pot of flowers. Some little thing, maybe to plant in the yard. It would be nice. It would be like taking flowers to his mother. He used to do that, once in a while. Before she died. Her favorite was lilies. Stargazers. He couldn’t stand the smell of them, but she had thought they were wonderful. Divine, was how she put it, so divine…But in the end, she’d lost her sense of smell. He’d kept bringing them, but it hadn’t been the same. She didn’t like them as well, even seemed to resent them, for smelling good without her. She’d lean in and press her nose into them, forgetting that she couldn’t smell, and then she’d frown. She’d always frown. Eventually he’d stopped bringing them.

  Daniel dragged deeply on his cigarette. If Ellie hadn’t sold the place in another month or so, maybe he’d try to help with her front yard a little. For the curb appeal. She had a little lawn, but it wasn’t in good shape. Maybe he could fertilize it and mow it, plant a few little things for color. He’d have to look when he was over there next, see what he could do to help.

  He tried again to blow a smoke ring, but he didn’t even come close.

  Chapter 31

  The door was open, as it often was lately. Daniel rapped his knuckles on the grey doorframe, then stuck his head inside. “Ellie?”

  “In here, Daniel. I’m just shifting these boxes.”

  “You’ve got to stop leaving your door open like that. You’ll get yourself murdered.”

  “Fresh air, my dear Strawberry.”

  He shook his head. They’d had this conversation before. “You’ve got windows for air.”

  “If someone wants in, they’d climb through a window as well as a door.” Ellie came into the hallway, wiping her hands on her sweater. “What’re those for?”

  “Just a little pick-me-up.” Daniel held out the potted flowers: the simplest, most unromantic ones he’d been able to find. And even these had been pinned with heart ribbons until Daniel had removed them, handing them to the cashier as he left, explaining it wasn’t a Valentine, only a gift.

  She took the pot in her hands. “Chrysanthemums. How pretty. I’ll just set them on the coffee table. That’s very sweet of you. I love flowers.”

  “Maybe you can sketch them.”

  She smiled a very small smile. “I used to have mums in the garden.”

  “I know,” he said. He told her she could plant these outside if she wanted to. “But I’d wait a while. It’s supposed to get nasty again next week. No more open doors.”

  Ellie sighed and turned the flowers this way and that, deciding which way looked best. “Herb brought me bouquets of cut flowers once in a while, you see. But those never last long, do they?”

  Daniel looked away, thinking of the lovebirds and the palm kisses and the banana bread he hadn’t even touched. “Some of them last longer than others.”

  “Roses can last, if you get really good ones. He brought roses for me now and then, you see. And champagne, sometimes.” She paused, considering. “Have you ever had strawberries in champagne?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Do they go well together?”

  “Not really. At least I never thought so. But I still thought it was fun. They flip over.” She looked at the mild puzzlement on his face. “You really haven’t tried it. I’m surprised, you being a bartender. Try it sometime, you’ll see. They flip over.”

  He couldn’t remember anyone ever ordering champagne at Bud’s. He opened his mouth to say so, but changed his mind. “Sure,” he said instead. His mind traced the contents of the bar. There were bottles of champagne there, he was sure. Why did nobody order it?

  Because champagne was for celebration, that was why. Did nobody celebrate at Bud’s? Maybe not. Or maybe because they’d never promoted it. “If you ever get this house sold, you can buy a bottle of champagne and have a toast.”

  Ellie beamed at him. “And you can bring the strawberries. Won’t that be fitting? Now, come help me with these boxes, if you would. I just need to take some more out to the garage, and I’m having trouble carrying them.”

  He followed her to the other room. Boxes were piled against the wall. She’d labeled them in faint print: Herb…Herb…Herb. And here, one marked Jonah. He lifted that one first and was startled to find it weighed almost nothing.

  “Where in the garage do you want them?”

  “Just anywhere, is fine. Anywhere.” She flitted her hand around as though it was a leaf in the wind. “Out of here, is all. I’ll deal with the garage later.”

  When he got to the garage, curiosity got the better of him. With a glance over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t behind him, he lifted the edge of the Jonah b
ox. There was nothing inside it.

  Surely she could have carried it. But perhaps it was just too bulky for her. More likely, he thought, that she hadn’t even tried. He lifted it over his head and stacked it on top of a nearby tower of boxes. She’d have to face all this stuff eventually. If Daniel kept being her personal assistant, so would he. With a slight laugh, he fluttered his hands like leaves as she had done and went back in to get the other boxes.

  These had weight at least, so there was something in them. He wondered what, but Ellie was behind him now, watching, and he didn’t dare peek.

  She tried to give him some money for his help, but he refused it. She thanked him again for the flowers. “When you don’t have flowers around, you forget how pretty they are.”

  Daniel nodded. He’d never thought of it that way, but he supposed it was true. “I used to have a really big garden, but I don’t bother doing that anymore. Tell you what, though. In a couple of weeks, I’ll come fertilize your lawn and clean it up some. Maybe plant some pansies in that little flowerbed by the mailbox.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Danny. What a terrible bother I am for you. You must let me pay you for that.”

  He shrugged, knowing he had to help her, unwilling to explain why. “No. It’s a small lawn, Ellie. It’s a postage stamp, won’t take ten minutes.”

  “It’s more lawn than you have at your place!”

  His eyebrows went up. That, too, was true.

  Chapter 32

  Daniel moved back and forth behind the bar, serving customers. The bar was busy for a Friday afternoon. Busier than usual. The weather was spring-like, maybe that was why, or maybe it was the drink special they were running. Whatever it was, Daniel was kept hopping from one side of the bar to the other. Daniel hopped, and Bud stood there in a daze. It was his first day back.