The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (6 page)

   ‘Your trouble is; you don’t understand how beautiful you really are… and how clever.’

   No one had ever referred to Melanie as
clever
before, and certainly not to her face, and though she suspected he wasn’t being serious, she loved it.

   ‘Are you trying to get into my knickers, Gringo? Clever? Me? You’re having a laugh.’

   ‘You are cleverer than you think. You don’t give yourself enough credit.’

   Before she could answer, the record came to a swirling end and the brighter lights came on. The bar shutters were down, the barmaids had all gone home, barmaids downstairs, barmen upstairs. On the dance floor only three couples remained, and it wouldn’t be long before the cleaners appeared.

   ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘time to go.’

   He followed her up the stairs and watched her make for the cloakroom to collect her bag and scruffy Mac. Gringo went to the men’s room and when he came out she was there waiting. She’d fixed her lipstick and slipped on her coat. They shared a fleeting smile and headed for the door.

   The same three guys were back on parade, the opposite of meeting and greeting. The younger one was yawning. Couldn’t stand the pace, thought Gringo. Richie saw them coming and held the door open.

   ‘Thank you for your custom, Mister Greene; hope to see you again soon.’

   ‘Thanks Rich, excellent as always.’

   ‘Nighty-night, boys,’ said Mel, flightily, stepping out into the night.

   ‘Goodnight, Melanie,’ said Richie, as he closed the doors behind them.

   They heard the bolts going on, they must have been the last ones out, unless they were having an all night lock-in, which was not unheard of at the Henderson Country Club, when the card tables would be set out, and the big money high rollers from dubious backgrounds would begin playing poker.

   In the past Gringo had let himself be lured down that track just the once, with the inevitable result. He’d had his pants removed, not literally, but not far off. He’d never stray that way again, and anyway, what would your average red-blooded male prefer? To stay behind and play cards? Or take your chances with the beautiful girl? No contest. Never was, never will be.

   They stood at the top of the six stone steps for a moment and breathed in the cool night air. There was a moon, a whopping yellow presence glittering down on all those lucky enough to notice.

   ‘Look at the moon,’ she said.

   Gringo would normally notice the moon about once in ten years. Maybe that night was the night. He offered her his arm and she linked him closely, as they danced down the stairs together and headed across the car park toward the car.    

He pulled the car key from his pocket and pointed and fired. The doors unlocked with an audible click, emphasised on the still night air. Lights went on, inside and out. She hopped round to the passenger side and jumped in.  For a moment they sat quietly together. She’d turned in toward him, sitting with her knees together, pointing at the gear stick.

   ‘Enjoy yourself?’ he said, gently.

   Mel nodded.

   ‘Really?’

   ‘One of the best nights ever.’

   It couldn’t get much better than that. Gringo smiled.

   ‘Come here.’

   They leant closer and kissed, the only contact between them, lips. And again. She tasted of mint, as if she had been chewing gum, or had freshened up her mouth in the cloakroom. It was pleasant, but she didn’t need the flavour of mint to taste wonderful. He’d pulled her closer, deep into his arms, and she let him reel her in. She didn’t think she could stop herself, and anyway, she didn’t want to stop.

   ‘Wow!’ whispered Gringo, when they eventually came apart.

   ‘Where did you learn to kiss like that, Gringo?’

   ‘I’ve had lots of practice.’

   ‘I’ll bet you have, you bugger.’

   ‘Do you fancy a coffee?’

   ‘Sure, so long as there’s a big slug of whisky in it.’

   ‘Maybe, if you’re good, now do up your seatbelt.’

   ‘You are awfully bossy.’

   ‘Someone has to take control.’

   She didn’t answer. She was beyond caring.

   Gringo started the car and roared from the car park. A sixth sense kicked in. He had been drinking, not a lot, it was true, but drinking nevertheless, and it was late on a Saturday night, or to be more correct, early on a Sunday morning, and the local patrolmen would be under strict orders to stop and arrest anyone over the drink drive limit, and especially anyone speeding and driving like, well, a drunken driver. He eased back on the accelerator. He may have wanted to get her home as quickly as possible
I’d get her home right now, if I were you.
But it was more important to arrive safely, and without any interruptions from the boys in blue. He turned on the radio. It was that song again; it was everywhere, the young woman off the TV.

   ‘I love this record,’ said Mel, and she reached down and turned up the volume. ‘You don’t mind?’

   ‘Course not.’

   She turned it up still further and began singing aloud, and after that the news came on.

   ‘I hate the news,’ she said, ‘it’s freakin’ boring,’ and she turned it off.

   Gringo didn’t say a word.

   ‘What sort of house have you got, Gringo?’

   ‘Modern, warm, comfortable.’

   ‘Expensive?’

   ‘Not when I bought it.’

   ‘But it would cost you a lot now?’

   ‘Now I couldn’t afford it.’

   ‘Describe it.’

   ‘Three stories, three bathrooms, modern, minimalist, I hate clutter, it does me fine.’

   ‘Three bathrooms?’

   ‘Yep, one on each floor.’

   ‘And you live by yourself?’

   ‘Most of the time.’

   ‘Don’t you get lonely?’

   ‘Not often, and when I do, I go out and find some company.’

   ‘Like me?’ she giggled.

   ‘Yeah, like you.’

   ‘I’ve always wanted to see your house.’

   ‘Have you?’

   Gringo wondered why that should be, though he didn’t say. He glanced across at her. Her first finger was in her mouth. She was sucking it as a kid might, and she was nodding.

   ‘Well, you will see it, just as soon as we get home.’

The close was quiet and deserted as he pulled into the street. Three sodium lights cast their orange macabre beams across the parked cars and closed windows. An old cat ran from beneath one of the cars and yowled, before taking refuge under next door’s Mercedes. Gringo drove the car onto the drive right in front of the front door and cut the engine.

   ‘Home, sweet home.’

   They exchanged a brief look, Mel rolling her eyebrows, then stepped out of the car and closed the doors, hers a little noisily for his liking, as they stood and stared up at the sleeping red brick house.

   ‘It’s fab,’ she said.

   ‘You like it?’

   ‘I love it.’

   He opened the door, flipped the hall light on and beckoned her inside. Off the hall to the right was the open plan kitchen, dining, and sitting area with a small bathroom behind that. The main sitting room was on the first floor but Gringo used the ground floor as often as not. His favourite white leather sofa was there, and his big new TV fixed to the wall. He couldn’t tell you why, but he much preferred lounging on the ground floor. He closed the blinds and curtains and put on some discreet lighting.

   ‘Can I use the bathroom?’

   ‘Sure, it’s through there. Coffee?’

   ‘Yeah, so long as it’s strong.’

   Gringo fired up the coffee machine and took out a bottle of whisky. It was four fifths full, not his favourite drink; in fact he was a moderate drinker altogether, leastways, he told himself that.

   Melanie had returned. She’d ditched the coat. She’d fixed her lipstick again, and done something to her hair. Gringo couldn’t keep his eyes from her, as the coffee machine was coming to a climax.

   ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.

   ‘Anything you like.’

   ‘Can I have another kiss?’

   ‘You can have a kiss any time you want.’

   ‘Really?’

   ‘Sure. Anytime.’

   ‘Come here then,’ she said.

   ‘You come here.’

   ‘No, you come here.’

   ‘You come here! Or the offer’s lapsed.’

   ‘Don’t be such a goat,’ she said, as she ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

   The kiss was longer this time, hard and passionate. She’d generously reapplied
Frantic Fever
, all over, it seemed to him, maybe too liberally, but hey, if that was the worst thing to happen that day, then so be it. She thrust her groin toward him, she was a fireball when roused, no doubt about it, as Gringo returned pressure in that special area, and she must have approved of the feeling because she let out a long deep sigh like an animal. When they came apart Gringo said, ‘Go and sit down,’ pointing to the sofa, ‘while I finish the coffee.’

   ‘Okay, bossy boots!’

   He turned his back on her, smiling to himself, as he poured coffee into the china mugs, leaving room for a top up. He opened the Scotch and splashed a dash in hers, she’d had enough to drink and he didn’t want her falling asleep, or worse; and a larger slug for himself. He didn’t mind whisky in coffee, and he hadn’t drunk too much. He took the mugs to the sitting area, put them on the glass coffee table, and sat beside her.

   ‘So what do you think of the house?’

   ‘I think it’s fab, not that I’ve seen it all yet.’

   ‘Play your cards right.’

   She giggled again and sipped the coffee. Then she set it down and opened her arms wide. He didn’t need asking twice. He grabbed her and hugged her and kissed her lips and neck, in that special place she thought that only he knew, ears, nose, and mouth again. She couldn’t get enough, and neither could he.

   Minutes later they came apart and he stood up, bent down and took off her high heels, grabbed her legs, and swung her round so she was flat on her back on the sofa. He undid and removed his shoes and turned back to her.

   Then he was on top of her, his legs on either side of her, pressing down, his lips searching out hers again.

   ‘Blimey Gringo, you don’t waste much time.’

   He imagined she would not want it any other way.

   ‘Shut up and kiss me.’

   ‘I’ll do anything you want, Gringo.’

   ‘Really?’

   ‘Anything at all.’

   ‘You’re playing with fire, Miss Harris.’

   ‘I don’t care. Do you want to go upstairs?’

  
Do I want to go upstairs?
He pondered on her suggestion.
Do I want to go upstairs?
Stupid question.

   ‘Well?’ she said.

   ‘What do you think?’

   ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.’

   ‘Of course I do.’

   ‘I will, on one, no, two, conditions.’

   ‘You’re one for conditions all right. I’m listening.’

   ‘No biting, no scratching, no bruises, no marks.’

   ‘That’s four conditions.’

   ‘No it isn’t, that’s the first.’

   ‘And the second?’

   ‘You never tell anyone, not a living soul, ever.’

   ‘Course I won’t. What do you think I am, a Kiss-and-tell-Mickey?’

   She had no idea who Kiss-and-tell-Mickey was, and had no intention of asking.

   ‘You agree?’

   He could stop himself biting and scratching, though he wasn’t sure he could leave her without a collage of bruises.

   ‘Sure,’ he whispered.

   ‘All right, Gringo. It’s your lucky night.’

   He nodded slowly and smiled his best wicked smile and said: ‘Get up those stairs!’