by J A Scooter
“Oh, yes.” Her voice seemed to grow warm and Peter wanted to believe her eyes had softened as she thought of him but he knew he was fooling himself.
“Bob’s done nothing but talk of you and your ability as an engineer. I believe The Three Musketeers, as he labeled you, had some success racing a car. The photographs on the wall of his office show the success you had with that girl. She certainly was kissing you as the victorious engineer.” Her voice sounded steely.
Peter’s heart fell. ‘That is why she remembers me. Bob’s been talking. That damned photo did not tell the truth.’ Bravely he mustered the courage to continue. “I know this is short notice but are you doing anything tonight?”
There was a long pause and Peter died the death of a thousand cuts - the death of the faint hearted.
“I'm sorry.” The answer came at last.
Peter broke into emotional overload. 'God, at least I tried.'
Then after a long delay Jennifer continued, “Perhaps some other night...?”
“Thursday night?” Peter’s words tumbled out. “I’ll pick you up at 7.30. Just wear jeans to be comfortable, you won’t need to be formal and we’ll eat as well.” Fearing that if he talked any longer, he would betray what he had in mind Peter quickly added, “I’ll pick you up,” and, without waiting for a reply, he hung up.
Jennifer looked at the now dead phone in her hand as she went back over that call. Her mind was in a whirl. ‘I feel such a bitch putting him through hell like that. Company policy demands that every officer, forwarding a phone call, states the caller’s name. I knew it was Peter before I spoke. My heart is pounding so strongly and I am trembling.
‘All that rubbish about trying to remember him was just that – rubbish. Every day I have been praying he’d call. I’ve been so lonely that, even though I believe he’s gay, I decided that I’d go out with him. If only I could untangle the secrecy that surrounds him.
‘Fancy pretending that I have a date tonight when all I have to do is to iron my clothes and then to wash my hair. I’d willingly swap that for a night with him. Will it be another Vietnamese meal of Pho? I know men call me the Ice Maiden but, with Peter, I don’t want to be like that.’
She stopped her thoughts as she replaced the telephone and dreamily stared out the window. ‘Wonder what he’s planning for Thursday.’ A smile crept around her lips as she leaned back in her chair reminiscing before eventually forcing herself to resume work.
Across town, unable to believe his luck, Peter stared at the wall.
On leaden feet, Thursday eventually arrived and promptly at 7.30, Peter knocked on Jennifer’s door.
She swung it open as if she had been waiting and Peter required all his self-control not to pounce. He was sure he had said casual wear and he felt a complete fool when she appeared. Her blouse was all frothy lace from which her neck rose in magnificent splendor and she seemed to have poured herself into her jeans.
As usual, he was a complete fool and his opening remark, “It’s not fair,” made her ill at ease.
“What’s not fair?” Her eyes narrowed in worry.
“Jeans do more for you than jeans ever do for me.” Peter laughed at the surprise on Jennifer’s face. “You look beautiful but then,” Peter tried hard to be gallant, “you always do.”
“You really are a fool,” she giggled, smacking his arm lightly, but did not protest when Peter led her by the hand to the BMW Mini Cooper at the curb. “At first I genuinely believed I had misunderstood the message.”
She was still talking when Peter opened the driver’s door and handed her the key. “But Peter...”
Peter merely put a finger to her lips and walked around to get in the passenger’s seat. “No, the message was right but to escort you I really should go home and change into white tie and tails.”
Ignoring his comments Jennifer concentrated on adjusting her seating position. “You’ll have to direct me. I don’t know Sydney at all. Where are we going?” Behind the wheel, negotiating the traffic and red lights, Jennifer was friendly and relaxed. She was not the least nervous when Peter declined to tell her.
“You’ll find out - all in good time. I have an innocent little interest that I would dearly love to share with you.”
To save further questions Peter changed the subject. “Are you enjoying driving this little beastie? I think it suits you. A dealer friend lent me this demo for you to try out. I did promise you’d be calling on him soon. Hope I'm not too pushy. Really, I am only trying to be helpful.” The words tumbled out.
Jennifer said nothing, her mind in a spin. ‘Is this man trying to control me?’
Suddenly, she no longer cared as her feet danced a light tattoo over the controls and the car rocketed ahead. “Well, at least I know we're not off to the trots or the casino to spend the night gambling but after you spoke of your love of ballet, opera and symphonies. I can’t guess where we're going. You really are a deep one.”
Following Peter’s directions carefully, Jennifer lapsed into silence as she concentrated on her driving.
At last, Peter indicated that she should pull into the car park of a suburban Town Hall where she parked the car with the thirty others. Perplexed, Jennifer could see no reason to be there.
“Come and meet everybody.” Peter led Jennifer by the hand, her touch scorching his skin.
Off he marched, leading Jennifer into the large, dimly lit building. Down darkened corridors, they strolled until they entered a huge auditorium and made their way onto the stage where the local dramatic society had gathered for the final casting rehearsal of the latest production - a melodrama.
Introductions concluded, Jennifer and Peter sat together and listened to the members auditioning for parts. Jennifer leant close and whispered, “Why didn’t you warn me? All day I’ve been worrying what mischief you had planned.”
“Hope you don’t mind.” Peter was worried but his voice was no whisper and the director’s grunt cut across Peter’s conversation.
“Peter, will you stop whispering sweet nothings into that poor girl’s ear and read the part of the villain.”
Blushing furiously, Peter stood and began reading. This was the part he obviously wanted and he threw everything into the words, twirling an imaginary moustache, waving the mortgage on high and enjoying himself immensely unaware of the laughter about him.
“Stop! Stop, for heaven’s sake, stop! Jennifer, would you read the heroine’s part, please?” Studying her carefully, the director grinned, adding, “I know you're a visitor but I think we’ll need someone to tame Peter and you have the look of the demure young heroine - the lion tamer - I need.”
“I’d love to, although I haven’t had much experience since leaving University.”
Jennifer entered into the spirit of the play and Peter’s mind could see her bent back in his arms as, waving the mortgage above her head, he uttered the infamous words, “Come! A kiss to seal the bargain.”
Later, the reading completed and both of them with scripts in their hands, they left.
Peter was ecstatic. Jennifer was to be the heroine and he was to be the villain. He did not care what experience Jennifer had on the stage. As he drove all he could think of was the perfect excuse he had to monopolize her time at least twice a week and perhaps they would need extra rehearsals at kissing.
“Now let’s eat.” Peter had made up his mind.
Jennifer had a dreamy quality in her voice. She turned to stare at Peter who wished he could stare back into her eyes but the traffic was too dense. “You really are a devious character, Peter. You wouldn’t tell me where you were taking me and yet you dragged me off to one of the delights of my life. Are you a mind reader?”
There was the slightest suggestion of laughter in her voice as she patted his arm, “Really I don’t know how to thank you.”
“That’s easy,” was Peter’s grinning reply but his innermost thoughts must have shown on his face as she quickly pulled her hand back and the chill returned.
“Just be my friend - my very best friend - my 'bestest'.” He softly spoke with such sincerity that the stiffness in Jennifer’s body seemed to melt. With a mischievous grin, he continued as he threw the car keys to security. “And for God’s sake, trust me.”
She did not demure as he took her hand and led her to the elevator where he punched the key for his apartment - the penthouse. Although apprehensive, she didn’t hold back. She was distinctly suspicious yet her curiosity had ultimately overwhelmed her fears and she failed to notice how closely Peter stood, bathing in her fragrance. The lift stopped and Peter broke into her thoughts, “All out!”
When Peter had left earlier that evening, Mulligatawny soup (that delicious, but rarely served, Indian Chicken broth) and a Beef Salad Thai Style were left in the fridge and the curtains were drawn. Peter had already dimmed the lights and music - Die Fledermaus - would play softly in the background when he pressed the switch.
Hand-in-hand they stepped into his apartment. Jennifer seemed oblivious of her hand in his as Peter led her through the bachelor’s pad.
“Not what I thought a bachelor’s apartment would be,” she stammered in confusion. “I mean it’s so neat and tidy and so... well... It is so expensive!” she could not go on as she attempted to find the correct words.
“Oh, don’t be fooled. It took weeks of cleaning to get this place tidy, hoping you’d come. I had to do something to make it presentable.”
“You do tell such lies.” Jennifer was no fool. “This apartment just screams of the care and attention you’ve given to its furnishings. Is that a picture of your parents?” She pointed above the fireplace.
“Yes.” Peter was very brusque.
“What a beautiful woman and he’s so handsome in his RAAF uniform. He’s a squadron leader, is he not?”
“He was actually a Wing Commander!” The anguish in Peter’s eyes was enough to warn Jennifer not to continue on that topic.
“What an unusual plaque under their photograph. Those little, crossed swords look dangerous. What are they and what does the inscription say?”
“They're Gurkha knives called kukri and the badge is the crest of a Brigade of Gurkhas. That inscription is private and I beg you not to ask anything further.
“My parents are dead and I am alone. This apartment was their last gift to me
“You are the first woman I have ever invited to share my home even if only for a few brief minutes. You're the only female I’ve escorted through that door and I'm deeply honored. Inspect the apartment. Inspect all the rooms while I prepare us a little something to eat.”
Jennifer’s squeal stopped him in his tracks. “You do play chess! I didn’t believe you but you do play chess and these pieces are exquisite. The carving is delicate and it’s solid ivory not fishbone. It’s very old because the world has now banned trade in ivory. You must have saved up forever to purchase this set. I can’t play but at least I know these pieces are not only valuable but they are for use. They are not decorations. If only I could play.”
“I’ll teach you.” Peter rushed to volunteer but there was more than chess on his mind. There was so much he would love to teach her.
That perfume of hers was insidious as it reached out to entice him. Her voice just burnt into his heart.
“But I'm a bad host, please make yourself at home. My home is your home. Have a look around.”
He raced back to the kitchen shouting as he went, “If the young memsahib would be seated. Oh, there are four bathrooms if you wish to freshen up. There are clean towels in all of them.”
“And the biggest Jacuzzi I have ever seen in the master bathroom, and that bed in the master bedroom is absolutely gigantic. How do you sleep in it?”
“That’s not my room. That’s for my wife and me - should some woman be silly enough to say yes. That’s my dream room, my prayer room where I ask God to help me in my life as I search for a partner to love, cherish, honor and yes - obey.”
Peter’s eyes clouded but then he shook himself before continuing, “I sleep in the third bedroom. Would like some wine with your meal?”
“A light wine would be acceptable.”
Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God Bob insisted the bar is always full so he and Ted never go thirsty, otherwise you’d be restricted to iced water, tea or coffee and I can’t make good coffee.”
Jennifer noticed he poured wine only for her and he toasted their success at the play reading in iced water. She looked even more suspicious when he smiled and joked.
“I'm not trying to get you drunk so I can seduce you. I’d prefer that you remain sober and seduce me.” Well, at least Peter thought it was funny, but Jennifer was not amused.
Realizing his gaff he continued, “To be truthful, I have a low tolerance of alcohol. I can’t drink.”
As he seated Jennifer, the curtains silently slid open and he placed the meal of Mulligatawny Soup, Beef Salad Thai Style and Nasi Goreng (Indonesian Fried Rice) before her. Her eyes were not on the food, as he made certain she noticed he gave her a fork and spoon as fitting a Thai meal.
She sat open mouthed as the sails of the Opera House came into view and the fairy lights of Circular Quay with its ferries began twinkling. She said nothing but turned to stare at Peter. In silence, she began to eat, periodically turning to resume her inspection of her dinner companion.
Peter started the music and the strains of Die Fledermaus gently filled the air. His eyes began to fill, as he so desperately wanted to touch her. The food was of no importance.
“Kick your shoes off,” was his command and startled, Jennifer did just that.
He pulled her chair back and lifted her like thistledown into his arms just as the waltz Dui Du struck up. Peter’s rich baritone voice startled her as he began singing. She floated in his arms high above the Opera House and the ferries.
The lights dimmed even more.
Her head was on his chest and, as he sang, he repeatedly kissed her hair. When the waltz died away, she looked up into his eyes as if expecting a kiss but Peter was unable to trust himself and merely kissed her eyelids before leading her back to the table.
Once Jennifer sat, he knelt before her and, taking both her hands in his, kissed them gently. “Thank you, Jennifer. I’ve always dreamed of doing that and you’ve made my dreams come true.”
Peter’s voice was so soft and gentle Jennifer had to struggle to hear the words.
The meal was finished.
“It’s time to take Cinderella home. Otherwise, this Prince Charming will turn into a frog.”
Desperately Peter tried to make light of the ending of their night, which had meant so much to him. Jennifer liked his music. She wanted to learn to play chess and she was the heroine in the melodrama. Peter’s life was complete.
In the car, he almost spoilt the night when he allowed his sense of humor to surface. “Put your knees closer to me. I would rather play with your knees than change gear.”
Although the Ice Maiden returned briefly, Jennifer smiled indicating that she was beginning to relax to his sense of humor.
He believed he had Jennifer’s friendship and, as he escorted her to the door, he knew he wanted more than just friendship and ached to kiss her. Terrified of drowning her in the sea of fire that a kiss would ignite, he merely kissed her hair and quietly left.
Jennifer crept to her bed and lay there staring at the ceiling talking to herself. ‘Peter, you are everything I dreamed of in a man - yet you are not a man - not a full man. You lift me in your arms, you dance with your arms around me and I am safe. My body knows you're a man. Yet you bring me home and don’t attempt to kiss me - why? I'm falling for you, Peter and I can’t afford that luxury. I can’t fall for a gay man.
‘There’s something seriously wrong - why the dark shadows in your life? I see your parent’s picture and your eyes show the horror and hurt and I dare not question. The plaque showed strength, not weakness, and again your eyes showed hurt and you denied being able to read that
inscription but the twinkle around your eyes belied your words.’
She rolled into a ball as she continued. ‘That picture was so lifelike. Was it a picture or a painting? Your mother’s eyes seemed to stare into me and to follow me and she seemed so happy with me.
‘The diamonds around her neck and in her ears must have been worth a king’s ransom. As well, your father - so much in love with his wife but his eyes, also, seemed to smile on me as if approving. Peter, what have you done to me?’
Her thoughts faded and she dropped off to a deep sleep, full of dancing with Peter’s strong arms around her.
When he stepped back into his apartment, Peter cleaned up before kneeling before his parents' picture and pressing against the fireplace. An altar swung out and Peter burnt the usual offerings to his ancestors. He was sure both his mother and father approved of Jennifer and he was sure they smiled. Tonight’s nightly ritual was complete as he stood to run his hands over the plaque.
Ah, yes, the inscription!
To Honorary Major of the 6th Gurkha Brigade,
Peter O'Brien
Let no man be fooled
The Little One is a man to be feared!
Peter’s eyes twinkled and in his mind he could see the parade ground with the ceremonial march past - with him, all of sixteen years old, fully kitted out in a Major’s Uniform, taking the salute of the troops as they swung past the dais.
The music was in his ears as was the crunch of the marching feet and the orders from the Regimental Sergeant Major ringing out across the Parade Ground. What a proud, happy day that had been. The whole regiment knew his story and they were saluting his manhood, his courage and his bravery.
He moved into the main bedroom and knelt at the foot of the bed, overcome with the emotions of the evening.
As he recited the Lord’s Prayer, that prayer from his childhood, he sought guidance in his winning of Jennifer. His emotions stretched to breaking point and he felt the presence of two people, joining him in prayers.
On one side was the roughness of his father’s uniform, on the other the sweet softness of his mother. His mind, unable to cope, allowed him to slip to the floor where he slept.