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Chapter 41
Two days later I was still marveling at the manner of her leaving. Still tingling from the night we'd made love and whispered sweet things in each other's ears, I thought of her in every moment.
In my bathroom looking in the mirror, I saw her standing next to me with her arm wrapped around my waist, wearing only a sheet with her oatmeal fair hair bouncing in the air by my shoulder and a smile that created atomic explosions inside me.
In the kitchen, etched in my mind were sneaky glimpses of her silky white thigh when she leaned over to pick up the bowl of cereal that Tommy had knocked off the breakfast bar and her rueful smile of apology as she held the shattered dish.
Echoing in my ears was her voice.
"I love you, Barry," she'd said. But she still left me the next day, taking Tommy with her and refusing to say when she'd be back.
My mind had still been befuddled from the strenuous night I'd spent trying to persuade her I was the world's greatest lover and that she'd never need anyone else.
So I'd watched with amazement as she got ready to go and then with disheveled hair and disemboweled emotions, aghast, I stared at her driving away. My last ditch plan had been to suggest to Tommy that we played a bit of football before he went. He had enthusiastically agreed but must have known something I didn't because he limited our game to five minutes header practice in the middle of the lawn.
"I win, Barry. You dropped it five times," he shouted happily and then careered off to join his mother who was by then getting their coats and it wasn't even 8.00 o'clock in the morning yet.
"When will we meet again?" I didn't want to sound pathetic but couldn't keep the yearning out of my voice.
"We'll see," Jennifer had said. "I can't make promises."
"But I thought you were coming on holiday with me!"
"It would be lovely, but I never promised. Sometimes life is not what you wanted to be. Last night was wonderful, maybe we can do it again."
"But you said you love me?"
"I do and I think you are much too good for me."
She stood on tiptoe and kissed me on the lips with Tommy standing in the doorway impatient and ready to go.
"We have so much to say to each other."
"And one day we will be able to say it, but not today; probably not tomorrow - maybe the next day."
But the next day had come and there was still no sign of Jennifer.
The last thing she had said to me was
"Don't try to contact me, I'll be back when I can."
So for two days I'd worked on Smokey's Web site, which had now grown to a magnificent 50 exciting web pages.
The chat room was going strong, Beer Belly was long gone and Tinsel Town and Glamorous Greta had become the regular chatterers and formed the focus of conversation whilst keeping the rest in order.
Included everywhere on the site were pictures of Smokey's Bar showing what a fantastic place it was and what a fun time people were having talking to each other, watching the floor show and eating and drinking the best food available in this universe.
There were online polls inviting people's opinions on a wide range of important issues of interest to every age group and gender.
All around London and probably even further afield, in response, people were now pondering deeply whether they would drink from the same glass as somebody who was gay or if they were gay whether they would accept a kiss from someone who was straight.
One poll proved (as if we didn't already know) that strong Indian curry was the British national dish, followed closely by any type of Chinese food. (A side comment passed was that fish and chips was a disgusting convenience takeaway invented by the Spanish to rip the British off when they were on holiday.)
There was a page where people could submit their favorite joke and another where people could rate it or submit another in competition.
It was everything I wanted in a job. It was creative, it was technical and it was challenging.
Unfortunately, all this was completely irrelevant to me because all I could do was think of Jennifer and our future life together.
With the passing of each day, the decision of whether to go to France alone to see my mother was again put off. Provence called with its' sunshine, puffy clouds and swimming pools but I didn't give a splash.
Ron popped round to congratulate me on the progress of the web site. He'd begun advertising the details of his amateur strippers competition and was already getting strong interest from people wishing to divest themselves of their clothes in public and supportive comments from his voyeuristic bar clientele.
Accordingly, I posted details of the competition on the web site and instantly there was a new topic of conversation raging in the chat room until two regular visitors admitted they'd actually ventured to see each other in real life for a drink at Smokey's and were now getting hitched. Conversation then turned to the pros and cons of marriage.
As the old saying goes, every silver lining is surrounded by a dark cloud - or something like that.
It was therefore with a heavy heart and a feeling of obligation that I turned to the notes Gerda had diligently been emailing me about her psychological survey of Bruno.
I soon wished I hadn't.
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