The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (5 page)

   ‘That’s cool,’ said Gringo, trying hard to remain calm and appear disinterested, though he couldn’t help wondering why on earth Glen would not want him to have her address. That hurt him, though he struggled hard not to show it.

   They were both glad to see the waitress back with crab cakes and garlic mushrooms. She caught Gringo’s eye and nodded at the bottle. He raised and lowered his eyebrows, and she refilled Mel’s glass, with just a top up splash for him.

   After that they talked small talk, or at least Melanie did, and he was happy enough to let her natter on. He was a good listener, always had been. Records and songs she liked and had bought, films she had seen, holidays they had enjoyed, places they had visited, and new places she hankered to see, relatives who made fools of themselves at a recent Tucker family wedding, new carpets they had bought, and better ones she had set her heart on.

   As she rambled happily on, Gringo watched her without appearing to do so. The way her lips devoured her food. The way they pursed when she drank. The way her big blue eyes looked at everything as if they were seeing the world for the very first time, like a kid’s eyes on their birthday, the way her breasts moved with her breathing, the way her dress constricted her honed and toned body, the way she tossed her tumbling, blonde hair back over her shoulder whenever it had the temerity to stray onto the table.

   Melanie Harris, as Gringo preferred to remember her, was the archetypal dumb blonde. The glitzy super attractive office glamour puss, without a brain in her head. And yet, and yet, that was unkind and incorrect. Somewhere in that dizzy head of hers lurked a clever girl who just occasionally burst forward with acts of brilliance that stunned everyone. When they happened, and it had to be said, they were exceedingly rare; they were all the more surprising. There was that dreadful business earlier in the year when All Nippon Steel had overcharged them £250,000 on a heavy duty wire contract. No one had noticed that, not even Gringo himself, nor the entire accounts department, and the bill had passed all checks and scrutiny, and was within eight minutes of being electronically settled.

   Gringo could still hear Melanie’s voice softly soothing through the office, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d discovered.

   ‘Why are we paying them a quarter of a mill too much?’

   The office had come to a juddering halt.

   Bloody good question! Why are we? Check every damned invoice that All Nippon has ever sent. Check every damned invoice that anyone has ever sent! Jesus Christ! Somehow the story reached head office, though certainly not from Gringo’s lips. He definitely did not want to be associated with such a monumental cock-up, but now he was, no matter how hard he might try to deflect the blame.

   Dryden Engineering had rewarded Melanie Tucker with a bottle of Cava and a £50 book token. They really knew how to look after their staff. Melanie thought it pretty cool, especially when Gringo bought the book token from her for forty pounds cash. She was quids in, though she never mentioned it to Brian or he would have wanted his share. No, Melanie Harris was a smart kid who just happened to be extremely good looking, very desirable, as Gringo reaffirmed when he treated himself to another eyeful, and that cleavage that made his mouth stone dry at the very sight of it.

Melanie had never tasted Baked Alaska before and pronounced it the King of
Sweets
, as she insisted on calling it.

   ‘Puddings,’ Gringo had mentioned once or twice, but for Mel they would always be
Sweets
.

   Neither had she seen or tasted flaming Zambucas either, and she adored the theatrical performance, as Gringo implored her not to drink until she was certain the blue flame was extinguished.

   ‘What do you with this?’ she said, waving the hot coffee bean before his eyes.

   ‘I could tell you.’

   Mel giggled. ‘Don’t be so naughty,’ and she glanced around at the emptying dining room. ‘I need the loo, Gringo,’ she whispered through slightly slurred words.

   ‘You know where it is, I’ll meet you in the bar in a few minutes.’

   She stood up and smoothed down her dress and said: ‘Don’t go away. I haven’t finished with you yet.’

   Gringo winked at her as she turned away. In the next minute the waitress returned and sat in Mel’s chair. A little familiar, thought Gringo, but she was a decent looking thing, with her bright red lipstick and pageboy short, black hair.

   ‘Your wife certainly seems to be enjoying herself.’

   ‘You think?’

   ‘I should say so.’

   ‘So you think I’m on a good thing tonight?’

   ‘I’d get her home right now, if I were you.’

   ‘Thanks for the advice, but I think there’s some dancing to be done first.’

   ‘I hope she knows how lucky she is.’

   ‘I think it’s slowly dawning on her.’

   ‘Sorry to introduce a sour note, but here’s the bill,’ and she slipped it across the table.

   Gringo glanced at it. A few pennies shy of £300. He would wager right now that Melanie would be shocked to see such a thing. It wasn’t far short of what she earned in a week. Probably as well she didn’t see it at all. Gringo took out his wallet and counted out fifteen twenties, and an extra one for the girl.

   ‘Thanks for looking after us,’ he said, nodding at the cash.

   She thought of that for a second and then stood up and collected the money, but before leaving she bent down and whispered in his ear: ‘If you ever get fed up with her, you come and see me, you know where I am.’

   ‘I will,’ he said, slightly taken aback, and his answer must have surprised her too because she stood there for a second, gazing into his eyes as if to discover whether he meant it or not. Then she turned and skipped away as Gringo headed for the cloakroom.

When he came out Melanie was standing outside the door of the Ladies, looking relaxed and radiant. She was chatting to one of the young kids from behind the bar. He must have been about six years younger than her, but it hadn’t stopped him taking his chance to speak to her, and ask her out, but when he saw Gringo and that fearsome moustache that conjured up visions of six guns and duels in some dusty Western town, he hopped off in a hurry.

   Gringo offered her his arm and she took it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

   ‘Now then, Miss Harris, I believe you’re fond of dancing.’

   ‘I love dancing!’

   ‘Yes, I thought you might. Time to get down those stairs.’

A long and straight staircase led down to the disco, a set of stairs that many a giddy punter had struggled to negotiate. Mel’s heels insisted she take great care, but they were soon through the door to be met by banks of waving blue light, pulsing toward them like something from a science fiction film.

   The music started again; a crashing beat that matched the light show perfectly. Gringo grabbed her arm and dragged her onto the packed dance floor. She threw her arms in the air and shook her head, her hair exploding around her like a halo, and then they were lost in their own little world, their eyes locked together, their bodies jerking and swaying to the overpowering rhythm.

   Brian hated dance of all kinds and never ventured onto the floor. Gringo disliked dancing too, but hid it well. He’d learnt early in life that the best way to get jiggy with a woman was to get her on her feet and set her dancing. He wondered if it would work tonight. If he had to bet on it he thought it might, but, don’t forget, he reminded himself, she was an underling from work, and more than that, she was married to the brutish and violent Brian. Gringo tried hard not to think of such distractions.

   There was slowy on the mixer deck and Mel was now draped all over him. He cupped his hands around her back, across her buttocks, as she pulled herself closer. Gringo began to stir, and she knew it.

   ‘You are a very naughty boy, Gringo Greene.’

   Just for a second he thought of Glen. All thoughts of her had vanished up till then, after that difficult question he’d asked Mel earlier, a pig’s ear of a question to issue, in retrospect. If I’m a very naughty boy, then what does that make you? he thought, but said nothing, contenting himself with pecking the porcelain neck that had presented itself.

   ‘How did you know to kiss me there? I love being kissed there, more than anywhere else… almost.’

   ‘I didn’t know,’ he said, though he was lying again. In his experience every woman he’d ever met adored being kissed there. Leastways, he’d never met one that didn’t.

   He glanced over her shoulder at the bespectacled guy playing the music. On the near side of the deck in big silver letters it said:
This is a Celine Dion Free Zone. Don’t ask. Don’t even think of asking. Show respect!

   That was fair enough so far as he was concerned. He wouldn’t ask, not in a million years. The slowy was coming to an end. In a moment everyone knew the heavy beat would be back. Hip-hop, House, Dance, Trance, Techno, Jungle, whatever it was called this week, Gringo liked it, when in truth he wasn’t into music at all.

   ‘Can I have a drink?’ she panted.

   ‘Sure. What do you want?’

   ‘Lager, extra cold.’

   He took her hand and dragged her to the bar and ordered two beers. He wasn’t going to leave her alone in an ocean of ravenous sharks. Melanie was the tastiest creature in the sea by some distance, and the place was full of hunters.

   ‘Where’s your bag?’ he said, noticing it was missing.

   ‘In the cloakroom,’ she said, gulping her drink. ‘I left it there.’

   ‘Go steady on the booze.’

   ‘Yes, Mister Boss.’

   ‘And don’t be cheeky.’

   She giggled again. ‘I’m just refuelling. I haven’t finished dancing yet, not by a long way.’ She emptied the glass and took his hand and dragged him back to the floor.

   Some time later people began leaving. A little while after that the DJ said: ‘Make the most of it, guys; this one’s the last one.’

   It had all ended so soon, yet they’d been there hours. Predictably, there were one or two moans and groans, but not so much from the guys. The last tune started, it was a slowy of course, Gringo didn’t recognise it, a young woman singing a big ballad, not unlike the banned Celine herself. Mel clearly knew the track, for she was already singing gently every word into Gringo’s left ear. It was the winning song off one of those Saturday night TV talent shows that Gringo never watched.

   Mel tugged herself closer. Gringo returned the hug, and as she turned and stared into his eyes, it was the moment. He kissed her, just as he knew she wanted him to. In that second she looked precisely the same as every woman yearning to be kissed. She displayed that same moony face, those identical steady, expectant, and demanding eyes. Gringo had seen that look a thousand times before, and it was true. At that exact moment, every woman, regardless of height, build, colour, creed, or age, looks identical. He couldn’t explain it, and he doubted if any one else could.

   The kiss was gentle, to begin with, turning harder, and hotter and more passionate as it progressed, as the best kisses always do. He was getting excited again, and he wasn’t alone.

   When they came apart Mel said breathlessly, ‘You know something? I’ve always fancied you, Gringo.’

   ‘Have you? Really?’

   ‘Yeah, course. Didn’t you know? Even before I married Brian. I always thought that one day you might ask me out.’

   ‘Then why didn’t you say?’

   ‘It wasn’t for me to say! It was for you to act!’

   He thought back to the day he’d first met Mel. Interviewing her in the boardroom where he’d liked her from the very first moment. She’d landed the job before she’d opened her mouth. What was it his old boss used to say?
Always employ the one you’d most like to screw.

   Sure, it might have been politically incorrect, and sometimes it went against what was best for the firm, but overall it was sound thinking that often paid handsome dividends. He remembered too that soon after she’d joined the company she’d become engaged to the big-mouthed fool, and the very next day she was seen to be wafting her engagement ring in front of the girls and fellas alike. Maybe that unconsciously put him off, though he still found that hard to believe, both back then, and now.

   ‘You should have said something.’

   ‘I didn’t think you would be interested in a dizzy young thing like me, what with you being the big boss and all.’