New York for Beginners (24 page)

“Wait a minute, who left who, here?” Zoe interrupted angrily. “Aren’t you . . .” Zoe took a deep breath and took on a drawling voice, “. . . happily married to your old flame?”

“Not really.”

Now Zoe Schuhmacher was curious. “Come on, Benni!”

“Ben!”

Zoe drew a deep breath. “All right, then,
Ben
!”

“It was more like wishful thinking.” Ben lowered his gaze and stared intensely at the tablecloth. “It all went poof after a few weeks. At first, reconnecting on the Internet seemed so fated. As though we were meant for each other. But a lot of things are easier on the Internet than they are in real life.”

Zoe laughed. “Did you find out she had the blues?”

“No, she wasn’t depressed or an alcoholic, if that’s what you mean,” Ben answered indignantly. “Why would you think that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Zoe said and giggled to herself, thinking about the royal-blue avatar she’d so spitefully imagined. “So what went wrong?”

“Well, let’s just say she was complicated.”

“Aren’t all women?”

“She’s an accountant and always needs to be in control of everything. I mean, hell, she has an Excel table of what she’s going to wear to the office every day. Down to her underwear!”

“So you guys never got married?”

“No.”

“You ended it?”

“Yeah. If you’d read my texts and emails, you would already know that.”

“So what do you want from me?” she asked cautiously, already dreading a tearful confession of love—“Zoe, you’re the woman of my life”—or some drivel like that, which, in her current position, she could happily do without. Male remorse, with that innocent look and desperate glint of hope for make-up sex—Zoe shivered in disgust.
Please, dear God, let it be as short and painless as possible,
she prayed silently. In some situations, Zoe Schuhmacher thought, it was appropriate to call the Boss instead of the Universe, which seemed to be more dedicated to finding parking spots.

“Your mother told me that your friend Mimi was going to kidnap you and take you to the awards ceremony in here in Hamburg. I just wanted to make sure that you were more or less OK,” Ben answered shyly.

“You’re still in contact with my mother?”

Ben smiled roguishly. “Well, I am
again
.”

It was then that Zoe realized she’d been holding her breath, and she exhaled in relief. No male remorse, no confessions, and above all—no glint of hope in his eye.

“Whether I’m OK is open to interpretation,” she said.

Both of them stirred their coffee in silence, mirroring each other’s gestures, the way very close couples do—or those who used to be very close do.

“That thing with the obituary was really kind of juvenile, Zoe,” Ben finally said and then burst out laughing.

Zoe cracked up, too. “In retrospect, it’s all kind of embarrassing. I mean, I was really proud of my genius idea back then!”

“By the way, I cut it out and kept it.”

“You did
what
?”

“The obituary is now framed and hanging in my bathroom.”

She wouldn’t have credited him with having that much of a sense of humor. When he laughed, little friendly looking crinkles surrounded his eyes. But then he suddenly sobered up. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

Zoe gazed at Ben contemplatively. What, for the love of God, had her mother told him? It was no secret that Mrs. Schuhmacher would have liked to take her only daughter back under her wing. But playing matchmaker with her ex-boyfriend was going a little too far in Zoe’s eyes. She contemplated Ben. Should she really be discussing her ex with her ex-ex? Why not? Nobody knew her as well as Benni did.

“Yeah, head over heels at first glance,” she answered truthfully.

Ben looked a little sorrowful, but then apparently took the news in stride and changed the subject. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Set up an online platform with Allegra.” Zoe explained the concept of Yearning while Ben listened attentively. He asked a few intelligent questions about financing and monetization, and they discussed the ideas for the different verticals.

“Do you need a developer? I could do it,” he said after their mutual brainstorming and his third cup of coffee. “My most recent start-up just failed because we ran out of financing. So I’d have time. And there’s still a little money left. I could join the Yearning team.”

This can’t be a coincidence,
Zoe thought.
It must be a stroke of fate.
She had already been wondering where she’d find a competent programmer who would join in on something as uncertain as Yearning—and where she’d find the money to pay one. Benni—no, Ben—was the ideal solution! She would create the concept, and he would, contrary to his previous job, only be in charge of execution. That would ensure that this endeavor would actually have a realistic chance of succeeding. Zoe jumped up in excitement, darted around the breakfast table, and hugged Ben—platonically but enthusiastically.

“It’s a deal!”

23

FEBRUARY

Zoe found it strangely refreshing to eat pizza right out of the box and drink beer straight from the bottle. It was just like being back in college. There was a feeling of excitement and expectation in the two-room Hamburg apartment that Allegra kept as something of a hideout, away from the hustle and bustle of Munich and Berlin. Boxes of high-tech materials were everywhere; the living room had been transformed into a programming jungle, with a tangle of cables that only a professional like Ben could even begin to make sense of. While Zoe wrote copy, Ben wrote code. They had hours-long talks about user experience, site management, and server capacities. The days and nights were starting to blend into each other. Zoe, Ben, a graphic designer they’d hired, and sometimes Allegra (who Skyped from India) solved problems, improved ideas, and even occasionally started all over from zero until they were satisfied with the results.

“I’m hungry. What’s for breakfast?” Ben asked.

“It’s just after midnight, idiot,” Zoe answered and looked up from her laptop. “But what about a piece of crumble from Le Petit Café?”

“Is it still open?”

“Nah, but we still have a huge piece left from two days ago. The edges are just a little dried out.”

“That’s fine for starters. But later I’ll cook something really delicious.”

“What would that be?”

“It’s a secret.”

At around one o’clock in the morning, Ben disappeared into the kitchen. Zoe took the opportunity to shower, which she hadn’t done in at least forty-eight hours. Standing in front of the foggy bathroom mirror a few minutes later, she could hear pots and pans banging in the kitchen.

“Well, now I’m curious,” Zoe murmured. “If I remember correctly, the fridge looks about as empty as if I was planning on moving to Australia tomorrow.”

Then there was a knock on the bathroom door. “It’s ready.”

When Zoe entered the kitchen, Ben was in the process of lighting two horribly clashing candles, which he’d stuck into empty wine bottles. One was red and the other was pastel pink, one only a stub and the other almost brand-new. On the wooden kitchen table he’d spread out a pastel tablecloth with a cute Easter motif, which he had surely found somewhere in the depths of Allegra’s drawers. For a change, the table was set with real silverware (which one of them would have to wash later) rather than plastic forks and knives.

“Please have a seat, milady.” Ben chivalrously pulled out a chair for her and then pushed Zoe and her chair back toward the table, just like a trained maître d’. Then he served the feast: spaghetti with ketchup. And to go with it, tap water with a mango-flavored multivitamin pill. It was one of the most delicious meals Zoe had eaten in a long time.

Ben had rented a one-bedroom apartment nearby that he actually slept in, except for when he pulled an all-nighter. He treated Zoe protectively, like an older brother. He made sure she ate regularly. He sent her to bed when her eyelids started drooping around two a.m., while he worked through the night. And he even got rid of her nosy mother, who kept calling to ask how the project—which still seemed very vague in her eyes—was coming along. And all the while he sweet-talked Mrs. Schuhmacher so much that Zoe couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Why did he still feel he had to make a good impression on her mother? Was he planning something?

“I still remember your warm apple cake. To die for!” he said in that slightly sugary tone that men tended to adopt when talking to middle-aged secretaries—always getting the best appointments with their bosses as a result.

But surprisingly, there hadn’t been any tension—sexual or otherwise—between Zoe and Ben, as she was used to experiencing with other ex-boyfriends. In short: The world with Ben in it was as comfortable as a well-worn pair of shoes. Nothing rubbed; nothing was too tight. Zoe always knew exactly where she was with him.

On February 28, Ben revealed the beta version of Yearning. Dramatically, he turned the big monitor toward Zoe and opened www.yearning.de. The Yearning logo was set in grayish orange. The rest of the site was mostly shades of gray and white, which Ben had at first found understated and cold. But when Zoe showed him the Atlantic Ocean pebbles and seashells she’d collected in the Hamptons, he understood the kind of mood she was trying to create.

Zoe clicked the “Home & Garden” vertical. She navigated to an article about lavender: “21 Ways to Cook, Bake, and Decorate with Lavender.” She clicked the “People” channel. Under “People Who Change the World,” the opening article was a portrait of the activist Somaly Mam, who’d been exploited as a sex slave as a child and now worked to end child prostitution and human trafficking. On every page, there was a subtle section on the right-hand side with ads for sustainable furniture and home decor from Organic Design, a company that Zoe had been able to win over for the first thirty days of Yearning’s Internet presence.

“Fantastic!” she cried and danced across the space that had once been Allegra’s living room. “We need to celebrate. With a real meal at a nice Italian place. Let’s go to Da Claudio. It’s right around the corner!”

They made a last backup copy of the site and headed out. Down on Hegestrasse, Zoe linked arms with Ben and cried, “We did it! With the tested beta version, I can actually go to the Bright Young Things conference in April and present Yearning. I’m so proud of us!”

“Me too, sweetie.” Ben pulled her in and kissed the top of her head.

Zoe was taken by surprise, but she decided not to let her mood be ruined by Ben’s little breach of borders. Surely he had only kissed her out of habit, and not out of hope or even desire. She threw back her head and said happily, “Do you remember that old song we used to sing about hats and umbrellas?” The two of them went singing down the street.

A silver-gray Audi with slightly tinted windows passed them slowly. Zoe smiled at the driver somewhat apologetically. He must have thought the two of them were crazy. But then she froze for a moment. Was that Thomas Fiorino driving? The Audi accelerated and disappeared around the corner.

“What’s up?” Ben asked.

She composed herself. That couldn’t possibly have been Tom. She had told Aaron Papst very clearly what to tell him. And besides, if it had been him, wouldn’t he have come to Allegra’s crash pad instead of stalking her if he wanted to talk?

Zoe tried to get back into rhythm. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I almost tripped.”

Claudio himself greeted them at the restaurant’s entrance and led them to a somewhat secluded table in a corner. It was mostly illuminated by candlelight. Claudio dimmed the remaining lights even more and handed them the menu and wine list, smiling as though he expected them to disappear into a storage room, overcome with passion, after an aphrodisiac shellfish appetizer. What was it about Italian proprietors and their matchmaking? She considered enlightening Claudio on the purely platonic nature of their relationship but then decided to drop it. Claudio didn’t need to know everything.

“So, what are we eating today?” Zoe asked as she opened the menu.

“I’m not sure yet,” Ben said hesitantly. He stared at the menu so intensely that it looked like he was trying to memorize it in case it contained a top-secret message to be burned immediately after reading.

“Can’t decide, can you,
Benni
?” Zoe said, teasing him.

“Sure I can,” Ben replied, slightly miffed. “What are you getting?”

“First the beef carpaccio appetizer, and then spaghetti alle vongole as an entrée.”

“I’ll have that, too,” Ben said, obviously relieved. He closed the menu with a snap and pushed it as far away from him on the table as it would go, as though he was afraid he’d change his mind another seven times if he kept it closer.

“By the way, I had another idea about how we could integrate the chat function better . . .”

Zoe looked at him carefully while he talked. He was still sinewy and thin, attractive in an almost feminine kind of way. That was countered, however, by his three-day beard. The lines on his forehead also gave him a slightly intellectual look. He was wearing the right flannel shirt with the right jeans and the right baseball cap, but in that ironic way that only hipsters could pull off. Actually, he looked pretty damn good. Physically, he hadn’t changed a bit. To celebrate, she ordered a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino and relaxed a little. Maybe she should just get wasted. After all, there was definitely a reason to celebrate.

After two identical appetizers and a second bottle of Brunello, there was no doubt whatsoever: Zoe Schuhmacher had attained her goal. She was piss-drunk. While Ben was dealing with the check, she suddenly thought back to that disastrous Sunday morning with Tom. She chuckled quietly at the memory of how she’d run out into the hall of the Four Seasons in mismatched underwear after setting her kitchenette on fire. Could that really be true? Had she really set fire to her kitchen? She saw Tom in her mind’s eye in his pajama pants that rode low on his hips. She could almost feel his kiss from that first time. The way she had sat on his lap and crossed her legs behind his back. She shivered. Damn red wine! It made her sentimental.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Ben interrupted her.

“Oh, nothing.” Zoe felt as though she had been caught. She stared intensely at the flower arrangement in the middle of the table.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Ben gazed at her insistently.

“No, of course not.”

“Behind your perfect mask, you think about him every day,” Ben said. “I can almost feel it when you do.”

“You’re just imagining that,” Zoe objected in a firm tone and tried to look into his eyes convincingly.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

Zoe Schuhmacher did not think about Thomas Prescott Fiorino every day. That would have been an understatement. She thought about him almost every waking hour, and she dreamed about him at night. They were confusing dreams, and she would sneakily Google their meanings the next morning when Ben thought she was doing work. For example, she had dreamed of tender, green garden cress seeds growing on Mr. McDreamy’s hairy, masculine chest. In Zoe’s eyes, a dream like that was, at best, material for a god-awful romance novel; more likely, it was reason to be immediately sent to a psychiatric hospital. The online encyclopedia of dream interpretations also warned against “garden cress seeds in a love relationship, especially if picked out of the water.” Against cress, mind you, not against the relationship. On the other hand, a hairy, masculine chest meant winning the lottery. And it also indicated “regressive desires which manifest sexually.” In other words, her Internet research didn’t tell Zoe very much about what she needed to know.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Ben asked again.

“I’m absolutely, completely, totally sure!” Zoe answered staunchly. Suddenly, she felt the intense desire to prove to Ben—and herself—that she had successfully banned Tom from her heart. She wanted to show him that she hadn’t just locked Tom away carefully, like they did with Ebola patients who were still highly contagious at the slightest touch, quarantining them in isolation wards.

She took a deep breath. “Ben?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight. Can you stay over?”