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Chapter 3.
I didn't see her later that day, or the next or even the day after that. But nevertheless, I was totally Jennifered. Her name was on my lips when I woke in the morning in my cramped rooms above Smokey's. Every time the doors to Smokey's swung open, my eyes would scan the entering bodies for a trace of Jennifer. I wondered what she was eating when I tucked into Ron's latest Soya imitation steak in the staff canteen behind the beer barrels in the storeroom. I wondered which school Tommy attended and went back to the park just in case they were there playing football. When collecting glasses from the tables outside, I would delay going back to the bar in the hope she would pass. And during all this time I was absurdly and deliriously happy.
Even the unthinking, unfeeling Ron noticed my good humor - and took advantage of it by letting the room next to my bedroom to a paying tenant. Foolishly, I had always thought of this room as my lounge. Similarly, I'd always thought a bathroom came with my bedroom. The University Psychology student who moved in with her noisy spotty boyfriend seemed to be providing laundry services to the whole campus. Grasping the opportunity to wash now became one of the overriding ambitions in my life as I fought my way through the dangling jungle to clean my teeth - only to find the sink full of tights.
Then, one day, in an idle moment as I waited for my lunchtime shift to end, I realized I was cured. I hadn't thought about Jennifer once that morning. It made me happy but also sad. She had come and gone but while she'd been with me, she'd brought a light and purpose to my life. Now I could move forward again. I was young and at the center of London's bar life. Gone was Mister Sad Case and newly born was Mister Dynamo.
I even thought of leaving Smokey's and going back to the dotcom world of web site programming and creative content. It was a silly idea really. The enterprise I'd worked for up to six months ago had gone bust owing millions to investors and to me personally several months meager wages and the unrealized profits on my stock options. At least Ron paid me and I got some time off - well some.
I realized that Ron was trying to communicate with me.
"The gent would like to buy you a drink," said Ron, "Hello! Wakey, wakey! Is anyone there!"
I swiveled my eyes and focused on the source of beneficence and felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
It was the man who had been all over Jennifer while Tommy and I were wrecking my best pair of trousers and shoes. Ron pulled me half a pint of beer and I slid along the bar to join them.
"She was about your age," continued the man. "I wondered if you noticed her."
I looked puzzled. It was my most practiced defense.
"I've been looking for an apartment in Central London and she was the person the agency sent to show me one just round the corner from here. But the agency now tells me she's left their employment and they wouldn't tell me anything else."
His round face was shiny with perspiration and his tie was slightly askew. He was clearly embarrassed. We were his last ditch effort to renew contact with her. He looked the type who would welcome a London love nest and time out from his small country pile but was scared by the probable price. I could see in his face frustrated yearning for even a small repeat performance of that afternoon. I imagined how she must have felt when she'd been with him, wondered what she'd done for him and why.
He broke into my thoughts again.
"If you do see her, tell her I'd like to see her again." He summoned a sickly smile of encouragement and handed over a business card. It said he was an accountant.
"Sure," I said, lying. It was true I was sure. But my certainty was that he'd be the last person I would tell.
But there was something else I was sure of. I was suddenly totally certain of how I was going to find her!
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