The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (55 page)

   In truth, she preferred men in her own bed to playing away. She was happier staring at her pristine clean ceiling. There were never any cobwebs on display in Linda Drayton’s neat flat, and the white ceiling emulsion was religiously renewed every January, as if it were an old Drayton family ritual.

   As for Gringo, he rid himself of some of his frustrations, still thinking of Glen. He could never keep her entirely from his mind, not of seducing her, or having her, as he was having the nurse right there, but of the cold conversation he had put them through when he’d rung her on the Sunday evening.

   ‘I am sorry about what I said.’

   ‘I seem to rub you up the wrong way.’

   ‘Can we go out again and make a better fist of it.’

   ‘Yeah sure, Gringo, but not just yet, eh? I’ve a busy week ahead.’

   Oh yeah, he remembered now. What was it she had said?

  
My personal life is so complicated at the moment I don’t know whether I am coming or going.  

  
Lovely. Just what a man wants to hear.

   Linda was busy examining the light fitting. It was chrome and modern, but were these things still in fashion? Maybe she ought to check it out at the upmarket home furnishings superstore on the edge of town. Come to think of it, she’d seen differing pieces of equipment in some of the Homes magazines she sometimes flipped through in the big newsagents on the high street. Smoked glass seemed to be the in thing.

   Gringo was full of beans that night. You had to give the man his due. He didn’t lack stamina. A man with purpose, that’s what he was, so she imagined, and women are always attracted to a purposeful man.

   She let out a sigh and smiled at his instant response.

   She planned to be pregnant by the end of the month. She hoped she might be pregnant now. She sighed again, louder and more wanton. It was time the man lodged his missile into the bull’s-eye.

Some time later as they lay together Gringo said: ‘You are on the pill, aren’t you?’

   Melanie’s recent revelations contributed to bringing that thought to the fore, but the question surprised Linda; and it wasn’t an altogether happy surprise.

   ‘Course I am,’ she said in a rush, and she reached over to the bedside table and produced a half used strip of pills.

   ‘See?’

   Gringo nodded and nuzzled into her dormant breasts.

   ‘Just checking.’

   She stroked his head and smiled to herself and recalled flushing the last six pills down the loo. Just as well she had.

   ‘I’d like you to go soon,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you here in the morning. I don’t want to look cheap.’

   Given the choice he would have stayed till breakfast, but it wasn’t unusual to be turfed out into the cold night air once the deed had been done.

   ‘But before you go, you can do me again if you want.’

   How romantic, he thought, but the truth was, he
was
going to
do her again
, as she put it, whether she wanted to or not, for he still possessed pent up anger over Miss Martin, and her damned busy personal life, anger and angst that seemingly whatever he did, would not go away.

Later as he drove home he was still thinking of Glen, and especially where she might be at that moment, and more importantly, who she was with, and what she was doing, right at that very second; as he glanced down at the dashboard clock. 2.32. It didn’t bear thinking about. He hated everything about it. He buzzed down the window, searching for cold air to clear his head, and keep him awake.

   He was approaching the Argosy Hotel where the traffic lights were on red. The good old Argosy, a regular watering hole of his, old fashioned quality at its very best, now Arab owned, but still one of the best hotels in the city. At least they’d had the good sense not to re-christen it the Gulf Argosy, or something equally crass. He braked at the lights and pulled the car to a standstill.

   A brand new sky blue Jaguar was coming the other way. At the last moment it dipped into the forecourt of the hotel and eased to a stop. Gringo glanced at the traffic lights. Still red. He looked back at the Jag and wondered whether he should consider acquiring such an impressive beast. What was it his long dead pal Eddie Wishaw had called his very first car, that old red Ford coupé that he’d saved so hard for? A
fanny magnet
, that was the phrase, a dreadful expression that Gringo would never have used, but one that described exactly what that old car became, but then again, Eddie Wishaw was a walking fanny magnet in himself, whether he turned up in a car, or on an old set of buckled and rusty roller skates, it wouldn’t have made one jot of difference.

   A striking girl jumped out of the
fanny magnet
, the Jaguar, and giggled aloud, as if she had spent an enjoyable evening on the drink, or maybe she was just loved up. She jauntily made her way toward the steps. Christ she was pretty. Dusky and very sexy in what looked like a dark green skirt, a skirt that showed off her neat butt to its best, though the sodium lights and tiredness might have been playing tricks on Gringo’s eyes and brain.  

   The young woman giggled again, the happy sound floating on the crisp night air, as she trotted up the stairs on uncertain shoes, and threw herself at the brass revolving door, before disappearing inside.

   The girl was Maria.

   Gringo’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. A guy jumped from the car and ran after her, a faintly arthritic jog in his best business suit, his gaudy silk tie out and swinging from side to side.

   ‘I’m going to get you!’ he shouted toward the door.

   Gringo watched him gingerly negotiate the stone steps, the bloke’s eyes fixed on the doorway. The traffic lights had now turned green. For a moment it didn’t matter, not at that time of night, for there was little traffic about.

   The guy was Raman Ganesh.

   ‘Jesus!’ said Gringo aloud, as a taxi came up behind him. Gringo moved off and relived in his mind what he had just witnessed. A pretty twenty-six year old girl cavorting into a top hotel, clearly on a high, at coming up to three in the morning, a girl he still considered to be one of
his
girlfriends, a woman he believed it would only be a matter of time before she was back in his bed, and there she was, being chased by the randy proprietor of the Bombay Kings, a man with clearly one thing on his mind, a man who must have been fifty, if he was a day.

   What on earth could she see in an old git like him?

   He thought of the Jaguar again, the fanny magnet, and the bustling and profitable restaurant Ganesh owned, and his background in preparing and cooking the very best meals, the precise cuisine that she so adored, while Maria herself was such a hopeless cook, and maybe, just maybe, he could see some pointers falling into place as to what she might see in the suave and debonair and wealthy Mister Raman Ganesh.

   Gringo’s mind flashed back to their date in the Bombay Kings. What was it Ganesh had said to her? Gringo had a good memory and particularly when it came to recalling conversations.  

  
You will always be welcomed here, Maria. Any friend of Gringo Greene is a friend of mine.

  
Yes, quite.

   He remembered now, the guy had smiled at her in that lounge lizard way of his. For one moment Maria had appeared flustered, and that wasn’t like her at all, and Gringo was certain that it was nothing to do with him, and then the boss fella had said:
You must call me Raman.
Oh yeah, you really must! He’d taken a shine to her right back then, hadn’t he, and he’d wasted no time in taking her under his wing.

   
I’m going to get you!

  
The kind of thing a father might shout at his daughter as they played in the garden. The kind of thing an older man might shout to his lover as he chased her up the stairs.

   
I’m going to get you!

   The dirty old dog; and later during that same date, back at his house she’d said:
That Mister Ganesh seems a very nice man.
Was it possible she had marked his card that very night? And how had they met again, anyway? Had she just strolled into his restaurant all alone, appearing vulnerable, waiting to be accosted? And how long had this been going on? Vicky Williams never mentioned anything about it, but then Vicky Williams wouldn’t, not to him. Women always stand together on these things, unless there is an ulterior motive involved, just like blokes.

   Perhaps he should ring Vicky and invite her over and get to the bottom of it, so to speak. Gringo began laughing. He was still giggling to himself as he turned into the quiet close, the only sign of life being not one, but two, night owl cats sitting patiently on the drive next door, waiting for an unwary rat to stroll by. They barely gave him a second glance.

He couldn’t quite recall when he decided to end it with the nurse; he preferred to think it came to him in his sleep, as some of his big decisions occasionally did. It hadn’t been an easy choice. Linda was an attractive and vivacious woman, an undeniable head turner, something that Gringo attached some importance to, but once his mind was made up; there would be no turning back.

   If he had to give reasons, as he knew he would when he broke the news, and that would be a difficult moment, his words might differ to how he felt inside. Fact was; he didn’t have clear reasons. The whole business was befuddled in confusion.

   She seemed distant, that was it, present but absent at the same time, as he had reflected on before. That was about it, a poor reason, maybe, but enough for him to bring the curtain down on their brief affair. He was always reluctant to end anything unless there were good reserves lined up, ready and willing to take the outgoing one’s place, and he’d debated long and hard over that.

   Trisha Martin figured prominently. She had practically begged him for a date. She was attractive, though she would forever sit in her stunning sister’s shadow, and there was something weird in her character that grated, as it had with many a potential suitor, which was probably why she remained unattached and available. But that wouldn’t rule her out. If Gringo needed female company on a Saturday night then Trish would fit the bill just fine, and if it annoyed and irritated her sister, then so be it. Occasionally a touch of jealousy can work wonders.

   Whilst considering the Martin family, there was also the youngest girl, Mary, who in some ways was more beautiful than Trish, with her long black hair tumbling witchlike down to her waist, though occasionally it would be set up in an almost Victorian bun. True, Gringo had no indication that Mary would be amenable to his dating her, but he imagined that if he turned his charm offensive that way, he could, and would, be successful. Again it might irritate Glen, but that didn’t concern him in the slightest.

   Mary came with a reputation of saying one thing to your face, but an entirely different thing behind your back, but he could live with that, for a short time. Perhaps she needed training up, and training a pretty young woman could be fun. Occasionally she portrayed a picture to the wider world of being spoiled; something that Gringo imagined was to do with her being the youngest. As a child he could imagine her sulking terribly until everything went her way. Gringo could live with that too, if he had to. If the girl needed disciplining, then so be it. Disciplining can be fun too. No, Mary was still within the scope of his radar.
Rule no one out!

   Then there was Vicky, the redhead, who had scrawled her telephone number on his body. How much more of a hint that she was ready and willing did a man need? Gringo was confident, nay certain, that he could introduce Vicky Williams to his bedroom on their very first date, should he ever be that way inclined, but she was nowhere near as good looking as any of the Martin sisters, and she came with a reputation of being somewhat easy, maybe too easy, and that rang alarm bells.

   If all else failed there was the internet, a veritable mine of unattached ladies, all in need of manly company, readily available and looking for someone just like him, or so he vainly imagined, an inexhaustible supply, a well that never runs dry, a source of treasure that even Gringo had stooped to on occasion, though he would keep that nugget of information firmly to himself.

   But his preferred option remained Rebecca. True, she was only nineteen, but she was the best looking of the four, friendlier, more genuine, sexy, and she seemed keen to know Gringo better. It might raise eyebrows when the thirty-four year old boss began dating his nineteen year old junior clerk, but he didn’t care about that, and anyway, maybe they could keep it quiet, and that in itself could make an affair more exciting, the very illicitness of it. Those raising the eyebrows would, he imagined, be doing so through jealousy, than anything else. He didn’t take any of the girls for granted for he knew that could be fatal, but he remained confident in his abilities, and with good reason.

   The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Rebecca Walker was the future. In some ways he was surprised he hadn’t made his play in that direction before, but now his decision had been made. He would attempt to lasso Miss Walker during the next working day, and that would be Monday. For now, on Saturday morning, he had a phone call to make. He’d ring the nurse and invite her round for a heart to heart, and this he did a moment or two later.

   He suggested she came round at eleven for a chat, but she put that back half an hour, making some excuse about needing to get ready. Her real reason for delaying was because she wanted to ring her mother with her fabulous news.

   ‘Guess what?’ she said, the excitement dripping from her voice.

   ‘No idea Lin, what?’

   ‘He’s asked me round for a chat, right now.’

   ‘So? Is that so earth shattering?’

   ‘There’s something on his mind. I can tell.’

   ‘Like what?’

   ‘I think he’s going to pop the question.’

   ‘Really?’

   ‘I’m sure of it!’

   ‘And you want him to?’

   ‘Damned right. Of course I do! I’ve waited so long for this moment! He’s the one, mum, he really is. I love him! I think you might need a new hat, mum, I can feel it in my water. You’ll adore him when you meet him, he’s so handsome, and… debonair, you’ll see.’

   She’d hesitated over using the word
debonair
because she wasn’t quite sure what it meant, though is sounded grand, and correct in the circumstances. In her mind Gringo Greene was most definitely debonair.

   Her mother spoke again. ‘Well, just so long as it’s what you really want, Linda. You’re a good girl and you’ve had your disappointments. You deserve a decent man.’

   ‘I know mum. I’m so excited!’

   ‘When are you seeing him?’

   ‘I’m going round in a minute or two, just as soon as I’ve put the phone down.’

   ‘Okay love, have a great day. I hope it all goes well.’

   ‘Thanks mum; I’ve got such good vibes about this, bye.’

   Linda retreated to the bedroom and brushed her hair and reapplied her makeup, bright red lipstick, even on a Saturday morning, you tramp, and she winked at her image in the mirror, and left the flat and hurried to her little car in a jaunty Saturday morning kind of way. 

He heard the Ford hatchback pulling onto the drive next to his big black beast at twenty-five to twelve, and in the next few seconds she was ringing the bell. Gringo ambled to the door and opened up.

   ‘Hi Gringo,’ she said, her demeanour one of absolute cheer. She was a breath of fresh air, as she often was, and that cheerfulness would make it all the harder.

   ‘Hi Lin,’ he said, unable to keep an unforced smile from his face, as she entered his house, squeezed past him, pausing to deposit a fragrant, red lipped image on his cheek, before hurrying inside.

   He had been sitting at the table, that much was clear; there was a half finished mug of black coffee on one side and his bunch of keys, and some opened letters he’d recently received. She put her bag down on the floor and sat opposite. There were no little wrapped gifts on display so far as she could see, but that would have been far too obvious, especially for him, for Gringo always played his cards close to his chest. A crazy thought entered her mind. Perhaps he was going to get down on one knee right there in the kitchen, and if he did, she would milk the moment for all it was worth.

  
Let me think about your proposal for a moment, just stay there a second!

   ‘Would you like a coffee?’ he asked.

   ‘No, just had one,’ she answered, eager to get on with the pressing business, but then she added: ‘Wouldn’t mind a glass of wine though, it’s nearly noon after all.’

   He hadn’t envisaged serving alcoholic drinks, but there was a half finished bottle of Spanish white in the fridge that had been there ages, and anyway, maybe a little snifter might smooth the way of things.

   He went to the fridge and took out the bottle and poured a measure into a glass, then topped it up, for she might be in need of a stiff drink when he told her what he had to say. She watched him come back to the table. She liked the speckled tweed jumper he was wearing, and the beige slacks. He was immaculately turned out in what appeared to be brand new clothes, even on a Saturday morning, and that was another reason why she liked him so. Debonair he was, without question, and that brought a smirk to her face.

   She had never known a man who paid so much attention to his appearance and clothing. He was a modern day dandy, that’s what he was; a dandy, and she found it inspiring. It certainly inspired her to pay more attention to her own clothes and accessories and appearance, and no man had ever done that for her before. She appreciated it too, because she could see the improvement in herself.

   He came back and placed the drink in front of her and sat down opposite and waited as she took a pull on the frosted glass.

   ‘Nice,’ she said.

   He’d thought the wine dreadful, hence the leftover, but he used the moment to sip the coffee, then took another breath and began.

   ‘I’ve asked you round here this morning because there’s something important on my mind, something I want to say. I’ve been thinking about this for some time.’

   She clasped her hands together and pulled herself closer across the table. She wanted to say:
Yes I know!
but managed to restrain herself, though he guessed she would interrupt, and held up his hand as if to tell her to remain silent.

   Go on, go on, flashed into her head.

   ‘The thing is, Lin…’ and he paused as if his courage was deserting him, as if he might be having second thoughts, for she did look quite stunning that morning, sitting there opposite him, with those come on French whore painted lips, and from somewhere, probably that little demon, who seldom left him at times like these, a wicked thought germed in his mind. Perhaps he should take hold of her and yank her upstairs and strip her naked and spend Saturdays as Saturdays are really meant to be spent. What was it Melanie had said?
He did whatever he wanted with me, just as you did, Gringo, just as little boys always want to do with their little girlies,
something like that. Yeah, that was about right. He didn’t imagine Linda would overly protest.

   He could always break the news to her afterwards, though even he thought that might be overstepping the mark a tad. No, it had to be done now. Right now.

   ‘The thing is, Lin…’

   ‘Yes, Gringo?’ she said, unable to remain silent, the excitement clear and pure as fresh snow in her pale blue eyes.

   ‘The thing is Lin; I think it might be time for us to call it a day.’

   Linda’s mouth fell open.

   She set the drink down.

   For one second he thought she might throw it in his face. Gringo swallowed. Her eyes looked dead. She looked crushed. He’d really hurt her. Up till then he had no idea she thought so much about him. He thought she might cry. She didn’t say anything. Her mouth drooped. He felt dreadful. Still she didn’t speak. A tear formed in her right eye. It dribbled down her cheek. She made no attempt to hide it or mop it away. He watched it wend its way slowly down her face, like a picture from outer space of some gigantic river system.

   ‘I am really sorry, Lin.’

   Still she remained silent and did so until he tried to speak again.

   ‘Why Gringo? Why?’ she bleated, as if any longer sentence would have crushed her.

   ‘I just don’t think it’s going anywhere.’

   ‘Where do you want it to go?’

   ‘That’s part of the issue, Lin; I don’t really want it to go anywhere at all.’

   ‘What a hurtful thing to say!’

   ‘Sorry kid,’ and he reached across and took her forearm.

   Linda shrugged him away shouting: ‘Don’t call me kid!’

   She thought of having to tell her mother, she pondered on how she might dress it up, how to spin it, as modern politicians might say, how to lie, in other words, and she thought of the shame of it all, and the indignity.

   ‘Don’t, Gringo. Please don’t. I don’t want us to finish.’

   It was as near to begging as she was going to get, the nearest to begging she had been in her entire life. This couldn’t be right; the way things were turning out, for she had everything planned out before her. The house, the holidays, the kids, the schools they would attend, the groaning bottom drawer of household essentials she had been accruing for not far short of ten years, the wedding arrangements, the honeymoon, and most importantly of all, the husband, the handsome man sitting opposite her, this guy with a droopy look on his face, and an even droopier moustache that suddenly she didn’t like at all, and he, the complete dork, was saying that he didn’t want to see her anymore. Well, we’ll see about that!

   ‘So, you don’t want to see me anymore?’ she pouted.

   ‘I didn’t say that, hun, I just think we should give it a break for a while.’