Wait for Me in Vienna (12 page)

“Hello! Are you here already?” he asked, and kissed her on the mouth—a kiss on the mouth, oh my goodness!

“Come on, let’s go to the bar,” he said, and immediately pulled her away from her friends.

Erika waved to her; it meant, “Have fun tonight! We’ll see each other again some other time.” Another of Linda’s friends threw her an embarrassing kiss; even Linda was grinning ear to ear. The other woman was busy with her smartphone—probably updating her status on Facebook.

Without asking what she wanted, Daniel ordered two Ramazzotti sours. He knew Johanna was inexperienced in these matters and, anyway, he had a weakness for the cocktail.

“It’s so good; you’ve got to try it,” he insisted as he handed the glass to her.

She took a sip; it wasn’t bad, but she wasn’t ready to declare it her new favorite or anything. She wondered whether it went with gin and tonic. Would she have to deal with a splitting headache tomorrow? Given how much she’d already had, though, she wasn’t equipped to consider the question very thoroughly.

Daniel was telling her about his trip abroad, but because the music was so loud, Johanna couldn’t really understand what he was saying. He noticed that and drew closer to her.

“We can go somewhere else,” he breathed into her ear.

Her eyes popped wide open in surprise and confusion.

“Come on, let’s go to my place . . .”

Johanna didn’t have to ponder his offer for very long before rejecting it; suddenly, Daniel didn’t look good to her at all.

“Fine, then. I’m going back to my friends. Maybe I’ll see you later,” he said, and she let him go.

Linda came running to Johanna immediately. She’d been keeping an eye on her. “What’s he doing? I mean, what’s wrong?”

“He wanted me to go home with him, but I turned him down.”

“Well, I would go with him,” Erika interjected. “He’s so cute!”

“But if she doesn’t want to . . .”

Johanna thought about it again. Maybe she should run after him? She was undecided, as undecided as she was when she had to choose between chocolate and caramel-nut ice cream. Then again, she wanted ice cream! In her drunkenness, she thought maybe Erika was right; a person had to have some fun every now and then. Go, don’t go, go, don’t go—it was if she had an angel and a devil inside her, struggling over a pitchfork until they ended up impaling each other. Unfortunately, the subconscious mind didn’t seem to be very logical. Johanna thought hard, as hard as several gin and tonics and a Ramazzotti sour would allow. Thomas wasn’t there. She didn’t even really know him. Maybe he had a girlfriend and wasn’t interested anyway.

She decided to run over to Daniel. He was aggressively chatting up a short blonde woman who looked like a bodybuilder. As he saw her approach, Daniel stopped midsentence, turned, and walked back toward Johanna. She seemed to be his first choice.

After witnessing Daniel’s desperate flirting and rudeness, part of Johanna knew that she should definitely make an immediate U-turn. In her naïve, drunken confusion, though, she didn’t.

“Did you change your mind?”

“Yes,” she said succinctly as she stood before him.

“Great, then you’re going home with me?”

Johanna nodded; it was too late to turn back now.

As they rode in the taxi, Daniel began to kiss Johanna’s neck. His hand wandered to her knee; he rubbed it gently at first, then more fiercely. His apartment wasn’t very far away. He paid the cabdriver, helped his latest conquest out of the car, and led her to his apartment. It reminded Johanna of a typical dorm room on TV: unkempt, with thick layers of dust covering all horizontal surfaces. She didn’t get to see much of his place, though, because Daniel was determined to push her into his bedroom immediately. She noticed right away that the bed wasn’t made. He threw her on the mattress and practically tore her clothes off.

“Not so rough!”

But Daniel didn’t listen. He sucked on her neck and pawed her breasts. It hurt even through her drunkenness. She wanted to say something, to get him to slow down, but he immediately pulled out a condom.

“Oh, I want you,” he whispered in her ear.

He pushed himself right inside her with a big sigh and got off immediately; it was over in a matter of seconds. Johanna was finished, too, but not in a good way like when you want to fall asleep in your lover’s arms. She’d sobered up, quickly regretting what had happened. She felt terrible, used, and shabby. Johanna quickly retrieved her clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“I . . . I can’t stay here,” she said, and ran out the door, tears streaming down her face.

Captain Quickie didn’t move a muscle to run after her; he just stayed in bed.

14

The next morning, Clarissa woke Thomas, who had fallen asleep on the couch in an awkward position.

“I made you breakfast,” she breathed into his ear, then pressed a kiss on his cheek.

Thomas was startled for a few moments as he came back to reality. He stretched a little, then sat up. He’d almost forgotten Clarissa was there.

Thomas went into the kitchen, checked out the offerings on the table, then took out a jar of Nutella from the cupboard. Clarissa sipped black coffee and ate the oatmeal she’d cooked with cinnamon, a banana, and exactly seven walnuts.

“Don’t you want some oatmeal?”

“No, no thanks . . .”

It was only eight o’clock, and Thomas would have liked to sleep in a little longer, but at least it was the weekend.

“Oh, I feel so rested,” Clarissa announced as she gazed at Thomas, who was spreading Nutella on a piece of bread. “Since when do you eat Nutella?”

“I don’t know; it was on sale last week, so I bought some.”

“Y’know, it’s a beautiful morning. We should go jogging together!”

“Do you really want to?” he asked far less enthusiastically.

“Yes.”

An hour later, they ran off.

Johanna was in her bed crying. How could she have done something so stupid? Feeling like she’d ruined everything, she planned to stay in her room all day.
Thank God, Quick Dick at least used a condom
, though the thought brought her more embarrassment than relief. With some effort, maybe she could forget the whole thing. She hadn’t imagined Daniel could be so selfish and rough.

That evening, Martin knocked on Johanna’s door and asked what was going on.

“Oh, I’m hungover is all. We drank way too much last night,” she explained. “I’m fine, I just need some time alone.”

Martin obeyed but came back a few minutes later with a fried egg and some toast.

“In case you get hungry,” he said, setting the plate on her bedside table next to countless tearstained tissues.

15

As sunlight broke through the streetcar’s windows, dust and streaks became visible on the glass. A mother tried to calm her crying baby with a pacifier. An old man struggled to hang onto the ceiling strap to keep from falling, but a boy noticed and gave up his seat. For that good deed, the boy earned respectful looks from a retired woman holding a large bag, who’d been watching the scene from the middle row of the streetcar.

Thomas was headed in to work early this Monday. He had a lot to do, and his week was filled to the brim with appointments. Mr. Lehmann wanted his nephew to involve himself in the company’s expansion plans because he trusted him more than the head of the IT department. He hoped that Thomas would build an important branch office in New York. For several years, Mr. Lehmann had flirted with the idea of opening an office in the United States. He believed Thomas was the right person for the job of establishing a new location, because he spoke fluent English and had clout, charisma, and organizational skills—all-important prerequisites for this post. The plans for the new site were still in their infancy; he wanted to wait for the market-research results before moving ahead.

On his way to the office, Thomas picked up an award-winning daily newspaper from the corner store. There were plenty of free newspapers available at subway stations and bakeries, but they either focused on topics Thomas wasn’t interested in or were poorly researched and written. He bought a rich butter croissant from a little French bakery and hopped over to his favorite Italian place to drink an Illy espresso and have a little chat with the owner. He was a regular at this restaurant; he’d eaten lunch with Clarissa here not too long ago. During the day, it was a relaxing, casual, midpriced café; at night they offered fine dining. Due to this business model, they were busy most of the time.

“
Grazie,
thank you,” Thomas said. He paid for his espresso and left. Thomas spoke a little Italian; he’d learned it in high school, and a decent amount had stuck with him after all these years. He slung around a few words like
grazie
,
bene
, and
ciao
, and on a particularly good day, he was able to spit out some proper Italian sentences.

Five minutes later, he was in the office. It was a relatively warm but rainy day. It was said that the warm Viennese winds blew in headaches, which plagued many of his colleagues.

“Fucking shit, my head is pounding,” said Ludmilla, a middle-aged woman who worked at the reception desk and always dressed smartly; her choice of words wasn’t always as chic as her choice of outfits.

Thomas managed to stay quite healthy despite the unpredictable local weather. In fact, he seemed totally unaffected by it; he was rarely sick, probably due to his athleticism and his positive attitude. He instinctively knew when he’d had enough and had to take a step back. His PlayStation was also helpful; he could kick back and forget about everything when he played. There was an article he liked to cite to anyone who was worried about his seeming overindulgence in gaming; it was written by a former British prime minister, an avid gamer, who would sometimes forget his worries and unwind from everyday life using this recreational tool. Naturally, there were other ways to unwind, like yoga, qi gong, biofeedback, and meditation; those were still the classic stress-management tools. Supposedly, you could even stick pads to your skin and suck the stress out of your body. Lots of people went in for ultraefficient stress-reduction sessions. Some even got a back massage on their lunch break. But all Thomas needed were running shoes for a jog around the block, and his PlayStation.

While his grouchy colleagues complained about their headaches and cursed the warm, rainy weather, Thomas was delighted that today was Monday. It was probably the most interesting Monday of his life, in spite of Monday’s terrible reputation. Mondays rang in the end of the weekend; they announced that the next weekend was over a hundred hours away. Today, though, Thomas didn’t care about weekends. He didn’t care if it rained or snowed. He was in a great mood because tonight he would see the lovely Johanna. The cooking class dates were clearly marked with thick, bold circles on his calendar; the only thing missing were little hearts with a question mark next to them, which he’d added in his mind, even if he’d never let himself do something like that in real life.

Johanna looked to the left and then to the right.
The cars are going faster today
, she thought as she crossed the street. Like Thomas, she was up and out early today because she had an appointment to meet Paolo and do some shopping at the market. She’d only partially processed the dark episode with Daniel; she couldn’t completely digest it, so she mentally locked away memories of Captain Quickie into the furthest recesses of her mind. She knew it would come up again—certainly at some awkward moment—but definitely not today. Today she wanted to concentrate on her work and, above all, the cooking school’s students. One student in particular.

Paolo was late. Johanna had already been waiting twenty minutes when he turned the corner. The strong wind and rain abused her umbrella until it turned inside out. After just ten minutes, she was soaking wet. Storms were frequent in Vienna, and strong gusts of wind were par for the course. It was even more annoying in winter when the windchill factor made living here bitterly cold. Sometimes in the summer, you’d be riding a bike or skating along the Danube River and get knocked off course by powerful gusts combined with sudden torrential rain.

“Sorry, Jo. I was about to step onto the streetcar when it pulled away without me; some sort of a malfunction, I guess. This city is in absolute chaos in the morning. I’m usually still asleep at this hour,” he cried, looking exhausted. He greeted her with a kiss on the left cheek, then one on the right.

Johanna was always on time. She had little tolerance for such excuses, because she always accounted for delays and malfunctions. It was better to be too early than too late, her mother had always said.

Paolo led Johanna to a side street where historic buildings protected them from the harsh winds.

“God, the Viennese winds. What a disaster,” Paolo went on without pausing. “Anyway! The best stalls with the freshest produce are on the side streets, not on the main street. They’re much cheaper, and there are fewer people and tourists,” he said, then pointed at some seasonal vegetables: pumpkins, peppers, carrots, and cabbage. “Perfect, we’ll need . . . yes, some winter squash; eight, please.”

The vendor carefully packed away everything in a large paper bag, then handed him the heavy package. Paolo was right; the price seemed very reasonable.

This was Johanna’s first time in a real open-air market, and she found the hustle and bustle thrilling. The vendors shouted catchy one-liners like they were in some kind of creative screaming contest.

“So, now we need a few flowers for the classroom. The boss lady attaches great importance to fresh, beautiful flowers,” said Paolo as he marched to the nearest florist stall with Johanna in tow.

At the moment, there were few flowering plants at the market: just wreaths and All Saints’ Day arrangements sitting next to the door. Johanna wondered if she should go back home over All Saints’ Day to visit her parents’ and grandmother’s graves. It would be a good opportunity to return to her little hometown.

“Let’s go get a good breakfast; we deserve it. Besides, we’re soaked; we need to go somewhere to warm up.”

A short time later, they sat inside a Turkish snack bar, drank some Turkish coffee, and ate
menemen
—a dish made of eggs, tomatoes, green peppers, and spices. There was fresh pita bread and an amusing Turkish host, who put on a show of being enchanted with Johanna, gracing her with one compliment after another.

“I have a handsome son, still unmarried,” he said as he served a second round of fresh pita bread. “You are just the right age for my son. Did I mention he’s still available?” It seemed like he was practically ready to take measurements for her wedding dress, and about to summon his wife for her approval.

Paolo erupted in laughter. “Unfortunately, the lady is with me,” he said as he demonstratively put his arm around Johanna.

Clarissa phoned Thomas; her flight was delayed and she was upset because she had to wait at the airport.

“This could end up costing me a lot of money if we don’t take off soon.”

“Come on, calm down, this type of thing happens all the time. An hour-and-a-half delay isn’t going to kill you.”

“Whatever. I could have waited at home or visited a friend. These airlines are so unreliable!”

After letting off some steam, Clarissa let Thomas go, deciding to distract herself with another round of airport shopping.

Thomas wasn’t interested in her tantrum. He had an important meeting in a few minutes, and the numbers he’d just received from his department didn’t agree. Luckily, he’d caught the mistake in time. Thomas was increasingly unhappy with his team; they’d been making too many mistakes lately. They’d been toiling frantically, but the work was sloppy. He would have to convene a special meeting, maybe do some team-building exercises to find out what was going on. He instructed his assistant to start brainstorming about what might work.

“Just a few more minutes,” Johanna mumbled to herself, her voice hoarse with effort as she cycled back home to change. She had to be back at the cooking school in the afternoon, so there was still time. She bravely rode her bike next to the busy beltway, drops of rain and wind whipping against her skin. It felt like thumbtacks hammering down on her, like the attack of a raindrop army. She vowed never to ride her bike in the rain again. Twenty minutes later, she arrived home, wet and exhausted. She wanted to use the remaining hour to wash her hair. Though she’d showered briefly on Sunday, she’d still been too upset about her run-in with Quick Dick to properly shampoo her long, thick hair, so the stench of Saturday night hung still on her—an unpleasant mixture of lost innocence and cigarette smoke. She had tied her hair up under the helmet, and when she removed it, the smell was more alarming than she’d even realized. The rain didn’t help, either.