There were four men at the bar of the Reina Victoria. The drunk one who leaned heavily against the counter was a tourist from Berlin. Next to him stood the driver of the bus and waited for the plate of cheese and olives he had ordered. The third one sat apart, at the end of the bar, with his back to the wall and there was a big glass of gin and tonic in front of him. The fourth one was the barman. The Berliner was doing the talking.
"Juan," he said with feeling, "Juan, you are my friend," and slapped the driver on the shoulder. The Gin Tonic Client observed the scene from his corner and it was obvious that the driver was not happy with this development: he did not wish to be that person's friend.
The Berliner was a sick looking man in his fifties, towering above everone else with slightly more than six feet in height, with a balding head and a red and puffy clean-shaven face. His bulging eyes were bloodshot and pale grey. He was dressed in a beige shirt with a pathetic green crocodile stitched on its pocket and light brown trousers ironed sharply. His feet stuck in expensive burgundy college slippers. Despite the heat he had a dark green seersucker jacket slung over his thin shoulders. There was a gold Rolex on his left wrist and a couple of gold Cross pens in his shirt pocket. Even at a distance he was reeking of booze.
"Two beers, please," he told the barman, "and give one to my friend Juan here." The driver told him politely that he was not supposed to drink as he had to operate the bus but the Berliner ignored him.
"Two beers," he repeated. The driver asked the barman for a Coke and looked for an escape route. Apart from the man behind the counter, he was the only Spaniard in the bar. The Gin Tonic Client was a regular at this place. The Mesón as it was called, was tucked away a few yards from the hotel. Seen from the entrance at the narrow side of the structure, the room reached nearly all the way along the right hand side of the building. During daytime, plenty of light was allowed to enter from the large windows. The bar counter with the stools occupied the greater part of the left hand side. There were groups of mahogany tables and chairs distributed throughout the room.
It was a quarter past nine in the evening. Other people, who occupied some of the tables were members of the travel group. Among them were three women who had arrived together with the Berliner. One of them was his wife, a grey lady also in her middle fifties, with a grey complexion, with a grey immaculate perm and with grey clothes, tone-in-tone. The second one was a young and fat person with mouse-like, brownish short hair who didn't enjoy the climate. She was dressed in a sail-like Laura Ashley gown with patterns of tiny green flowers all over the place. She never said a word, just sat there and waited for a cool breeze. The third woman was young too. She was tall and slim, with reddish-brown, long wavy hair falling to her shoulders. Her eyes were greenish, in an oval face, and her full mouth was painted red. She wore  white sandals and blue jeans, and an inspiring white canvas shirt. The Gin Tonic Client wondered why the Berliner wanted to talk to the bus driver at the bar rather than pay attention to that lovely angel at his table. He had reached the sentimental stage and was rambling on. The driver had no chance to make his getaway.
"Listen, Juan, old friend, you've got all this responsibility. You are our pilot," the Berliner declared and upset his glass when he put his hand on the driver's shoulder. The barman didn't say a word, wiped the counter and produced a new beer. "Our lives are in your hands. Responsibility! That's it, that's what it is!" He had found his track and drove the point home, in case anyone didn't get it.
The Pilot tried to shake the Berliner's hand off but did not succeed. He was fed up but maybe he didn't want to start an argument as he was dealing with a customer. Maybe he was just being polite.
"Egbert, please don't drink any more." With a tinny voice, the Lady in Grey tried to take the initiative now. Her husband ignored her.
The Gin Tonic Client felt sorry for her to have ended up with the old drunkard, but maybe it was her own fault. She got up and went to the bar and positioned herself between her husband and the Pilot.
"Please, Egbert, come back to our table. You shouldn't drink with those capsules you've got to take. Come back to the table, please!"
The Gin Tonic Client was temporarily distracted from the proceedings as the Tall Angel commenced to transmit certain signals. She had noticed, of course, that he kept watching her and without looking at him, casually she opened another button of her shirt, an action that inspired the Gin Tonic Client thinking of things which had nothing to do with the products of Mr. Gordon's.
"Leave me alone," the Berliner told his wife. "I'm talking to my friend Juan, don't you see?"
She became very nervous, blinked her eyes rapidly, wrung her hands once or twice, but miserably retreated to the table when he showed his back to her.
At last, the Pilot managed to extract himself from the Berliner's attentions and turned to the barman, talked rapidly in Spanish and told him about the trip. Yesterday Sevilla, today at the hotel here, tomorrow Granada. The usual donkey tour. Next week the return trip with another group.
In the corner the video set played bullfighting clips from the Ronda arena, with the sound switched off. The Gin Tonic Client watched the recordings when the Berliner decided to speak to him.
"Where are you from?" he demanded and pointed the chin into his direction.
"That any of your business?"
The Gin Tonic Client didn't care for this approach. He continued to watch the telly.
"Come on, don't give me this rubbish. Are you Spanish? Anyway, I don't like bullfighting. It should be banned."
The Lady in Grey came back to her betrothed. She was angry. Perhaps she had summoned a few grains of courage. "Look, Egbert, you've had enough to drink now. Please!"
"This guy doesn't talk to me. Probably English, just look at him, huffy, what? Why doesn't he talk to me? Ask him! Maybe he's a lord or something. I just want to be friendly. You can tell his lordship that I'm trying to be friendly, you hear, dammit? Tell him!" Belligerently, the chin came up again.
The Tall Angel smiled at the Gin Tonic Client now. He had already resolved to leave the bar but reconsidered instantly. He placed another order with the barman. Maybe she was a mind reader.
"Are you English? Hey, you!" The Berliner was a damned nuisance now.
"What do you want? Are you from the police? My passport is none of your business!" The Gin Tonic Client was very irritated.
The Pilot finished talking to the barman by asking for grilled gambas and tomato salad and sat down with some other people in the far corner, while the Lady in Grey was determined to bring old Egbert back to the fold. She took his beer and with the other hand she seized his elbow and steered him to the table where he collapsed into the chair next to the fat girl who took no notice and continued to wait for fresh air.
The Gin Tonic Client was disappointed with the evening. An hour ago, he had been the only customer. He had enjoyed that very much as it was one of those moments bars have been created for: a very quiet hour, without phone, without discussions, without the need to talk. He even didn't want to read and that was unusual as he always carried one or two books with him wherever he went. From the tape came music by Paco de Lucia. There was a feeling of laziness, the Gin Tonic Client was content to be there, grateful for the cold glass of his favourite drink in front of him. After the heat of the day, this was the place to be. However, then came the invasion of the tourist gang and his tranquillity had been shot to pieces.
The barman picked up a plate from the kitchen, with a heap of sizzling „gambas a la plancha“ on it, and the good smell hit the Gin Tonic Client's nostrils. What kept him from leaving for dinner was that mysterious tall girl but he couldn't figure out what the position was. Her one and only smile mustn't mean anything, right? He couldn't stop himself: he kept darting glances at her. She was like a magnet, and naturally, she noticed that.
With her hands she drove under her long hair, lifted the mane two or three times and let it fall down again, her generous bust cocked for everybody to admire. It was Hollywood all the way. Then one of her hands touched her neck, went down to her shirt, into it, and only for the Gin Tonic Client to see, she pulled the cloth away to reveal one of her breasts with a dark and firm tip, for a few seconds only. He was extremely inspired now. She had never looked at him.
What was her relationship to that drunken bastard? She began to talk to him. The Lady in Grey didn't like that at all. She shot hostile glances at the girl, furtively though, but the Gin Tonic Client could feel the tension. Was she jealous of the girl's youth, of her beauty? Had she been pretty and attractive herself in her young years? Of course, now she appeared to be a nagging old witch but that would only be natural. One does not remain nice and easygoing with that egomaniac at one's side. Even the immaculate perm didn't help.
The Tall Angel spoke seriously to the Berliner, judging from his sullen expression. Apparently, he didn't appreciate her comments because rudely he got up in mid sentence and returned to the bar.
"One beer, please," he said. It came immediately, foaming nicely in an ice-cold glass with rivulets of water on it.
"Very good beer, very good cerveza." The barman grinned, slightly embarrassed.
"Egbert, please," the Lady in Grey pleaded once more.
"Listen, old girl," Egbert told her, turned around and faced her, "I'm gonna finish this beer and perhaps have another one, and then, if you're up to it, we can go up to the room and have some fun together." He glared at her. "You hear me?"
The Lady in Grey changed the colour of her face, rose and walked towards the "Señoras" door. The Berliner took a substantial swig from his glass, on second thought emptied it and put it down with a bang.
"One beer, please," he said. It came and he downed it in one go. "I like this beer. I'll have another one." And then, a little later: "Where is the old cow?"
He looked at the two women at his table. The fat one grabbed her purse and put some money on the table. The cool breeze had never come.
The Tall Angel smiled contemptuously and extracted her purse from the handbag, too. The fat girl left without a word, like an Ashley spinnaker sailing towards the door.
"A good woman that is, my wife," the Berliner professed to no one in general, his words slurred now, "a very good wife, perhaps a bit stupid, but in bed she's still first class." He gesticulated with his free hand and wanted to continue but only managed to belch something. He swayed. Everybody had stopped talking. The "Señoras" door had been opened a few seconds earlier but was closed again. The Gin Tonic Client was the only one to have noticed that. The Pilot left the bar. The Tall Angel put some coins down and got up. The next thing she did was to look the Gin Tonic Client straight into the eyes and flashed him a naughty smile. She walked to the exit, moving her curvy body ever so slightly. On the video a bull was killed artfully and the Gin Tonic Client asked for the bill. Apparently, he would not have dinner alone that night. Perhaps the nice restaurant in the Calle Tenorio would be all right?
The "Señoras" door opened again and the Lady in Grey reappeared. She was like a statue but that was probably due to her upright and stiff composure. She marched directly to the bar.
"You can continue to drink your mind to pieces, if you want to, just do as you like," she exclaimed without stopping. She didn't look left nor right when she passed by the tables on her way out. She had changed: from a non-descript grey wife trotting obediently behind her neurotic husband, and who had taken this crap from him all of her married life, she had pulled her remaining strength together and decided to call it a day. At least for the time being, so it seemed. Would it last?
"One beer, please," the Berliner kept the business running. It was quite an exodus now and the Gin Tonic Client would be the next to depart. He paid the bill and left.
Outside, it was still warm with a touch of humidity. Actually, he'd expected to find the Tall Angel somewhere near, waiting for him. He sweated. Where was she? She couldn't have gone far. Had she walked to the hotel? He peered along the path which connects the Mesón with the main building. Or was she in the parking lot? And why? He stepped to the other corner of the Mesón when he noticed something white in the shrubs behind the building. He went forward.
The Pilot held the Tall Angel in a tight embrace, one hand already inside the white blouse. She didn't resist. On the contrary.
The Gin Tonic Client turned on his heels and headed towards the exit gate, away from the desaster zone. He shook all over. He looked as intelligent as a frozen monkey. He went through the gate and found himself walking on the pavement. Cars were moving and there was commotion everywhere. He moved on. The Calle Dr. Fleming leads to the bull ring and to the town centre. Loads of people were all over the place and forced him to walk slowly. It was Feria time, of course, and nobody would go to bed before six in the morning. There were loud gusts of music everywhere, the rhythmic sevillanas came from the wide open doors and windows and from the bars. One place played something by Thin Lizzy. There were smells of good food in the air, fried meat and fish with garlic on open coal fires, adding a lush and spicy element to the late summer atmosphere. Most of the girls were dressed in the traditional Andalusian fashion, with their wide swinging colourful skirts, all of them carefully made up and hairstyled, even the little ones, and they had the proud appearance of walking dolls.
Next to the hotel area was a pensioners' home with an illuminated square in front of it and there were some benches placed among small trees and shrubs. On one of the benches sat the Lady in Grey with a granite face, and stared into space, lost in thought, with knitted brows which created two deep furrows between her eyes. One of her clenched fists held a small leaflet, one of those which come with medicine packs. There was an atmosphere of deep hatred around her.
At the bull arena, the sales counter next to the baroque entrance was still open and the Gin Tonic Client queued up to get a seat for next Saturday's corrida. A toothless old man with a black walking stick sold posters of the event.
The Gin Tonic Client was still shattered and required instant refreshment. He put his bull fight ticket into the wallet and let his eyes roam in search of a suitable establishment, preferably without tall female customers. The Jerez Bar was just across the square from the bull ring and he took one of the few empty chairs outside and sat down to watch the masses of people passing by or coming from the Espinel. A group of Americans, identifyable by their chequered pants and "Death in the Afternoon" clamped under the arms, came from the Pedro Romero Restaurant, filed across the street and noisily conquered the Jerez Bar to exchange views on The Real Spain.
The Gin Tonic Client lifted his glass and examined the lemon slice, the melting ice cubes, and the sparkling tonic water. Why had she done that to him? Was it her idea of having fun? Was it her way of telling him to stop leering at attractive girls in public places? Who the hell did she think she was? He was physically sick but he got himself another drink. Dinner was cancelled.
Three days later, the Gin Tonic Client was back at the Reina Victoria. The barman started to perform his duties. For a while they discussed the corrida, the Feria and something or the other when somehow, he couldn't say why as he thought that he had banned that evening from his memory, the Gin Tonic Client mentioned the Berliner.
"Oh, el loco? Muerto, dead" the barman said, reluctantly. It turned out that next morning, charming Egbert had been found dead in his bed. "Infarto, cardiac arrest" the barman said, as he had learned from the doctor. Not very good for the hotel, this sort of thing.
Pensively, the Gin Tonic Client looked across the bar, through the large windows, but failed to notice the rose bushes and the trees, and consumed a small quantity of his drink, biting gingerly on an ice cube. Again, he saw the Lady in Grey on that bench, deeply in thought. Something was there, he didn't quite know what it was, but something had struck him. He realized that during the past few days that woman had been on his mind, subconsciously to be sure. But why?
And suddenly, comprehending everything, he found the answer. It was so easy! He laughed out loud. The barman inserted the Ronda video cassette, and the Gin Tonic Client startled him when he ordered a bottle of Cava and two glasses.
"First time I see you change your drink. Are you celebrating something?" the barman enquired.
"In a way..." the Gin Tonic Client said, "in a way..."
Both of them took a drink and watched Fernando Cepeda perform a series of very nice and accurate passes. The barman was impressed.
"Olé," he said.