Without You I Have Nothing Page 5

  Drawing himself up to his full height and red of face, angrily he tried to think of a way through her accusation as he glared at her. He knew that he couldn’t and wouldn’t accept that accusation from anyone let alone this beautiful young woman who was recoiling from his anger. Sinking into a chair as if his legs would no longer support him he allowed his voice to lash out whipping across her thoughts. “That pink envelope is an Ang Pow given freely to wish someone good luck. It’s full of new money. Last night was Chinese New Year, heralding the beginning of the Year of the Golden Dragon. Chinese Custom has it that the recipient of the Ang Pow acquires considerable wealth and good luck in the forthcoming year, yet you have the audacity to insult me saying I was buying you.

  “Was I also buying everyone at the meal last night? Thanks for the insult. That is something I would have considered beneath the dignity of the wonderful lady I had the pleasure of escorting last night.”

  Feeling utterly miserable, Jennifer recoiled from the angry heat of his eyes.

  “I had a most enjoyable night and now this!” He was livid.

  “You're absolutely, bloody unbelievable. I just can’t believe your accusation.” Peter shook his head before continuing. “Now, as for me planning all this... That’s rubbish! I'm no thinker. I'm just trying to be friendly with no ulterior motive.”

  What else could Peter say?

  Jennifer said nothing. She was immovable.

  Obviously, Jennifer was ignoring his words. She watched silently, absolutely bewildered by the vehemence of his response, hoping she could do something to make the redness in Peter’s eyes soften and return to their sparkling blue.

  So forceful was his anger she was frightened.

  “All right, I’ll admit it. I wanted to see you this morning but there’s no crime in that. I'm not a leper you know, although I’ve lived with a few of those.” Peter was infuriated.

  “I could’ve slept in and not been subject to all this nonsense. You're new in Sydney, by yourself, and you had a miserable time last night so I came here, trying to make amends. Stupidly, I believed I could be of some help and take you shopping but obviously, I made a mistake. The yellow roses say friendship, which I had hoped to build on, but, foolish me, I didn’t realize that was not a possibility.”

  Peter hauled himself out of his chair and immediately Jennifer was reminded of just how big he was.

  “Well, thanks for last night. If nothing else, I can truthfully say I really enjoyed your company and you made the night for me. I am not exaggerating when I state that was one of the happiest nights of my whole life, only made possible by you.

  Turning, he marched to the door and, as he opened it, he whirled around on her with his final words.

  “I'm no boy although you seem to think I am. I'm a man, proud of my manhood and I'm especially proud that you allowed me to escort you last night. For that, I thank you. I won’t bother you again. Perhaps we’ll meet again - at least I - I certainly hope so.”

  Peter’s shoulders drooped. He was beaten as he turned to the door.

  “I'm sorry for the intrusion.”

  “Peter, come back and sit down.” Jennifer looked stricken, so small and fragile as she began to cry. Almost against her will, the tears ran as she looked down at her fingers clasped in her lap. “It’s just... It’s just...”

  Searching for words as she gasped for breath through her tears, she peered at Peter trying to detect a change in his demeanor. To him it seemed as if she was peeping up from under her long lashes using all her womanly wiles.

  “I'm sorry, but I'm so defensive. I can’t help it.”

  Suddenly the realization crashed into his consciousness that she had no idea of Chinese New Year. Just because he had been Chinese educated, he expected this fragile young woman to know Chinese Customs. She had not been insulting. She was unknowing of the Chinese ways.

  His eyes returned to their normal blue and he began to chortle much to Jennifer’s consternation.

  Staring at her, Peter realized with a shock that Jennifer was, in fact, considerably more like him than he could have guessed. Suddenly he realized that under her hard shell was a passionate woman who wanted appreciation and love.

  Just knowing this was enough to give him a complete change of heart.

  Clearly, she needed him – needed someone strong who would protect her and sweep her away from the things that troubled her. His heart smiled. Obviously, a man like him could sweep her off her feet, so why not do something about it now – literally!

  Jennifer shrieked as Peter swooped down low towards her, catching her in his arms and throwing her into the air before bringing her down again and sitting her in his lap, his arms holding her tightly. Gently he stroked her hair, quietly reassuring her.

  “You need never be defensive with me. I’ll never harm you.” He chanted the words like a Buddhist mantra as he continued stroking her hair.

  Jennifer laughed through her tears, her feelings becoming calmer now within the safety of Peter’s warm and safe embrace. On the other hand, was he harmless? She felt his hot breath against her neck and looked up at him.

  “Get dressed before I forget myself.” Bent over her face Peter leered at her in the most dreadful way that he could manage.

  Jennifer yelped and ran. At the bedroom door, she paused, turned and her fire reappeared – all pretence this time.

  “Don’t get any peculiar ideas, no funny business. The door is locked.” Suddenly Jennifer knew that she had said the wrong thing when the anger returned to Peter’s eyes.

  With a bite in his voice Peter barked, “I am no bloody silly teenager who can only think of his own self gratification whenever he is with you. I said that I was a man – a man who…,” he stopped short before continuing. “The only time I’ll come into your bed or your shower is when I'm invited.”

  Slowly Peter’s eyes returned to their sparkling blue.

  “I’ll cook breakfast. Then I’ll take you shopping if you like.” As she made no comment, Peter continued, “Hurry! There’s such a lot to do - and don’t forget your shopping list.”

  Peter retrieved the basket of food from outside the front door - all the necessities for an unusual breakfast - and began cooking.

  The kitchen, like the living room was spotless and feminine, showing that, even in her brief time in Sydney, Jennifer had worked hard to establish a home. It did not take Peter long to feel comfortable as he inspected the contents of her cupboards.

  He heated the chicken stock, placed the banh pho (wide rice noodles) in the large Chinese bowls from his basket and tossed the chicken pieces into the stock to cook.

  Peter’s knock on the bedroom door and shout of “Want me to wash those difficult-to-reach places?” was met with a muffled screech and the sounds of a splattering shower.

  Minutes later, a completely different Jennifer sat staring at the huge bowl of steaming Pho Ga (Vietnamese Chicken Noodle Soup) that he placed before her.

  Peter laughed at her confusion but soon they were both eating, enjoying his cooking.

  “This is a Vietnamese breakfast - I do hope you're enjoying it,” was Peter’s comment as he fished for compliments.

  “You can cook,” Jennifer seemed surprised, “I didn’t know how hungry I was. This is truly delicious.”

  The faintest of make-up highlighted her delicate features and her eyes sparkled. Her blouse and skirt, although more casual than her suit of the previous night, were just as tasteful but today she appeared so young and so carefree.

  Studying her, Peter ate slowly, busily thinking how he would like to taste her shoulders. Pho lost its attraction in comparison to the delights she could offer.

  At last, Jennifer sat back. “I couldn’t eat another thing.” Then becoming intense, she stared into Peter’s eyes as if demanding the truth. She blushed as she asked, “Who or what is ‘The Little One’?”

  Peter’s eyes did not waver as his bamboo curtain slid unbidden over his face. His poker face did not betray a thing
. “What a strange expression? Where did you hear that?”

  “Last night one of the waiters remarked ‘The Little One is here’.”

  “I'm sorry. You will have to ask the waiter.” Peter’s oriental mask slipped into place so that his inner turmoil was not showing.

  “Cook doesn’t wash up so get busy,” Peter enjoyed bossing her about, “but I’ll wipe.”

  “You give as many orders as my brother,” her eyes crinkled as she thought of home, “he’s a beast too.”

  Jennifer tried to stop her mind from wandering but thoughts crowded in on her. ‘What is it about this man? I treated him shamefully when he arrived and he became angry at my accusations. Then our disagreement passed over and it is as if it had never happened. He can cook and he can laugh but why,’ gulping she admitted her need, ‘why hasn’t he attempted to touch me or to kiss me? He shows such consideration and such thought yet nothing physical.

  ‘He has to be gay, but I dare not ask him. Having a gay friend could be enjoyable but I want more than a friendship.’

  The morning flowed smoothly but, far too quickly, it passed into the afternoon. Terrified that he might do something to offend her, Peter fought any desire to put his arm around Jennifer’s waist or to hold her hand. His euphoria at being with her kept his conversation flowing easily and she seemed to relax.

  She didn’t even demure when he dragged her into a milk bar. Demanding she perch on a stool and suck her milk shake as noisily as possible, he ordered for them.

  “I haven’t done that for ages. Mum used to rouse on us when we were little for making sucking noises.” Her face broke into a happy smile. “Just as well she didn’t hear us then. Wasn’t the shopkeeper surprised?”

  Jennifer stopped as she forced herself to put an end to her feelings for this man. She knew that he was getting to her. She wanted more than a friendship with a gay. She could not afford to fall in love with this man. It must stop.

  “Oh, dear, look at the time. I must fly. Come on, we must get back.”

  The trip back to Jennifer’s apartment was quiet. Peter’s dream was shattered and he was no company

  Silently with shoulders slumped, Peter carried the groceries into the kitchen. Then, the task completed, quietly he made his way out into the foyer where he stood dumbly unable to think of what to say. He made no attempt to touch Jennifer denying the feelings racing through his body. Before turning to walk away, he handed Jennifer his business card. “If you call at the BMW dealer alongside that address and show this card you will get a price that will be hard to refuse. Please honor me and use my card.”

  Jennifer closed the door and began weeping softly as she leant against it.

  Her thoughts were in turmoil.

  ‘The sunlight disappeared when I hinted I had a date for tonight. He seemed destroyed and then he handed me the business card. Is he trying to control me? No, I don’t think so. He’s really trying very hard to be my friend but I want more than a friendship with a gay. I want a man to love me, to protect me. Why did I pretend I had a date? Why can’t I be brave and ask him if he is gay. But if I do will he walk away?’

  Incensed, believing that Jennifer had a date, Peter drove to the workshop. There, as he relived the day’s events, slowly he came to comprehend that he should have had sense enough to realize she had only met him the previous night. Just because he had enjoyed her company so much, he believed she had enjoyed his.

  'Bob and Ted would have known what to do. Bob would have made sure that Jennifer would want to see him again and Ted would have been masterful in his appropriate arrangements for the future.' Peter’s mind rambled on. ‘No wonder I found so many doors closing behind me whenever I became interested in a woman. I know it’s my fault.' Disgusted, he admitted to himself that he couldn’t even summon the courage to ask her for a date.

  Sitting in his office, he stared at the wall in front of him. He did not see the advertisements of cars, the promotions for spare parts and paints. All he could see was a vision of that beautiful young woman who seemed to have stolen so quietly into his life.

  Reviewing the day’s activities, he wondered how he could have made his presence more forceful.

  Suddenly he blanched. His mind had returned to his last meeting with his two Asian fathers.

  “You must let go Peter! You have had to control everything until now,” was their advice. “If you had lost control for a single instant you would have lost your life but now you must let go. You cannot – you must not - force your control on others. You must learn to share your life with others if you want others in your life.”

  He felt ill. ‘There is no way I want to control Jennifer. I want her love and I need her beside me as my equal in everything. In this brief time, this young woman has wormed her way into my soul and there is no way I want to control her.’ His thoughts rambled as he admitted she had come into his life unbidden.

  He had not controlled her then and he would not control her in the future.

  Slowly, as he tried to decide how he could change his attitude he stood and walked into the workshop donning his overalls as he went.

  He began to work.

  Seated in her kitchen, Jennifer took stock of the situation. She decided that she was being silly. ‘Peter is gay and there is no future for us but he still intrigues me.’

  She slipped into a warm coat and with his business card in hand, called a taxi. She had to discover what was behind this Peter. He was strange, he was thoughtful and he was considerate. Besides, there was a depth to him she could not understand.

  At the workshop under the blaze of lights, the racing car was ready. That is what Peter had truthfully told the others but he busied himself pottering in its innards making checks and even more checks trying to forget the realization of what a series of blunders he had made during the day. In fact, the whole day had been a hideous mistake.

  Perhaps, he decided, he was bitter because Jennifer had a date. Trying to free his mind of the beautiful young woman, he tinkered with the engine and polished the car. Finally, he fired the engine, completely unaware of the redheaded woman from his thoughts watching his every move through the workshop window. Neither was he aware of her shaking her head as she left.

  He ran the engine through its rev range as it warmed up. Its throaty roar reflected his feelings, 'How dare she have a date? Aren’t I male enough?'

  Then, satisfied the engine would stand up to the day’s racing, he switched it off. There was nothing else to do.

  As he straightened his aching back, thoughts hammered into his head. ‘No. No. No! I can do something else. There are plenty of good fish in the sea. Jennifer is not the only woman in the world. I’ll just have to look about again.

  A hammering on the shutters brought Peter back to reality.

  “Is the car loaded?” Bob was bright and cheery and Ted waved from his car. “My God, you look as though you’ve not been to bed at all. Hook up the trailer and let’s get going. We have a busy day ahead.”

  It was Sunday. The night had flown. Peter had been so busy thinking of Jennifer and what he would say, when next they met - if they met - so busy checking the car he had not noticed the sunlight streaming into the workshop.

  The circuit was the usual stink of racing fuel, exhaust smoke and dust.

  There was no time to give thought to women as Ted and Peter busied themselves - Peter with the car and Ted with last minute instructions to Bob. Good-natured calls from the other crews, the usual formalities and official inspections kept Peter’s mind from wandering. It wasn’t until Bob drove off for the first practice laps that Peter was able to straighten and look about.

  Even then he was not given time to relax. It seemed as though no sooner had Bob left than he was back and again Peter’s head was under the bonnet as he made final checks.

  Dust, heat, exhaust fumes and haze. The air was full of the screams of engines under torment and the whine of over-stressed gears. Peter could only concentrate on his burnt knuckles, the ski
n off his fingers and his aching back.

  Later, with a scantily clad girl on each arm, Bob stood on the podium squirting champagne as the successful driver.

  That was Sunday.

  Two weeks later, early on the Monday morning, in spite of his good intentions, Peter was on the phone eager to hear Jennifer’s voice. “Hey, Bob. What’s Jennifer’s extension number?”

  “Jennifer, Jennifer who?” Bob, the perennial joker, paused, clearly determined to tease him. “284, why?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Peter was reluctant to tell Bob how desperately he wished to speak with her, how urgently he needed to see her.

  “Well, well,” came Bob’s good-natured chuckle. “So the Ice Maiden has claimed another victim.” Still laughing, he continued, “Well, I did warn you, but you - you young fellows won’t listen. Hang on and I’ll get the exchange to put you through.”

  Peter recoiled. 'The hide of him! Us, young fellows indeed. We're the same age.'

  “Jennifer Blake speaking. How can I help you?”

  Peter’s mind raced and he could not answer. ‘How can you help me? If only I could express my feelings, if only I could tell you how much you can help me.” He was tongue-tied.

  That husky voice recalled vivid memories of her perfume and her eyes. Peter was speechless.

  “Can I help you?”

  Jennifer interpreted Peter’s silence as a faulty line. “I... I...” ‘Oh God why can’t I speak to her?’ Peter breathed a silent prayer.

  “Who’s speaking please?”

  “Peter.”

  “Peter?” Jennifer sounded perplexed.

  Peter was horrified. She couldn’t have forgotten me. I haven’t forgotten her. “Peter O'Brien.” Again Peter’s mind raced. ‘What am I doing on this damn phone? She doesn’t even recognize my voice. She failed to remember me. I am wasting my time.’ Then he gathered himself and the words tumbled out. “I was the third man at the Trots on that disastrous night - Bob’s friend.”