Without You I Have Nothing Page 3

  “I’m finding the pace entirely different and the distances within the city enormous.” Her answer shook him from his thoughts. “I’ll be glad when I take delivery of a new car. That will make travelling easier.”

  Suddenly, Peter was looking deep into two emerald eyes of the deepest hue possible.

  She was certainly no ordinary worker to be able to afford a new car as well as move so far from home, and Peter almost fell into the trap of rudely questioning her history. The steady gaze from those green eyes unsettled him and minutes of deathly silence followed while he desperately thought of ways to continue.

  Eventually he broke the silence between them. “There’s a lot of Sydney to explore. I’ve lived here for a few years and still find a new corner every day.”

  Suddenly an explosion of noise and movement broke over them.

  There, in a rowdy Sydney bar, a most extraordinary sight was about to present itself. Rehearsals at the Australian Ballet Company were over for the week. Musicians, carrying their instruments, and dancers poured into the bar looking for some relief from their tiring schedule.

  Shrieking and laughing, two beautiful, slender young women who, obviously, had recognized Peter were pulling him out of his seat and demanding that he dance with them.

  Peter groaned aloud trying desperately to deny them but they would have none of his refusals. He realized his work at the Westmead Children’s Hospital just a few brief weeks before Christmas had caught up with him. It had taken months of constant rehearsals to finalize the Christmas Party.

  The children had particularly enjoyed his presence as Santa and the presents he supplied.

  As Peter tried to resist, one of the young women rushed across the dance floor to organize the Sydney Ballet Company Orchestra and returned.

  Both then linked arms with him in the usual ballet fashion. As the first bars of the Dance of the Little Swans silenced the crowd the three of them stood in a line as if statues, waist to waist, with heads held high and eyes fixed on the same ethereal point somewhere out there over the heads of the people in the bar. The two women so delicate and slim almost coming to Peter’s shoulders, stood with this big, strong bear of a man.

  The whole gathering was fascinated. They simply could not believe their eyes.

  There was a hush as the three danced, weaving their magic over the Friday evening crowd, moving through their paces, so graceful and so familiar with each other as they stepped and swayed as a single body. Then Jennifer gasped as Peter’s arms stole around the waists of the two ballerinas, and he raised them off the floor, all the while their six feet keeping time and their heads moving as one.

  The music ended and the applause was deafening.

  However, it was not over yet. One of the ballerinas broke away from the others to pirouette in isolation then swept back towards Peter who hurled her high into the air, before catching her on one hand above his head as he spun lazily - while the music crashed to a reprise.

  Jennifer could hardly believe what she had witnessed in such a place. Never would she have believed that Peter was a ballet dancer.

  “Thank you ladies and gentlemen, please give generously as we take up a collection for Westmead Children’s Hospital…”

  The announcement died as a gruff voice bellowed out across the dance floor, destroying the magic of the moment. “Look at that bloody queer! Doesn’t he know how to use women? Crawl into a hole somewhere you bloody shirt lifter. This place is for real men.”

  Ted’s hoarse, quick comment drew Jennifer’s attention. “Oh, shit! Now there’s trouble.”

  Not deigning to reply, Peter slowly walked towards the interjector in a slow, soft, toe-heel shuffle as if he were the Principal Dancer from the Ballet Company. He beckoned, and an ugly brute exploded onto the floor. Fists flying and red of face, the ruffian, shouting profanities, attacked Peter with no warning.

  As the crowd retreated from the scene, women’s screams and a thundering of footsteps smashed the silence in the bar. Yet over the hubbub and movement, Jennifer was certain she heard Peter’s quiet words to the security guards ring across the room.

  “He’s mine - call an ambulance.”

  She gasped and watched a brief flurry of arms and legs as Peter hurled the large man into the air and stood back as he crashed to the floor with a sickening thud. The ruffian screamed as one of his legs seemed to break under him.

  Two more burly men - obviously his friends - blasted onto the floor and Jennifer was horrified to see knives glinting in the light as they circled Peter. She heard more screams but she could not believe her ears when she heard Peter’s roar of laughter as he advised them. “Didn’t your mothers tell you? Little boys shouldn’t play with knives. You’ll hurt yourselves.”

  He was ready for them.

  First, one of them crashed to the floor not to rise again and then the second, until the three lay stretched out senseless. Security, none too gently, removed their bodies and Jennifer was still shaking when she felt the gentlest of hands on her elbow helping her to her feet and a quiet voice speaking to her.

  “How about having a dance to calm us?”

  Almost in a trance, she found herself in the arms of this strange, powerful man, wafting around the floor to the music as he gently guided her through the throng. Too soon, it was over and she found herself once again back at her table.

  “Thank you, Jennifer. I enjoyed that – you’re such an accomplished dancer.” Peter bent low in a bow as he assisted her back to her seat.

  The noise in the bar resumed as members of the ballet company passed through the throng collecting donations for the Children’s Hospital as if there had been no interruption although Jennifer had thousands of questions to ask Peter.

  This man who had demolished those thugs was so gentle, so considerate and his voice so soft with her. He made her think. ‘This man is so different to any I have met. Dangerous he had been yet was so careful with her - how different - and yet so considerate.’

  They sat, and Peter had resumed their conversation when Bob broke into it loudly.

  “Ladies! Ted, Peter and I are off for a Chinese meal and then we're going to the trots. Ted has some hot tips so perhaps we can win tonight. Would you like to join us?”

  Ignoring Jennifer’s coldness and responding to the nods and warmth of Karen and Ruth he continued. “That’s settled then. We're going to the trots.”

  Noticing Jennifer’s expression, Bob quickly added for her benefit, “Harness Racing. First we’ll have a Chinese meal and then go to the trots.” He made sure everyone knew, so enthusiastically he began to pair everyone off.

  Karen had held Jennifer to her promise to spend the evening with them but this was too much.

  Their further planning paused as two uniformed police officers arrived to lead Peter off to a quiet corner where they questioned him about the scuffle.

  When the two officers left, as quietly as they had arrived, the group made their way out of the bar but Jennifer was unimpressed by the planned entertainment. The stiffness with which she held herself and the reluctance with which she allowed Peter to take her arm made that painfully obvious. Her silence was icy. To her surprise, Peter seemed to understand.

  His consideration for her feelings showed as he leant towards her to ask, “Would you rather not come? I will drive you home if you prefer. Frankly, trotting is not my scene either. The others have never managed to drag me along before. I’ve always found an excuse. Tonight will be my first time too.”

  Astonished, Jennifer found herself becoming interested in Peter. She liked his sensitivity. Of course, it could be his stock-in-trade – his ‘line’ – but she resolved to wait and see so she allowed them to persuade her to go along.

  “I brought a trade-in which we finished detailing this afternoon. It’s big enough so everyone travels with me!” Peter took command waiting for his vehicle to arrive.

  Jennifer looked at him and laughed at Bob’s comments, “My God, Peter’s brought a bus to town.
Bet the company is paying for the tightwad’s petrol. Peter, you lead, we’ll follow, you bloody, bossy bugger!”

  Instead of a bus, a large SUV had arrived and Peter made his two friends get in the rear seats before helping Karen and Ruth into the second row of seats. He then assisted Jennifer into the front seat.

  “I don’t want any misbehavior by you two hooligans. You’ll give me a bad name,” was his excuse.

  The trip to Chinatown was quick and as they walked the streets, Bob reassumed leadership. “You should all realize that Peter has a sixth sense when it comes to food. He may not drink much alcohol but he sure knows how to eat. Peter, select the restaurant and order for all of us.”

  Unwilling to display his language abilities in front of Jennifer, but realizing he must do as Bob had requested, Peter looked ill at ease. Yet, although obviously embarrassed, he made no comment. Instead, he studied the Chinese signs above the shop doorways as if reading them.

  This was not the time to pretend ignorance. Dragging Jennifer by the hand, suddenly he dived into a non-descript doorway and led the way up a flight of narrow creaky stairs.

  Jennifer drew back. There were no tablecloths and there was no sign of English anywhere. The place was garish with its red lanterns, while in the far corner was an altar where joss sticks burned. Although not a single European face was visible, Peter seemed perfectly at home.

  The headwaiter, in excruciating English, tried to inform them that no tables were available but Peter would have none of it, answering in a bark of guttural Chinese that seemed to flow endlessly off his tongue. Backing away, the waiter rushed off to the kitchen while Peter slowly made his way to the altar in the corner where he knelt. Lighting three joss sticks he seemed to bow his head in prayer, completely ignoring his party.

  “Oh god, he’s off again. Stop looking worried, Jennifer, Peter is absolutely harmless but he sometimes thinks he is more Chinese than the Chinese.” Ted’s quiet explanation seemed to remove Jennifer’s apprehension. “Just go with the flow and we’ll have a Chinese meal such as you have never experienced and is never on a menu.”

  Charmed by Ted’s kindly explanation Jennifer listened to the cacophony of Chinese voices.

  “He may seem strange – bloody strange at times – but he will never hurt you. Tonight is the first time I’ve ever seen him with a woman. For the first time since I have known him he demanded that we introduce him to a woman – you!” Ted tried to reassure her.

  The manager arrived, his face an inscrutable mask, but catching sight of Peter praying, he waited patiently. As Peter rose and turned to join his party that mask broke into a wide smile of pleasure and the manager led the noisy party into a back room furnished with a long, heavily carved table, and high-backed ornately-carved chairs. Carefully, he sat Peter at the head of the table. Jennifer he sat at Peter’s right, but allowed the others to sit where they wished. He clapped his hands and waiters appeared at Peter’s side.

  With no attention to the menu, Peter began a rattle fire conversation with a waiter, obviously discussing the order.

  Yet, it was impossible for Jennifer to decide whether Peter’s conversation with the waiters was affable or impolite. The guttural sibilants and implosive grunts of the language combined with her inability to read any facial reactions made it impossible to guess the mood of the conversation.

  Jennifer was completely nonplussed. This strange man with the piercing blue eyes, formerly so attentive and so considerate, had changed. Now he seemed to be so authoritarian – almost tyrannical in his supervision of the meal order. Giving his full attention to the waiter, he even took the order pad to check what he had written. Peter seemed to correct some items as if he could read the Chinese characters.

  He was not boasting of his prowess, he was not advertising his proficiency in another language he was just at home, perfectly comfortable in this second culture.

  Overhearing a whispered comment by one of the waiters, “The Little One is here,” Jennifer looked around the table to try to discover The Little One. Was The Little One either of her two friends who were far from being giants? It could not possibly be Bob or Ted who were not small. It certainly was not the big bear of a man, Peter. She wasn’t sure who carried this unusual title. Surely, they were not applying that name to her.

  “Please forgive me. I took the liberty of ordering for all of you.” The waiters had scurried away and Peter leant towards Jennifer.

  “I really have tried to order a meal that suits your pallet and says thanks for coming with me tonight. I used my experience in Chinese Cuisine to order some dishes that normally are not available. I hope you enjoy the meal.”

  Jennifer smiled and nodded.

  One waiter placed a petite bowl of chilies floating in oil, smelling of fish, before Peter.

  After filling the bowl with soy sauce, Peter lifted it to his lips and began shoveling the chilies into his mouth. Expressionless but alert, the waiter was watching closely. Peter grunted “Ho” as the final chili vanished into his mouth.

  “Hell, Peter I wish you would forget that party trick.” Bob looked as if he was about to heave. “I come out in heat rashes just watching you! My throat burns and my stomach cramps with acute agony. Talk about heart-burn!”

  Stunned, shuddering and speechless, Jennifer could only stare at Peter. She felt at a loss because only chopsticks were evident and she felt self-conscious. Looking at her friends, she sought some support but they were too engrossed playing up to their dinner companions.

  Karen, much to a waiter’s disgust, was having a pretend sword fight with Bob using a chopstick while Ruth was leaning against Ted begging that he help her learn the use of these unfamiliar instruments.

  Jennifer knew that no help would be forthcoming from that direction.

  Noticing her dismay, Peter grinned. “If you don’t use chopsticks you’ll starve!” Laughing, he scooped some rice into her bowl and some into his. Then, holding the bowl to his lips, he shoveled the rice into his mouth encouraging her to do the same. “Remember to make three shovels. That’s polite – more than that and you're rude and come from Hong Kong.”

  Laughing at her surprise, he gave full attention to the food.

  Throughout the meal, he selected tidbits and held them to her lips to taste.

  During the dinner, the manager leant over Jennifer to whisper. “You know he’s one of us,” leaving her even more perplexed.

  The table groaned with food - the only course that Jennifer declined was the roast duck complete with its head.

  The discussion around the table was light-hearted and flirtatious and she knew her two new friends were intent on reeling in their dinner companions.

  When the meal was nearly finished, the waiters placed a small bottle of Tiger Beer beside each member of the party and three huge plates of chili mud crab arrived.

  Jennifer was perplexed because no waiter attempted to give her a beer.

  Turning to her, Peter asked, “Will you do me the honor of sharing my beer, please?”

  She nodded with a broad smile of acceptance.

  The waiters filled everyone’s glass and Peter carefully divided his beer with her. She was surprised that nobody attempted to touch their glass until a waiter leant across to spin the duck’s head. When it stopped spinning the beak pointed at Peter.

  Jennifer couldn’t believe what was happening. With her mind reeling she found it difficult to accept this unusual and unfamiliar situation. Glass in hand, Peter stood. Suddenly the room filled with waiters and cooks, all smiling broadly, each with a glass in one hand and a bottle of Tiger Beer in the other.

  “Yam Seng!” Peter roared, and he seemed to be bursting with pride and happiness as he downed his glass in one gulp.

  “Yam Seng!” came the reply from everyone in the room and Jennifer was astonished that she joined in. Her surprise continued when Peter fished a wad of pink envelopes from his pocket and handed one to each person in the room including each member of the party. He bowed low t
o the manager with the words “Kong hee fatt choy,” as he handed him his own pink envelope.

  As he passed Jennifer her envelope, his words changed to “Happy New Year,” and he smiled broadly.

  Feeling this man had to be Eurasian because of his knowledge of Chinese customs and language, graciously she accepted the gift.

  In the Powder Room before leaving the restaurant, Karen and Ruth conveyed how excited they were with the events of the evening. “What about you, Jennifer? What do you think of Peter?” asked Karen.

  Not wishing to give anything away Jennifer replied conservatively. “He seems all right.”

  “He looks a bit of a dream boat and not stingy at all. Did you notice he paid for the meal?” Ruth continued. “But, he’s a bit too much of a wet blanket for me.”

  “Well, he’s all Jennifer’s.” Karen tossed her head back and added warningly, “Just as long as you leave Bob alone. He’s mine.”

  “You can have him,” was Jennifer’s reply. “Besides, Ruth seems completely absorbed by Ted and I would prefer to be with Peter than either of the other two.”

  “Ted’s loaded,” Ruth contributed blithely, “absolutely loaded.”

  “He’s merry but not drunk,” Karen defended him. “Like Bob – just merry.”

  “I mean ‘rich’,” lilted Ruth, turning circles and chanting gloatingly. “Money, money, money. Filthily, beautifully rich! His family has buckets and his grandfather’s already passed his to Ted.”

  “Half your luck.” Karen was surprised and thoughtful. “I didn’t know.” She shrugged. “We’d better not keep them waiting too long.”

  Not a soul opened an envelope and suddenly it was time to go. No one made a comment about the meal and the strange surroundings although Jennifer was bursting with questions. The party boarded the vehicle as if in a trance.

  Jennifer’s mind was still in confusion and her thoughts raced. ‘That Chinese meal was like no other. The small servings, the ability to eat what I wanted - the meal was just incredible. Is Peter a dancer? How can Peter be so fluent in Chinese? Why was he so welcome? Is he Christian or...? He seemed to worship at that shrine and he knew what to do. Now what is going to happen? I am off to the Trots so what strange plans does he have in mind now?’