Read Online Without You I Have Nothing by J A Scooter - Free Book Online

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 skin 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