The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (32 page)

  
Yeah right, thought Gringo, and in his mind he imagined he owed something to Maria and Julie for all the expertise they had willingly given. If everything went to plan, Maria would get her just deserts on Wednesday night, perhaps he’d throw in a bonus too, while he hadn’t yet given up on Ms Cairncross. He would have another crack at her just as soon as the date for their decisive second business meeting was booked into the diary.

   Sarah’s gift sat staring up at him, and it was still there, unopened, when he went to bed at eleven o’clock.

   The telephone began ringing at twenty past one. Gringo woke up immediately. It was as if that previous early morning call and the possibility of another similar interruption had persuaded him into sleeping more lightly.

   He sat up, turned on the lamp, and grabbed the phone.

   ‘Hi!’

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

   ‘Certainly.’     

   ‘Go ahead, caller.’

   ‘Hello, Gringo?’

   ‘Hi Glen.’

   ‘How are you?’

   ‘I’m great, how are you?’

   ‘I’m fine. Did I wake you?’

   ‘Nope.’

   ‘I rang you on Saturday night.’

   ‘Did you? I was away.’

   ‘I gathered that. Where were you, out whoring?’

   Gringo laughed aloud. ‘Certainly not!’

   ‘Is there anyone special in your life at the moment, Gringo?’

   ‘Nope. No one at all.’

   ‘That’s sad.’

   ‘No it isn’t. I get by. I do all right.’

   ‘I’ll bet you do. I meant to tell you, we went camping.’

   ‘Oh yeah. Where?’

   ‘Miles away, right out into the countryside, and the country is quite different here to home, I mean it’s just empty of people, total wilderness.’

   ‘Who went?’

   ‘Me and Harry and Elena and Phil. It was a bit embarrassing really.’

   ‘In what way?’

   ‘We only had the one tent, a pretty big tent, but just the one nevertheless. Not a lot of privacy.’

   That was too much information so far as Gringo was concerned.

   ‘I see.’

   ‘Harry and Phil kept teasing us there were wolves in the forest, and there might have been for all I know. One evening the lads went off into the woods and in the next minute we heard howling noises echoing through the trees. We still don’t know if it was real wolves or just Harry and Phil larking about, but I’ll tell you this, Gringo, I nearly shit meself.’

   Gringo didn’t want to know that either. Then he said: ‘Where was this?’

   ‘God knows, somewhere up in the wilds of New England, it took us ages driving there, and even longer coming back, because the heavens opened and we were nearly flooded off the freeway. By the time we got home I was absolutely shattered.’

   Then they talked about the office routine and their families and what had been on the TV news, and even bloody Coronation Street.

   ‘They are miles behind us here with the storyline. I can tell all the others how it turns out,’ she said, full of enthusiasm, as if it were important, as if they were real people, as if Gringo could have cared less. He was amazed they could even get Coronation Street in the United States. Didn’t they have anything better to do?

   Then she surprised him. ‘Would you like my number?’

   He was amazed she’d suggested that. The only reason he hadn’t asked her for it was because he was sure she would have refused.

   ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘sure,’ and she duly read off a long number he carefully copied down.

   It was another long call, though by the time she hung up, they both felt better about themselves.

   In the morning during a hurried breakfast he spoke aloud to the wrapped gift.

   ‘Tonight!’ he said, pointing at the box, threatening it. ‘Tonight you’re going to get it! I am going to undress you, strip you naked, rip you to pieces and expose you to the world!’ and with that silly thought lodged in his mind he laughed crazily and set off for work.

It was a dull working day and he stayed late. He had that appointment at church with Paul and Kay, an appointment he could have done without, and there wasn’t time to go home and change, so he’d stay and complete some overdue transport costings while he had a free hour.

   He left the office at seven and drove to the Presbyterian Church. Press-bee-teerian, Gringo said aloud, mimicking Paul, Press-bee-teerian.

   As he approached the church he began daydreaming about the weekend he had spent with Sarah, and then as he started to look around for an appropriate place to leave the car, incredibly, there she was, clear as day, coming out of Rosefield Antiques, dressed in grey trousers and a short leather jacket that showed off her rear end a treat. She was accompanied by three big blokes, rough looking fellas, one of whom she sent back to the doors to check they were locked.

   Gringo was stuck in traffic again, and in the next moment they crossed the road in front of him, and all four of them disappeared into the Hare and Hounds. He thought of buzzing down the window, he thought of shouting out: ‘Hi Sarah!’ but he didn’t, and he didn’t really know why. He found a parking space in a side road and walked the short way back to the church.

   Paul and Kay hadn’t arrived, though they turned up a couple of minutes later, and all through the lessons on how to perform a successful wedding, the Press-bee-teerian minister, or whatever they call their vicars, peered over his half moon glasses at Gringo as if to say,
This guy could be trouble
, while Gringo couldn’t stop thinking of Sarah round the corner in that pub with those rough looking geezers, and then of her back at the shack, with him, doing terribly naughty things.

   Afterwards, Paul offered to buy him a drink, but he begged off and ran back to the Hare and Hounds, but there as no sign of Sarah or the guys. Maybe she was treating them to a quick one on the way home, a drink and no more. He retreated to the car and drove home, pausing only to buy fish and chips, and that was something he almost never did.

   In the house he sat and ate the food alone, occasionally speaking to the present, and afterwards he carefully washed and put the dinner things away, for he detested mess and clutter anywhere in the house.

   Finally, he sat at the table and gazed down at the box. He picked it up and slipped his index finger beneath the tape at the right hand end. She had double wrapped the present. His mother always did that; folding the wrapping paper in two before wrapping his gifts. He had never known anyone else do that, but Sarah did. He tried to pull it open but she’d sealed it well. More force was needed to rip the tape away, but still the box would not come free.  

   He attacked the left end with the same result; still the paper would not abandon the box. Inevitably, he reverted to brute strength, ripping the wrapping to shreds, determined to discover what lay beneath.

   It was not chocolates; leastways there was nothing to say it was, because the carton was a heavy duty plain white cardboard box, with just a single line of black text on the top that read: Product Number 2029.

   The box itself consisted of two almost identical pieces, the lid being slightly larger than the base. For a cardboard box it had been incredibly well made, sturdy, the pieces fitting together precisely. He set three fingers at either end and eased off the top.

   Inside, he discovered folded over white tissue paper, the kind of thing that might contain jewellery. Cuff links, tiepin, wristwatch, maybe, maybe not. He liked jewellery. He was getting interested. He folded back the tissue. There was a handwritten card, but he didn’t read it, putting it to one side, now hypnotised by what lay beneath, for whatever it was, it was pretty weird.

   It, or they, were pink and extremely frilly, like some strange sea creature from the depths of the ocean that no human being had ever set eyes upon, a notion strengthened when wispy tentacles came up and out of the box of their own accord, attracted by the static electricity in his excited fingers.

   ‘What the hell?’

   He turned the box upside down and emptied the contents onto the table, the feather-like feelers already on the move and active again. Gringo stared down at his precious present, finally realising what it was. He picked up the card. Sarah had written:

Gringo,

I thought you might appreciate these.

I saw them and immediately thought of you.

All my love,

Sarah

XXXXX

   His attention returned to the pink, frilly, handcuffs. He let out a heavy laugh and held them up before his eyes and gazed at them, amused as the tentacles drifted in the warm air before his face.    Then a crazy laugh escaped his throat, a guffaw prompted by seriously wicked thoughts. He grinned and shook his head, then moments later returned them to the box and carried them preciously upstairs, and hid them away from prying eyes.

He arrived at Maria’s place at just gone eight. She came bounding from the flat, a nervous smile flitting across her lean face. He snatched a second look. Jeez!

   She sported a red mini skirt; he had never seen her in a mini before, and red high heels. The skirt was fastened by a narrow white belt, buckled tight, emphasising her petite waist. He watched her, wide-eyed, as she concentrated on the short walk to the car. This image was all so different, and what legs she had. He leant over to her door and flipped it open.

   ‘Hiya Gringo,’ she said, carefully getting into the car, her skirt, what little of it there was, riding high on her thighs.

   ‘Well just look at you!’

   ‘Do you like it?’ she said, turning toward him. She didn’t really need to ask for there was peculiar look of desire on his face that reminded her of a starving wolf that had stumbled on a herd of caribou.

   ‘Fantastic!’ he said, suddenly remembering how dowdy she looked in those be-trousered outfits she used to wear.

   ‘You don’t think it looks a little tarty?’

   ‘Certainly not! And even if it does, who cares? Don’t you know that men like a touch of tartiness?’

   ‘Do they? I’ll never understand men.’

   ‘Come here,’ he said, and he tugged her over and gave her a massive kiss that by rights belonged much deeper into the evening.

   ‘Bloody hell,’ she said afterwards, pulling down the vanity mirror, opening her handbag to repair the damage. Gringo started the car, suddenly feeling very good about things.

   ‘You have fantastic legs; you should show them off more often.’

   He had intended taking her to a run of the mill pub type place, but because she’d made such an effort, he took her to the considerably more expensive Jackdaw Mill Hotel and Restaurant, a half hour drive into the countryside.

   Maria appreciated that too, she always noticed when men made more of an effort, when they took her somewhere expensive, and didn’t once mention the prices or the bill. So many men were stingy skinflints, but that accusation could never be made against her man, though it was true, Gringo hadn’t taken her anywhere this good for quite some time. It was amazing the power a tight red skirt exerted over a hungry man’s brain.

   Afterwards he couldn’t get her home quick enough, taking her back to Gringo Towers, where he would lock them in, and she would stay the whole night, whether she wanted to or not.

   Gringo’s neighbours had long since noticed that he entertained a succession of attractive beauties of all ages, colours, and sizes, and behind his back he would be called a selection of weird names, some almost affectionate, others downright rude. Rumours persisted that the girls actually paid him, or was it the other way round? But whatever the truth of it; the direct next door neighbours had never heard the likes of the frantic yelping that echoed through the walls late into the night.

   It had all been Vicky’s idea; the clothing, the shoes, the newer, redder lipstick, and in due course, Vicky would demand to know every tiny detail of the entire evening, and night. She seemed to get off on Maria’s gossip.

   In the morning he rushed Maria back to her apartment for a quick change, despite him saying she should go to work as she was. When she came out of the flat she’d reverted to grey slacks and as she slumped into the car she said, rather testily, or at least he thought so: ‘Don’t you dare say anything about the trousers, they’re for work!’