Gringo Read online

  He hadn’t heard back.

  He guessed Bud’s head wasn’t in the best place. But his wasn’t either, was it? He had a job he was bored with and hours he hated. A neighbor that was loony. His yard was full of dog crap and his welcome mat was covered in thick, black dog hair. He hadn’t had a really decent sleep since… well, since the barking started. It had been even worse since the barking stopped.

  Daniel slipped a shot of bourbon into his soda glass and kicked the baseboard. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Well, at least Margie was right about one thing. “I’m getting used to it.”

  “Getting used to what?”

  He jerked his head around, startled. “Clive. Didn’t hear you come in. What’ll it be?”

  “Whiskey neat, if you don’t mind.” He reached for the pretzels. “You guys leave these pretzel bowls out overnight, or do you put them up?”

  Daniel passed the drink across. “We put them up. Why?”

  “Mice.” Clive munched a pretzel and sipped his whiskey. “So, what are you getting used to, Danny-boy?”

  “Nothing. The day shift. Bud’s wife is back in the hospital.”

  “Damn. That’s a shame. She’s tough as old boots, though, she’ll pull through.”

  “Hope so.”

  “You have a good Christmas?”

  Daniel made a so-so motion with his hand. “How about you?”

  “Good, yeah. I visited family, ate too much, drank too much. Speaking of which…” Clive slammed the rest of his drink and smiled. “Another, please.”

  Another was passed over and Clive sipped at it. “You see my new wallet?” he asked, holding it up. “Christmas gift from my niece. She made it herself, in school. See that? Nice, eh? You get anything good for Christmas?”

  Daniel shook his head, then reconsidered. “My neighbor gave me a painting that belonged to her grandmother.”

  “That’s nice of her. Which neighbor? Not the dog lady?”

  “The dog lady, yeah.”

  “Fair enough. How’s it going with the dog? He still camping out at your place?”

  “Pretty much. I’ve been trying to make friends with him. I thought maybe if he liked me better, he wouldn’t stare at me the way he does. I tried to pet him, but he wouldn’t let me.”

  “He growl at you?”

  “No, just ducked his head. Wouldn’t let me touch him. I gave him a bone, to see if it might help, but I don’t think it did.”

  “Shit, don’t feed the damn thing. You’ll never get him off your porch if you feed him. Don’t you know that? Course he won’t leave you alone now.”

  “Well, I didn’t feed him. Not really… it was only one bone. It was Christmas, you know. I was just being nice. It’s not like I’m always giving him stuff.”

  Clive shook his head. “Well…you must be giving him something.”

  Chapter 23

  Daniel tossed in his bed. Sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Just go to sleep. But the harder he tried, the less he felt it. The act of trying negated the effort. Sleep had to sneak in and steal you away like a thief. If it saw you looking, it never came. He threw back the covers and sat up.

  He debated whether he should get up and have a drink or if he should try stretches again. Someone had told him that simple stretching and breathing exercises would help, and he’d tried them without any luck. He knew drinking wasn’t the answer, but it was something. At least it felt like something. If he had a drink, he could pretend he was awake on purpose. The exercises… well. Midnight yoga felt a lot more like crazy than midnight whiskey, and while the end result wasn’t quite the same, it was the same in the way that counted most: he didn’t get back to sleep.

  He decided he wasn’t going to do either one this time. He got up and paced around the room, then lifted his curtain to peer out. He didn’t immediately see the dog, but when he spoke he saw the tail move. “You got me again, Gringo.”

  The leaves under the window crackled as Gringo shifted. Daniel caught movement across the street out of the corner of his eye; there was someone on Ellie’s porch. He frowned and looked closer to be sure. Definitely something moving. It couldn’t be Gringo; he was here. Daniel dropped the curtain and went to the front door. He opened it quietly and stepped out with slippered feet into the cold dry air. Gringo came and stood next to him. Daniel shook his head and took another two steps, preparing to shout at the intruder.

  But the intruder waved at him. It was Ellie.

  Was he really going to cross the street in his robe and slippers? The slippers were thin and he felt every underfoot pebble as he went. He made his way to her front porch and stopped. Ellie was sitting in a rocking chair with a glass of wine.

  “Ellie, are you alright? What are you doing out here?”

  “I’m just having a little drink. Would you like to join me?” She reached for the bottle and held it high. “Plenty to share.”

  “I’m… no. It’s after midnight!”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. It’s probably closer to one in the morning. You should be in bed.”

  “I was. Couldn’t sleep, you see.” Ellie sipped her wine again and laughed. “I had a dream about you. Here, come sit with me. There’s another rocker.”

  Daniel sat down next to her and folded his arms. It was a fairly mild December evening, but it was still a December evening, and too cold to be sitting outside in a robe. Too cold for Ellie to be sitting here sipping wine. “Ellie, I really think we need to get you inside.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you shouldn’t be out here.”

  “Sure I should. You’re out here.”

  “I just came out because I saw you. Why are you sitting on the porch?”

  Ellie lit a cigarette. “I just felt like it. It’s quiet. Look: you can see all the houses lined up and dark. All the lights are out. So you think everyone is asleep. But it isn’t true, is it? Some of us aren’t sleeping.”

  Daniel looked up and down the street. “Aren’t you cold?”

  She shook her head and handed him the bottle of wine. He took a swig and passed it back to her. She refilled her glass. Gringo shifted position and Daniel glanced down, surprised. He hadn’t realized the dog had followed him here.

  “Why did you name him Gringo?”

  Ellie raised her eyebrows. “My husband came up with it. It was a joke. Some guys he worked with called him that when we first moved here, you see. Gringo. White boy.”

  Daniel nodded. “I see.” He stopped, not knowing how to ask what he wanted to ask: not why had she named the dog Gringo to begin with or why she named his replacement the same, but why she had gotten the replacement at all. Why she had chosen one so much like the old one. Didn’t that just hurt worse? Doesn’t the new one remind you every moment of the one you lost? Doesn’t it mess with your head? That’s what he wanted to ask, but he didn’t. “So. Gringo it is, then.”

  “Another year is almost gone,” she said. “Do you make New Year’s resolutions?”

  He looked at her and reached for the bottle, shaking his head. “Do you?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Maybe I should. What’s a good one?”

  “For you?” Ellie looked him over. “I can’t suggest something for you, wouldn’t be right. I don’t know what you need.”

  “What I need right now is some sleep. And I think you do too.” Daniel handed her the bottle and stood up. “Are you sure you won’t go in? I worry about you out here like this.”

  “I’ll be fine, Strawberry. Thanks for sitting a while with me.”

  Daniel made his way back across to his house with Gringo on his heels. When he got there, he watched Ellie from his doorway for a few moments. He could see the faint glow of her cigarette. If he hadn’t known she was there, he’d never have seen it.

  Chapter 24

  Clive sat down at the bar. “Afternoon Dan. Happy New Year.” He ordered his usual. For some people, New Year’s Day was just another day.
“You do anything?”

  Daniel snorted. He’d been at the bar. He was always at the bar. “Work.”

  “Ah, yes. The revelers.” Clive reached for the pretzels. “Good tips?”

  “OK, I guess.” He shrugged. “Like any night. Why?”

  “No reason. Just something to say. I read in the paper last week some guy left a thousand dollar tip for this waitress in New York City. Christmas Eve. Did you read about that? A thousand dollars! Just came in late one night and ordered pie and coffee and then… bam. Nobody knows who it was, either. Just some guy. Philanthropist.” Clive picked up the bowl of pretzels and shook them back and forth. “You ever get any big spenders like that?”

  “Not hardly.” The best tip he’d ever gotten was from Clive, but he didn’t want to say so and sound insincere. The worst tip he ever got was thirty-seven cents. He told Clive about that instead. “But I think she meant it to be a normal tip. I think she did her math wrong.”

  “Let’s hope so. Did you give her a hard time? I would have.”

  “No, no. Can’t do that.”

  “Hell you can’t. I heard some guy shot his customer in the leg for leaving a crap tip.”

  Daniel had heard about that one. “That guy went to jail. That was New York, too. Wasn’t it?”

  Clive paused. “You’re right! It was. It’s New York makes people crazy, maybe. You ever been there?”

  Daniel hadn’t.

  “I was out there once. When I was younger, business trip. Was alright. Not for me, though. I like it right here with you. My man Dan.” He poked his fingers around in the pretzels again. “How long you been in Albuquerque?” Clive asked. Daniel shook his head, as though he didn’t remember for sure or it wasn’t important. But of course he remembered.

  It was five years now.

  He’d planned to go El Paso. After the thing with Sal, he’d just packed some of his things, taken out of the business account what he thought was his fair share – less than fair, really, only about what he had put into it to start with – and driven south. El Paso was as good a place as any other. He had a cousin living there. It was a place he could start over, and have a friend nearby so he wouldn’t feel so alone.

  He had tools in the truck, years of experience. He’d be fine. That’s what he said when he started out. But the drive was long and yellow and boring and his mind wouldn’t let go of what happened, and by the time he got to Santa Fe he was depressed and exhausted. Sal and his gal, his gal and his pal. The sign said 330 miles to El Paso, and there was no way he was going to make it. He decided to try and get as far as Socorro that night, but by the time he got to the south edge of Albuquerque he’d been about to drop, so he’d stopped and rented a motel room.

  The next morning, he’d gone across the street for breakfast. The little diner had been full of truckers. The waitress had gone around the room jollying everyone up with banter. Where you headed, hon?... Ah, yeah, that’s cattle country out there… And you, what’s your story?... Ah, yeah, that’s a long drive, get you some more coffee in you, here you are. She’d eventually asked Daniel where he was headed, and when he told her, she’d smiled and started to sing a song about El Paso, a love song about a Mexican girl, while she refilled his coffee and offered more cream. He’d said no to the cream and asked for the check, and she went to get it, humming and singing the song all the way up and down the line, and by the time she got back, he couldn’t stand the thought of moving to El Paso anymore. He’d decided he’d gone far enough, he’d just stop here for a while and get his head together. And here he was.

  Sal and his gal, what a fucking pal.

  He told Clive none of this. “Oh, four or five years,” he said.

  Clive nodded and shook the bowl again. “You got any fresh pretzels?”

  ***

  When Daniel got home, Ellie was standing by her gate, gesturing to him. He shuffled his way over to her and wished her a Happy New Year.

  “Happy New Year to you. I’ve got a favor to ask.” She held a hand up. “I know, you’ve already done a lot for me. But I promise, this is an easy one: have you got any old newspapers?”

  “Newspapers?”

  “I’m packing up some dishes to get rid of. To clear out some clutter, you see. They say the kitchen is the most important room to fix up when you sell a house.”

  He was sure he had some, so he went inside to get them. When he came back with the stack, she asked him to take them into the kitchen for her.

  “You’re a peach. Thank you.”

  “Is that enough? It was all I had.”

  She looked at the papers. “I don’t know… I have a lot of dishes to send away. I guess it’ll have to be enough.” She moved to the pantry and returned with two glasses and a bottle of white wine. “I’m keeping a few glasses, of course.”

  He didn’t want any wine, but felt helpless to refuse it. He took the glass she handed him and allowed her to fill it.

  “This is a very dry wine. I prefer dry. Don’t you? Of course, these aren’t really the right glasses. These are red wine glasses. You’re a bartender, so you know all about that, I’m sure.” She opened the cupboard behind her and pointed. It went almost all the way to the ceiling and every shelf was crammed full of glassware. “See? The third shelf is all white wine glasses. Then the reds, here.”

  Daniel looked up, sipping his wine. She had more wine glasses than the bar had. “Impressive.”

  “Well. Maybe so. But they’re just in the way, now. I need to clear all this out so I can clean and paint. I wonder…” She bit her lip and looked up at him hopefully. “I know I said I wouldn’t ask for anything else… but…”

  Daniel looked at her. She’s got nobody else. Nobody at all. “Of course, Ellie. You want help painting?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t ask that. You did more than enough painting! I’m just going to touch up in here, anyway. But… what I was wondering… would you run the dishes over to Goodwill for me, after I pack them?”

  “Of course. I’m off on Wednesday. I’ll come get them then.” The gratitude he saw in her eyes moved him to offer more. “I’ll come back and help you paint, too.”

  Ellie smiled. “I’d love for you to help, but I insist on paying you. Cash this time.”

  “You did pay me. You gave me the painting, remember? I love it.”

  She blushed. “Well, that’s hardly fair payment for so much work. But I’m glad you like the roses. They look so real.” She paused, considering. “I used to pretend they were. I could almost smell them, if I tried hard enough.”

  He said he’d return for the dishes, and made her promise she wouldn’t try to reach the ones on the top shelf until he came to help. When he got home, he stood in the hallway and looked at the roses in the painting for a long time.

  They did look real. If he looked down, sort of away from it, he could almost pretend they were real. Almost.

  But he couldn’t smell them.

  He ran his finger across the front, feeling the dips and valleys of the paint. Probably not good for the painting, he realized, but he did it anyway. He traced over the name in the corner: Vera. How old had Ellie been, when she picked those roses for her? Had she ever had her fingers on the canvas, as a child? As an adult? Maybe he was the first one to touch it this way.

  His girlfriend’s photographs had all been under glass. He remembered that, because when he found out it was the end, he’d been tempted to smash them. So tempted. He’d balled his fist up and drawn back his arm, turning her words over and over in his mind: No legs. Our relationship doesn’t have legs anymore, babe. Babe. She’d called him babe while breaking up with him, and it would have been funny if it had been anyone else it was happening to.

  He’d closed his eyes to save them from flying glass and prepared for pain. He was going to break every one of them. Break the glass and tear the photographs to shreds. But he hadn’t. In the end his fury hadn’t had legs, either.

  Chapter 25


  She wedged more paper into the box and taped the lid down. “There’s another. Now, if you’ll cart that out I’ll work on the last of them.” Ellie wiped her brow and reached for another stack of newspapers.

  Daniel carried the box to his car and set it next to the others. When he returned, she was perched precariously on the stepstool, holding three wine glasses in her hand and reaching for another. He moved in quickly behind her and took the glasses.

  “Here, Ellie. Let me get those. You’ll break your neck.”

  She worked her way back down to ground level. “Thank you. The ones from the top shelf are very delicate. Fine crystal, you see.”

  Daniel picked one up and held it gently. It was gorgeous. Light and thin as an eggshell, and etched with tiny ferny leaves and flowers that looked like bluebells. His mother had had a similar set, but she never used them. He wondered if Ellie used hers. “These really are beautiful. Where did you get them?”

  Ellie didn’t answer at first. Then she said, “They were a wedding gift. It was a long time ago.”

  Daniel handed them down to her one at a time. “Well, they’re lovely. Are you sure you want to get rid of these?” The thought of them just going to sit on some crappy shelf next to someone’s old grease-stained Tupperware in a secondhand store made him very sad. Like that time some famous musician played his two-million-dollar violin for half an hour in a train station and nobody even looked up.

  She made a noncommittal gesture with her head and wrapped the glasses silently. He came off the stepstool with more of them and set them gingerly on the counter. “You could probably sell these for a bit of money.”