Without You I Have Nothing Ch 01

The dimly lit bar was smoky, huge, well organized and over-crowded with tables full of happy, boisterous people dressed for their 'Friday Night' drinks and socializing.

Obviously, a popular meeting place in the Sydney Hyatt, the room was a constantly moving kaleidoscope of suits and skirts as late arrivals sought seats. Busy waiters dashed back and forth while friends mingled between tables.

The noise was deafening, even without the music from the large band.

Those couples on the handkerchief sized dance floor were taking the excuse of dancing to grope one other. Like disturbed ants, the couples continually moved from group to group, touching antennae to establish personal relationships in the seething nest.

Leaning against the bar in a quiet corner three men, conspicuous in their own company took no notice whatsoever of the activities around them. Two, white-collar workers, were dressed in expensive, smartly tailored business suits. A blue-collar worker, dressed in jeans and open necked shirt, dwarfed them although they, also, were burly men.

"Hey Peter, time for another drink. Are you going to have a beer this time or stick with the lime and soda? Be brave have a Fosters!" They addressed this bear of a man as Peter and good-naturedly teased him about not touching alcohol.

In the furthest corner of the room sitting at a table were three attractive young women -- an unusual group as no men approached them. One seemed most ill at ease. The noticeable antics of the older bosses pulling their young secretaries hard against their bodies did not amuse her.

Another, Karen Wilson, crunching an ice cube, snapped at the redheaded woman with her. "Look Jennifer, lighten up. I don't want to pay for my drinks all evening!"

Her companions called her Jennifer and did everything to make certain her first night out with them would be enjoyable.

`I hate this.' Jennifer Blake sighed. `There must be a better way to meet people.' She was unhappy.

This young lawyer, newly arrived from Melbourne to manage the Legal Department of an insurance company in Sydney, was homesick. Her high academic qualifications did nothing to ease the ache in her heart for her usual Friday night on the farm with her mother, father and twin brother -- aggravating pest though he was. She was missing the music, the warmth and the security of her family.

"How gross!" Her thoughts were vocal now.

"What was that?"

"I'm sorry, Karen." Jennifer replied. "The noise in here is deafening. What was it you said?"

"You'll get used to it. Isn't it delightful here? Aren't you glad you came?" Karen leaned towards Jennifer but her blue eyes searched the crowd. She tossed her head and tugged her blouse down over her breasts as she spoke.

Jennifer noticed her perfectly manicured nails.

She knew that Karen and Ruth, two secretaries at the insurance company, were delighted that she, as the new Legal Department head, had accepted their invitation. They had brought her here for a so-called relaxing drink. Of course, they hoped that they would finish the night with dates, and prayed that Jennifer who had proven so stiff and unbending with men would join in the evening's fun.

"Well, I agreed to come and..." Jennifer did not bother to continue. Karen wasn't interested in her answer and Jennifer doubted that she was even listening. The idea that Karen was looking for someone in particular occurred to her.

Realizing she was out of her depth even in such shallow waters, she tried to be friendly.

"How do you manage to keep your nails so long with all the work you do on a keyboard?" Jennifer consciously raised her voice over the din, trying to relax with her two new friends.

"Oh, these are false. Ruth fixed them for me," explained Karen.

Defensively, Jennifer dropped her hands to her lap as if to hide them.

"My nail polish always seems to get chipped. I look after my nails but I have to keep them short, and bright nail polish just looks wrong on them."

Bringing one hand up and holding her fingers out for their inspection, Jennifer added ruefully, "I just can't seem to do all my work and have beautiful nails."

Karen and Ruth started an involved conversation on the new season's nail colors and Jennifer couldn't help thinking of how ill at ease she felt in these surroundings. However, everyone else in the room appeared happy.

As she listened to snatches of conversation from surrounding tables, she envied the smiling faces. Drinking for the sake of drinking seemed to be the prevailing interest, with small talk, flirtations, wandering eyes and wandering hands the norm. Off-color jokes and sexual innuendoes floated in the air. It wasn't her scene in the first place, but right now, her attitude made her even more isolated.

As she cast a look around the room at the groups of drinkers, all engrossed in their own self-importance, she became aware that someone was watching her. She felt herself under the surveillance of a ruggedly handsome young man standing at the bar, his gaze locked onto her in a most unnerving manner.

Quickly looking away, she focused her attention on her two companions.

"Have you been to Melbourne?" she inquired brightly.

"No, but we've been to the Gold Coast," they responded as one.

"Who'd want to go to Melbourne," teased Karen. "No sun there. We're beach bunnies."

Ruth, coming to the rescue, showed some interest. "What's the social life like there? Same as here?"

"Well, perhaps, but..." Jennifer didn't want to offend her two companions. They were doing their best to be friendly.

"I haven't been here long enough to compare. We have many good little restaurants down there and most of them have musical entertainment. There are bridge parties, tennis competitions and..." Her voice trailed away.

Karen interrupted with a shill shriek of derision.

"Bridge? Who plays Bridge? No wonder the boys think you're..."

"Different," Ruth interjected, looking severely at Karen who blushed with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," Karen added, trying to repair their friendship. "I didn't mean... well, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Jennifer smiled, acknowledging Ruth's attempt to be diplomatic.

"Thank you. I know the men around the office call me the Ice Maiden. Well, at least, that's one of their polite terms."

"You know!" squealed Karen.

"Let's change the subject," said Ruth. "Have you noticed Bob and his mates at the bar?"

"Oh, are they?" Excitedly Karen swung around to look.

Automatically, Jennifer followed her gaze.

"He's here," breathed Karen.

Jennifer looked - towards the bar -- towards those same two eyes still boring into her from across the room. Bob? Was that Bob? The one in casuals, she wondered. She lowered her eyes. The man must surely be looking at Karen.

"As if you're surprised!" Ruth exclaimed cynically. "Isn't Bob the reason you wanted to come here?"

Now Karen was completely composed.

"Yes," she confided. "And if I can make him come over here with his friends, do your best to play along. I really like him."

"Well, I consider Ted's a heart throb, so it's all right with me," added Ruth. "You can bring Ted over for me."

Karen began an animated and detailed account of her last encounter with Bob. As she primped and posed, demonstrating each part of her story with exaggerated gestures, Jennifer could see that Karen's body-hugging pale blue dress with its revealing neckline accentuated her fluffy prettiness. She had already noticed how men's eyes roved in Karen's direction and clearly, this was part of the attraction for Ruth to be her best friend.

Ruth was plain, but smart. Her nose was unfortunately a little large and her dark features heavy, with eyebrows plucked to a thin line, but expert make-up and a good hairdresser had achieved a chic appearance. With her ultra fashionable, avant-garde, red and black outfit, she presented an attractive image. Friendship with Karen would bring men to spare for Ruth.

Jennifer's thoughts strayed to the sounds in her stomach, rumbling because she'd skipped lunch. Her mind told her that she was hungry. Then her thoughts fluctuated between wishing she were at home with a good book and wanting to be here meeting someone new. Although she was naturally reticent, she considered that she'd like to become friends with a good man who could talk sensibly and wouldn't rush her.

Looking across at the bar again, Jennifer noticed that the man with 'the eyes' was now in conversation with his companions. This gave her an opportunity to study him. Those two eyes belonged to an interesting face. However there they were, studying her again. For a fraction of a second Jennifer allowed her eyes to linger, then quickly turned away to watch Ruth and Karen who were engrossed in a giggling, secretive conversation.

Appearing to become confused, the man in the casual clothing dropped his gaze.

Over at the bar, Peter O'Brien sipped his drink, a fresh lime and soda. As usual, he'd turned down all offers of alcohol, but he always made sure he shouted the others, no matter what they ordered. With his friends occupied discussing the details of their latest stock purchases, he felt free to survey the scene.

That magnificent young woman he'd been studying caught him staring. How could he meet her? Surprised at his own reaction he knew he was usually at a loss in female company, but now he found his mind concentrating on that face, the face of the girl with the auburn hair sweeping down over her shoulders.

"Well, is the car finished yet?" Ted was interrupting Peter's thoughts, his pleasant voice now anxious and insistent. He'd invested a lot in his new toy. "Will it be ready for Sunday's race?"

His thoughts still on the girl, Peter was slow to respond. He turned to Ted.

"The car's done and will finish the race if Bob doesn't red-line it trying to fly."

Peter grinned at them, knowing that over the years Bob had proved a most considerate driver, babying the cars, always knowing there'd be more than one race in a season.

Ted -- rich Ted -- was content to reap the benefits from advertising and to supply the cars, allowing Peter to reign as engineer, rarely ordering Bob and Peter about even though he had sole rights to the machinery.

"What do you suppose our chances will be?" Really, Bob was more interested in the beer at his elbow than the forthcoming race. To him it was merely a Sunday drive. "Will the car be competitive?"

"Sure will. Just take it steady. No dancing with the barriers or other cars and you'll give everyone a shock."

Peter was confident in his workmanship. His engineering degree, so difficult to earn, and his hard work preparing the car had born fruit, but for some reason now, he seemed to have lost enthusiasm for it. Needing a break, he had joined Bob and Ted at their usual Friday night watering hole just to get away from the constant grind of work.

While the others talked about tactics, his eyes returned to the young woman across the room but he hastily looked away again as she seemed to be studying him intently this time. To cover his confusion, he turned back to make a comment to his friends. Instead, he heard his thoughts coming from his mouth.

"Who's the red-head?" he asked.

Peter was shocked at himself. Even at this distance, the beautiful girl had broken through his reserve and he couldn't believe how easily he had dropped his guard.

"Where?" Bob interrupted his discussion of race strategies.

"Over there," Peter nodded with his head, "Sitting with two of the secretaries from your office."

"With Karen and Ruth?" The added need in Peter's voice aroused Ted's interest. His normal matter-of-fact accountant's voice became animated. "She's certainly a stunner. That auburn hair tells me she's red-hot."

"Give it away, you two. She's beautiful if you like that sort of woman. Under that black suit and hiding behind that heart-shaped face of hers is an iceberg." Bob gave them the benefit of his knowledge.

"Forget her," he continued, "That's Jennifer Blake. She's just arrived from our Melbourne Office to run our legal branch. Believe me, there's more life in a customer's long term insurance policy than there is in her. She's a typical lawyer, the original Ice Maiden, beautiful but frozen. I even phoned people, in the Melbourne Office, and they verified the fact."

Turning back to his beer, he resumed his conversation with Ted.

"That reminds me, Ted. You should call in at Peter's workshop to check his books more often. After all, you are his accountant." Bob leaned back against the bar. "Last week, I was there to assess the damage to a client's car and met a gorgeous little blonde who was gushing all over Peter. You'd have assumed she'd have more sense. Boy was she stacked! Her car wasn't finished so I offered her a lift as any gentleman would." Bob laughed at his own joke. "There's nothing like a grateful, older woman."

Peter had heard Bob's endless stories of his conquests -- same old story with different players. As they all followed such a similar pattern, he seriously doubted their truth. Surely, these accounts of his success with women were a figment of his imagination. What was his problem?

Unwilling to listen to another blow-by-blow description, Peter deliberately turned his head. Once more, he stared across the room at the girl still seated there. He prayed that she wouldn't catch him studying her again,

From the time she'd first drifted past the bar with her two friends she had gained his attention. As he observed her walking to the table, he had appreciated the swing of her hips and her long tapering legs. Her severely tailored business suit had not hidden her delicate figure. When she sat, modestly she smoothed her skirt to conceal the view of her thighs.

Bob guffawed suddenly, crashing into his friend's thoughts. He turned to Peter and gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs.

"Steady on, mate. You're panting and almost foaming at the mouth. Take your eyes off Jennifer." He placed another lime soda at Peter's elbow. "You're staring so hard you'll frighten the poor girl. Any time now, you'll rip your shirt off and start beating your chest like a bull gorilla. Give it away. You're wasting your time." He called the barman and ordered a new round.

"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." He paused and 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.

So they genuinely assumed he was an old square, unsuccessful with women -- yes, he was that -- always. He was just so awkward in their presence. He knew that he didn't have the glibness of Bob or the quiet authority of Ted. His intense attitude often frightened women away or they ridiculed him because of his quick anger and jealousy. He was painfully aware that he was a boy who'd grown into a man unable to express his feelings easily with no family love to guide him. The heinous trauma, that was his early life, controlled his social behavior with women.

Peter was withdrawing into his shell but still had enough fire for one last shot.

"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."

Bob and Ted roared.

They couldn't accept that Peter was a sensitive, well-mannered man. 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. They'd tried many times previously, but they'd learned that such inquiries were most unwelcome. They knew nothing of his horrendous life as a child in the Malaysian Jungle and nothing of his education in the east. There was no suspicion in their minds of his degrees in Mechanical and Electrical Engineering and in Psychology or even his rank as Major.

The men had all been friends since Peter had returned to Sydney four years previously. They not only played tennis together and belonged to the same club, but also worked as a team racing cars.

Peter had arrived in Australia from the East 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 of friendship at both work and play. Ted became the workshop's accountant and Bob was the insurance assessor who visited the workshop when necessary.

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.

"Don't let's 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. They both knew he rarely drank alcohol.

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. A man whose family history was shrouded in secrecy which he jealously guarded and whose academic achievements hid behind a bamboo wall. Neither of his friends knew of the reasons for his inability to cope with females and his face either could be the inscrutable mask of the east or reflect his quick anger. His friends had no idea of his true financial worth or of his academic successes.

Yet they were still friends. There 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. As if attacked with an iron bar both headlights were smashed. The owner was a squat, revolting toad of a man who limped into the office." Peter laughed. "God, he was the 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."