Without You I Have Nothing Read online

  “Believe me,” he continued, “an old square like you has no chance. When a ‘smoothie’ like me can’t even get a date, what chance do you have? That girl has a heart of stone.” Pausing, he looked across the room. “My God, if only she could read your thoughts. Give it away.”

  “Don’t judge me by yourself,” Peter retorted angrily, stung by Bob’s assessment.

  Staring at Bob he allowed his thoughts to wander. ‘So they genuinely assume I am an old square, unsuccessful with women - yes, I am that - always. I am just so awkward in their presence. I know that I don’t have the glibness of Bob or the quiet authority of Ted. My intense attitude often frightens women away or they ridicule me because of my quick anger and jealousy. I am painfully aware that, emotionally, I am a boy in a man's body unable to express my feelings easily with no family love to guide me. The heinous trauma, that was my early life, still controls my social behavior with women.’ Peter tried to rationalize his thoughts.

  Although withdrawing into his shell, Peter still had enough dry gunpowder to fire broadside. “Just because you didn’t ultimately manage to make her drop into your hands doesn’t mean a gentleman like me - someone with a few manners - will have no success.”

  Unable to accept that Peter was a sensitive, well-mannered man. Bob and Ted roared with laughter.

  To Ted, Peter was the struggling owner of a panel shop whose business partner had been killed in an accident and whose ledgers were often covered in greasy fingerprints.

  Bob, as an insurance assessor, knew Peter as the overall-clad worker whose quotes for repairs were mostly accurate.

  In truth, Ted and Bob had no knowledge of their friend’s background. Peter had been extremely careful to conceal the width of his business interests and the scope of his wealth. Neither friend knew that he owned Ted’s company in addition to the BMW dealership beside his panel shop, as well as being the majority shareholder in Bob’s multinational insurance company.

  They had often wondered about his early life but made no inquiries, as it was obvious Peter would say nothing. Many times previously they had tried, but they had learned that such inquiries were most unwelcome. They knew nothing of his horrendous life as a child slave in the Malaysian Jungle and nothing of his education in the East. There was no suspicion in their minds of his exemplary degrees in Mechanical and Electrical Engineering and in Psychology or even his honorary rank as a Ghurkha Major in the British Army.

  The men had been friends since Peter had returned to Sydney, from Asia, four years previously knowing he could no longer be an outcast - a loner immersed in the academic world. He had met his friends when he opened his workshop and the three had forged a strong bond at both work and play. Ted became the workshop’s accountant and Bob was the Insurance Assessor. They played tennis together and belonged to the same club. As well they worked as a team racing cars.

  Their laughter stung Peter.

  “She’s got too much class. You two make me sick always bragging about your prowess and success with women.” Peter’s eyes were red with anger and his two friends backed away.

  “Now a girl is frigid because she turned Bob down. What rot! The fact of the matter is she has excellent taste.”

  “Steady on. Let’s not argue.” Bob, always cocky and considering himself as the modern Don Juan, was contrite.

  “Let’s not get so hot under the collar over women. They're simply not worth it,” Ted added his ideas to calm the situation. “Hey, time for another round of drinks. It’s your shout, Peter. You know you couldn’t shout even if a shark grabbed you. Open your wallet and let the moths out. Come on, buy us a drink and stop staring at Jennifer. You’ll terrify the poor wench.”

  Beginning to look threatening, Peter straightened.

  Ted changed the topic quickly. “What limits are you placing on the motor this weekend? We don’t want old lead-foot here blowing it up.”

  “He can push the car as hard as he likes. The motor will take all he can dish out.”

  They were friends again as they discussed the coming Sunday races.

  Peter could only think how strangely mismatched they were. Bob, the insurance man, suave, charming and in his own estimation a skirt chaser -Ted the accountant, rich by inheritance, scholarly in looks and so quiet - and himself, the lumbering, useless, extremely dangerous bear, full of jealousy and so easily angered.

  ‘I know I am a man whose family history is shrouded in secrecy which I jealously guard. Yes, I realize I hide my academic achievements behind a bamboo wall. Neither of my friends knows the reasons for my inability to cope with females. Of course, I know my face either is the inscrutable mask of the east or reflects my quick anger. My friends have no idea of my true financial worth nor of my academic successes. Why am I like this? Why can’t I let my past life be known and understood?’ Not airing his thoughts, Peter felt miserable.

  Yet they were still friends. They did almost everything together.

  “How was business this week, Peter? No rain... no crashes... so you didn’t make the usual million,” Bob sipped his beer.

  “You’re right. It has been quiet but this morning a very strange thing happened. A brand new, top of the range, Mercedes arrived. It was as if it had been attacked with an iron bar; both headlights were smashed. The owner was a squat, revolting ‘toad’ of a man who waddled into the office.” Laughing, Peter continued, “God, I think he was trying to be an Australian version of Al Capone.”

  Ted and Bob were enjoying the story but it was the truth.

  “He was wearing a black hat pulled down to the top of his sunglasses and his black overcoat was pulled up to his ears.”

  “He was wearing an overcoat in this weather?” Bob was incredulous.

  “I nearly laughed, he was so comical with those big ears sticking out from his head but when I asked him if it was an insurance claim, the malicious look on his face took all the laughter out of me.”

  Peter continued, “His exact words were, ‘No, not insurance and the boys who did this have no further use for insurance either. I hope their life assurance policies were paid up.’ His vicious laugh was positively malevolent. He tossed a wad of notes onto the bonnet and when I said we were too busy to take on this job, he merely tossed a second equally large wad of notes to join the first and snarled, ‘Not enough eh?’

  His last words as his bullyboys in their car drove him off, were ‘Four o'clock sharp.’ There was over sixteen thousand dollars on the bonnet and he treated it like Monopoly Money.”

  “Who was he?” Ted joined the conversation.

  “No idea,” Peter explained, “but there was a pistol strapped to the steering column and the man who came to pick up the car was so blonde and beautiful that I could only think of him as a ‘Pretty Boy’.”

  Behind the poker face he had assumed, Peter knew that this customer was trouble with a capital ‘T’. He had spent far too many childhood years under the influence of such characters not to recognize this creature for what he was.

  “That’s business you don’t want,” was Ted’s dry comment. “Sounds like Dingo Ryan and his son.”

  As a worried look fleetingly crossed Ted's face, Peter wondered what Ted knew.

  “Well, at least my clients are respectable and do the right thing,” continued Ted with a laugh before changing the topic. His eyes glittered through his steel-framed spectacles and his boyish face was smiling as he forgot Peter’s story and flicked at his immaculate suit where ash had dropped from his pipe.

  Smiling, he continued, “You know, the only trouble is you, Peter. You're my greatest problem. You send me work covered in grime. Can’t you afford pens now, or don’t you care about me, trying to decipher that scribble of yours between daubs of grease and blobs of paint? The account you sent me this week was covered in red paint. Were you trying to show me what color would look good for Sunday?”

  “Don’t you two do anything but complain?” Pretending to be annoyed, slowly Peter maneuvered around them to stand where he cou
ld watch that young woman without being obvious. “I'm the only honest worker here. Without me both of you would starve.”

  That could have started the next altercation but Peter’s mind was across the room. He knew the girls with Jennifer were secretaries at Bob’s company, but Jennifer stood apart. He could easily believe she was a lawyer.

  There was something intangibly different about her. Perhaps her laughter was not so shrill or her gaiety so forced. Maybe it was the aloof way that she held her head or the way she leant forward to sip her drink. Her clothing was certainly different. She was not out to impress or draw men’s eyes. Her skirt was not so short nor was her neckline so daring that everything was there to ogle.

  No wonder Bob thought her frigid. She was different and no matter what was making her stand apart, Peter knew he had to meet her.

  He noted that no males approached the three women to ask for a dance and he wondered why. Perhaps it was Jennifer’s bearing and the fact she was looking uncomfortable in such surroundings.

  “Hey, have you gone to sleep? Ted asked you a question,” Bob recalled him into the conversation.

  “I’m sorry, Ted. What was it you were saying?” Peter had not been listening. His mind was across the room.

  “What time are we collecting you and the car on Sunday? Practice starts at eight o'clock and Bob will need every minute possible with the car before the first race.” Ted’s patient tones were warm. He knew what had drawn Peter’s attention. He almost took a fatherly interest in Peter although their ages were so close.

  Bob turned to look at the girls.

  “Look, you’ll get nothing for your efforts from her.” He was doing his best to warn Peter but Peter would not listen.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, pull yourself together,” Ted added. “If only you could see the look on your face, Peter.” He tapped his pipe into the ashtray and Peter knew it would be his last one for the night. “Bob and I are off to the trots. What about grabbing a quick bite of Chinese and coming with us? I was given three red hot tips that are certainties.”

  Peter knew Ted was interested in gambling and had money to spare. Bob always went with him but Peter doubted if either made a fortune. He did not gamble himself - all his gambling had been with people’s lives in the first sixteen years of his life and he had not been successful then. He did not intend to gamble any further, and until tonight, he had always managed to find an excuse not to join them.

  “I don’t think we’ll get any sense out of him until he meets that girl,” Bob chimed in. “Come on you two, grab your glasses and we’ll join them.”

  His broad shoulders edged their way through the throng. “At least they’re from my company so we won’t seem too rude. Besides, you both look too respectable this evening for them to recognize the ruffians I know. Straighten your tie, Ted, and try to control yourself and don’t bore us with figures.” Leering in the direction of the girls, he licked his lips in anticipation. “The figures we have in mind tonight are not found in your ledgers.”

  Had they heard his words or seen his expression, the girls would have fled, shrieking.

  “Still, all may not be lost. I’d rather have their company than you two hoboes.” Turning to Peter he ordered, “Get that lecherous look out of your eyes and no bad language, either of you.

  “The blonde’s Karen. I’ve heard she’s a good sport so she’s mine. I don’t intend to be cold in bed tonight. Peter wants Jennifer... although heaven only knows why. Therefore, you, Ted will partner Ruth.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Peter. Bet you a dinner and show you don’t get far with that little icicle.”

  Peter towered over Bob as the answer rumbled out.

  “Done!”

  “Double the bet!” Ted couldn’t resist the wager.

  “Come on... they won’t eat you.” Bob tossed the words over his shoulder as he continued to thread his way through the crowd.

  Hoping his friends would not embarrass him, reluctantly Peter followed. Somehow, he knew this meeting would be crucial.

  Across the room, Jennifer was still agitated. ‘Men call me the Ice Maiden, and worse. It makes me afraid to have a date. Just because men take a girl out to a show or dinner, they think they have to be paid. Why should I hop into bed with a complete stranger?’ Jennifer ended her thoughts. ‘Often they don’t even offer a bed. Instead, it is the discomfort of a car - clumsy and physical - sheer brute force and selfish lust. If men think I am reserved, they are right, no matter the names they provide as an alternative.’

  ‘The truth of the situation is that I want a man to love and in return to be loved and treasured.’ She thought of her parents love for each other that had withstood the test of 30 years and she longed for the same life for herself.

  ‘I want a man to love and in return to be loved and treasured. I want a relationship like my parents have and they have been married for 30 years.’

  Jennifer was jolted from her thoughts by a familiar male voice.

  “Do you mind if we join you?” Bob leant over Karen, placing his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of ownership. “I’d rather have your pretty company than have to listen to these ruffians’ complaints about their hard week.”

  Peter knew he was lucky Bob had made that first approach, as he was aware his own words would not have flowed with such practiced ease. Instead, he would have stuttered and stammered like a mindless oaf. Overridden by his childhood trauma, his psychology degrees would not have helped him cope socially.

  Unnoticed by Jennifer, Bob and his two mates had arrived at their table and now Peter had caught the full reaction to her thoughts. Looking up defiantly she found herself staring into two piercing blue eyes - the same blue eyes that had been studying her from across the room. The owner was hovering over her chair and someone was speaking.

  Obviously, he believed she was glaring at him. His handsome, rugged face flushed and he began to apologize for intruding on her night.

  ‘That’s polite,’ was Jennifer’s surprised reaction. ‘That’s different. How can I explain I wasn’t annoyed with him?’ She rose to reassure him, but it looked as if she was about to leave.

  Startled, Peter begged her to remain.

  “I'm sorry if we broke up your happy group.”

  “Tell us if we’re intruding and we’ll leave.”

  “You just said you're in no hurry, Jennifer,” chimed in Karen, “you agreed.”

  Turning to Bob, she leant against him, to touch him in a flagrant gesture of welcome. “We’re all free tonight and thought we might go to the pictures.” She put her head on Bob’s shoulder and her long red fingernails looked like talons as they curved around his arm to stop his departure.

  “Where are your manners, Bob? Introduce your two friends to Jennifer.”

  “I’m sorry, Jennifer. This big, uncouth bear in man’s clothing is the wild Irishman Peter O'Brien.”

  He threw his head back and chuckled at Peter’s mortification.

  Peter’s blush of embarrassment only brought more hilarity from everyone except Jennifer who, expressionless, stared through Peter.

  “Don’t let him lead you into any dark corners or hold those dainty hands of yours.” Bob’s face emphasized the lechery in his voice and Peter could gladly have throttled him.

  Jennifer realized she now knew who had studied her from across the room. Those eyes belonged to Peter.

  Bob’s poor attempt at humor did not impress her and Karen, seeing that look cross Bob’s face was definitely sharpening her claws. Ignoring the reactions, blithely Bob continued, “The other criminal is Ted.”

  Jennifer studied the men.

  Ted, a gangling, bespectacled young man with lewd eyes and a high-pitched laugh and wearing an immaculate, expensive suit ogled Ruth as he pulled his chair closer to her side and raised her hand to his lips.

  “What would you like to drink, fair one?”

  Ruth giggled as she gave her order with pretended modesty. She was no fool but she played
along.

  Bob was tall, dark and handsome and he knew it. Completely aware of his attractiveness, he flaunted it. Even his voice was seductive and his movements were studied carelessness, but his eyes betrayed him. They were cold and calculating despite the laughter on his face and the hand he had placed on Karen’s shoulder was blatantly laying claim to her.

  Jennifer knew him from the office and had repulsed his advances several times. His cultured attractiveness and studied behavior with women did not appeal in any way.

  “What will you have to drink, Jennifer,” he asked, “the same as the others?”

  “No, I will have just a tomato juice please.”

  “You want tomato juice?” Bob’s voice dripped derision. “That’s all?”

  “With lemon,” was Jennifer’s sweet reply as she thought she would fix him.

  “Don’t take any notice,” Peter was quick to come to her assistance. “He’s only trying to be funny.

  “How do you like Sydney? I suppose you're lonely now. Bob told me you’ve only just arrived from Melbourne.” Disconcerted he realized that he had inadvertently disclosed that she had been the topic of conversation at the bar. He faltered and stopped

  Actually, Jennifer had guessed that he had inquired about her and felt pleased. Giving him her full attention, she felt wary about what he had discovered. She had already noticed that Peter had a friendly face - pleasant looking - not overly handsome but certainly not ugly. Although his dark brown hair was rather short, a lock fell partly over his forehead and, as he brushed it back with his hand, he presented a curious self-defensive, boyish attitude. His eyes were two powder blue, sparkling gems that flickered and changed. They were very alert, almost too bright and observant.

  Jennifer wondered if he had noticed that the girls had ordered more expensive, fancy drinks than the ones they had previously drunk. She sat quietly, adding little to the chatter, unaware that beside her Peter was already breathing in her delicate perfume, basking in the warmth of her presence.

  When he had seen her arrive, her beauty had attracted him, but he had not expected the impact of her closeness. Now her delicate fragrance was urging him to taste. His fingertips tingled as he battled the thought of touching her skin.