The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (3 page)

   ‘Yes you will.’

   ‘How?’

   ‘Two plus four, is?’

   ‘Six.’

   Gringo nodded. ‘That’s it, that’s the area code.’

   ‘246,’ she said, and smiled at her own logic, and watched Gringo bob his head.

   ‘What’s the rest of it?’

   ‘England won the World Cup.’

   ‘I don’t know that! I am not a boy, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

   Gringo had noticed that well enough, and what was more, Melanie knew he had.

   ‘1966!’

   ‘I wasn’t even born!’

   ‘That’s not the point. Neither was I! But there are two dates that everyone remembers, 1066 and 1966.’

   ‘I’ll never remember that!’

   ‘Yes you will, and if you forget, just ask someone. So what is my phone number?’

   ‘246,’ she said slowly, ‘1966.’

   ‘See! You’ve remembered it.’

   ‘But that’s only because you have just told me.’

   ‘No it isn’t. Trust me. You will remember.’

   A puzzled expression came over her face, so Gringo began talking again.

   ‘You can ring me any time you like. Doesn’t matter how late it is, doesn’t matter where you are, doesn’t matter whether you have any money or not, just reverse the charges, if you ever need help of any kind, if you ever need someone to talk to, if you are ever in trouble, if you just want a chat, if you are going to be late, or simply can’t make it, call me. Understand?’

   Mel thought of that for a second and then smiled and said, ‘Yeah, okay. Thanks Gringo, that’s great.’

   ‘So what’s my number?’

   ‘246-1966.’

   ‘You got it, kid. And where are we meeting?’

   ‘Outside White’s bookshop.’

   ‘When?’

   ‘Eight o’clock, Saturday night.’

   ‘And what are you going to do if you can’t make it?’

   ‘I am going to call you.’

   ‘Easy-peasy.’

   ‘You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?’

   ‘It’s my job. I’m a manager. I manage things.’

   ‘Are you going to manage me, Gringo?’

   ‘Damn right I am. Now come on, or we’ll be late back. We don’t want tongues wagging.’

   All four of Shaman’s staff stood behind the bar and watched them leave, though in truth none of them paid much attention to Gringo Greene. They couldn’t take their eyes from the curvaceous blonde, the same young woman who smiled at each one of them in turn as she passed by.

   Back in the office, Gringo went about processing his paperwork with renewed vigour, whereas Melanie opened her diary to the back page and wrote down Gringo’s number before she forgot, though she stopped short of feeding it into her mobile. Brian was always checking up on that, and it simply wasn’t worth the hassle. Fancy England winning the World Cup in 1966, she never knew that, you learn something new every day. I wonder what sport it was; she thought to herself, I wonder if Beckham played. 

On Saturday morning Gringo rose early. No hangover for him, he had deliberately gone to bed before half ten and had slept well. He intended hitting the city, he was going on a buying spree, and thanks to his dear grandmother, he could afford to buy whatever he wanted.

   She had left him fifty grand in her will and he had spent it wisely. He’d bought a three-story townhouse off plan that he referred to as his three-story bachelor pad. The market had been kind to him; the value had trebled, despite recent price retreats. On top of that in the early years he had thrown money at the mortgage company, so much so, that he’d paid off his debt entirely. He was mortgage free, and that enabled him to indulge his twin passions of expensive technology, and women.

   He imagined hi-tech would impress his intended conquests, when in reality young women were not generally interested in here-today-gone-tomorrow trash, a fact that passed Gringo by completely.

   He was in the city early, the first customer of the day in the House of Jaeger. He bought a new two-piece suit, black to match his thick hair and muzzy, made of best mohair with a big ticket to match. To compliment the suit he picked out a fine white cotton button down shirt, and was thinking about a new tie.

   He remembered his last date with Glen.

   He recalled her saying: ‘I like your tie, Gringo.’

   Prior to that, he’d never thought twice about his ties. ‘Yeah?’ he’d said, glancing down at it.

   ‘Yes, red, red’s dead sexy.’

   ‘You think?’

   She’d nodded and said, ‘For sure. It reminds me of a big tongue.’

   Gringo smiled. ‘All the better to eat you with.’

   ‘Precisely!’ and Glen had nodded and grinned wickedly as they shared another look, and they both knew exactly what they had in mind.

   ‘And would one like a new tie to go with the suit,’ minced the assistant, bringing Gringo crashing back to the here and now. ‘I can offer you one of the blue silk jobs
free
with the compliments of the management.’

   ‘Red!’ insisted Gringo. ‘It must be red.’

   ‘Now there we have a little problem, sir,’ wittered the slight young man. ‘Only blue’s on offer today. Take a blue one, sir. Go very well, it will. Really well.’

   ‘Not interested, show me the reds, I don’t care about the width, so long as it’s red.’

   Gringo duly bought two red ties boasting discreet diagonal stripes, and after that he headed across the square and invested in a ridiculously expensive pair of shoes, black for sure, lace ups essential, and then as an afterthought, he dived into one of the men’s fashion boutiques, and picked up some fancy new black underwear, the kind of thing a porno star might wear, just in case he should strike gold, a store where he collected more than one lascivious look from the fat geezer behind the counter.

   Afterwards he hurried home, desperate to try on his new possessions, pausing only at the car wash, where he lavished the most expensive selection on his gleaming black beast.

   Soon after that, as he plunged the key into the lock at Gringo Towers, he heard a sound he didn’t want to hear. Inside, the telephone was pinging away.

   ‘No!’ he said aloud. Surely the stupid girl wasn’t ringing to cancel. He knew he shouldn’t have taught her that blessed number. It was his own fault, and now it was coming back to bite him on the backside. He dumped the bags on the sofa and rushed across the room and picked up the phone.

   ‘Nineteen sixty-six!’ he yelled.

   ‘And here was I thinking we’d moved into a new century,’ said the woman caller.

   Oh, thank you God! Thank you! thought Gringo. It wasn’t Melanie at all, thank heavens for that, it was big Brenda.

   ‘Hello, Gringo,’ she purred. ‘I thought you might have rung me by now.’

   ‘Hello, Brenda…’ but before he could mention he was unavailable that night she was speaking again.

   ‘I thought, Gringo, I could cook you a lovely sirloin steak, just as you like it, I could make a real fuss of you, I’ll bet you’ve had a very stressful week, and later on, in return, you could make a real fuss of me… if you like.’

   ‘Are you thinking of tonight?’ said Gringo, ever eager not to close any door unnecessarily.

   ‘Of course I am thinking of tonight. When else? It seems ages since I’ve seen you. I’ve missed you, Gringo. Please say you’ll come, I’ve bought some new gear and everything.’

   ‘Can’t Brenda, got something on tonight, important stuff. Really important. Maybe another night, eh?’

   ‘Oh Gringo! You are the end! Can’t you bloody well cancel? I’ve bought the steaks now, and four bottles of that claret you like.’

   She’d probably bought four bottles of the claret
she
liked, but no matter,
No
meant
No.
Crazed horses would not drag him round to Brenda’s pad tonight, not even if Melanie blew him out would he go there, not even if Melanie rang up in five minutes and cancelled, well maybe then, just maybe, every man had a breaking point.

   ‘Well when, then?’ she sulked. ‘Tomorrow?’ and in the way she spoke Gringo could envisage her pouting face.

   ‘Maybe. I’ll ring you. Sorry Brenda. Got to go.’

   He didn’t wait a moment longer to hear the cursing that was certain to be heading his way. For a short while after that he left the phone off the hook, something he was loath to do, because he always imagined a really important call might be trying to get through.

   He gathered his new treasures together, leapt up the stairs to the top of Gringo Towers, and laid his things on the black silk-topped bed. He took a shower, ran the bath, and wallowed in a haze of bubbles for more than an hour, pondering on the night ahead.

   Nothing would be left to chance. He would take her to the best place he knew. He would lavish money on her like no man had done before. He guessed that Brian had never made such a fuss of his wife, as he planned to do. Gringo rehearsed his lines, revised his jokes; he even made little notes in his black leather diary, ace conversation starters and extra little funnies, just in case the date should ever grind to a halt. He could always dash to the cloakroom and refresh his mind, recharge his vocal chords with renewed ideas. Anything to impress her. Nothing would be left to chance.

He always aimed to arrive on dates ten minutes late. Just long enough to keep them on their toes, keep them guessing. When he appeared, he expected to see them standing, waiting, wondering; glancing at their wristwatches. He hated it if they showed up late. It showed a lack of respect, a lack of interest, and that wouldn’t do.

   He glanced at the car digital clock. 8.08. Perfect. Only the last block to negotiate, one more corner, left at the City Hall and he was there. White’s bookshop nestled in the centre of an old Victorian block on the left-hand side where he expected to see her standing, waiting, and she was.

   She was loitering in the doorway, both hands cradling her black handbag in front of her. She was wearing a long beige raincoat, an old thing he’d seen many times before. Not an auspicious start. He’d gone to so much trouble and she’d turned up in an old rag-like coat that any self-respecting charity shop would have said:
Thanks, but No thanks.
He would have to have a word with her about that.

   Gringo smiled through the windscreen, a smile fully returned, and then she opened the door and jumped in.

   ‘Hello, Gringo.’

   ‘Hello, Melanie.’

   ‘And how are you, man?’

   ‘All the better for seeing you.’

   ‘My God, you look smart. Is that a new suit?’

   ‘This?’ he said, feigning disinterest. ‘No, I’ve had this for ages.’

   ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, settling into her seat.

   ‘I thought we’d go to a country club I know, twenty-five miles from here. No one will know us there, leastways, they won’t know you.’

   ‘Sounds good to me.’

   ‘Did Brian get away all right?’

   ‘Oh yeah. He won’t be back till tomorrow night.’

   Gringo liked the sound of that and thrust the car into gear and accelerated away. Melanie fastened her seat belt and crossed her legs. He couldn’t miss the exciting rustle. She was wearing black tights, or maybe, just maybe, stockings. He mused on the thought for a moment as they headed for the ring road, and the quickest route out of town. Her perfume was strong; a scent that soon infiltrated every corner of the car. Gringo liked it, and took a second sniff.