Wait for Me in Vienna (22 page)

“Do you ever cook for yourself?”

“No, not really. You mean because of the kitchen appliances?” He had Johanna all figured out.

“Yes, because you have all this great equipment here. It’s very impressive, even better than what we have at the cooking school.”

“I know; I don’t actually know how to use this stuff. But now that you’re here . . . You can come any time and cook for yourself—and save a few bites for me,” he said impishly.

“I’ll teach you how, and you can cook for us both.”

He liked Johanna’s assertive, cheeky side.

“Well, the only thing missing is the antipasti and hummus, and then we can start eating,” she said as she gently pushed Thomas aside so she could open the packages. She arranged the antipasti carefully on a platter as he stood behind her and kissed her on the neck.

“Stop that!” Johanna giggled. The U2 song “Beautiful Day” rang out from the speakers in the living room. “We can eat the hummus right out of the container,” she said. They went into the living room and sat down at the dining table.

“This looks so delicious,” Thomas said as he reached for some bread. “We should do this more often.”

Johanna was happy. Her face turned the color of a tomato, but she tried hard to look relaxed.

“Good idea. I’ll be there.”

After the meal, the two were so full they decided to lie down on Thomas’s leather couch.

“A little nap wouldn’t be a bad idea right now,” she said as she patted her full stomach in satisfaction.

Thomas moved her hand aside and reached under her blue sweater to stroke her stomach gently. He didn’t trust himself to go any lower, so when his hand got down near her navel, he stopped and let it wander to the side, then slid it upward again.

“We’ll digest and bounce back quickly,” he said.

He moved his fingers lightly over her skin. It was an effective and dramatic move. She turned to him and they kissed. There was a difference between these kisses and the kisses from the night before. This time the kisses were more demanding, more passionate, wilder. Johanna noticed something stirring in Thomas’s pants. He moved his mouth from her lips and nibbled Johanna’s ear. She groped at the bulge in his pants.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asked her. He was quite aroused and hoped she wouldn’t say no.

“Yes, I was ready to back then. Don’t you remember?”

Thomas let his hand slide over her hips. He unbuttoned her jeans and softly massaged her crotch. Johanna started to groan lightly as she caressed Thomas’s neck. He pulled off his jeans. She stroked, then licked what his pants no longer hid. She kissed him passionately and Thomas pulled her sweater over her head. He couldn’t wait to free her from it. He stroked her breasts and let her take off his shirt, which promptly landed next to his pants on the floor.

You smell so good
, she thought as she buried her face in his chest, while he gently started to penetrate her.

“Everything okay?” he said, questioning the expression on Johanna’s face; he was afraid he saw uncertainty there.

“Yes, everything’s great. Don’t stop.” Her expression wasn’t sad or uncertain; it was a look of relief that she could finally enjoy this moment. She tenderly pressed her fingernails into his skin, leaving light impressions like footprints in the sand, like the impressions this afternoon of passion was leaving on her.

Thomas and Johanna stayed in bed the entire day, stroking and kissing each other; they shared their feelings about God and the world and everything in between. That evening, they took a shower together and cuddled up in front of the television to watch a DVD. Johanna fell asleep quickly, and Thomas held her in his arms until the end of the movie.

28

The next morning, Thomas got up first and stood in the kitchen wearing a comical rabbit’s foot apron and a chef’s hat. He hummed as he stirred four egg yolks into a pan.

“Good morning,” Johanna mumbled.

“Good morning! Did you sleep well?” he asked as he hopped around the kitchen with the pan.

“Yes, very well. I slept a long time, too. Are you doing an egg dance?”

Thomas laughed.

“No, honestly, are you always in such a good mood in the morning?”

“Yes. What about you?”

Johanna shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Then you’d better watch out, because good moods are infectious!” he teased.

She laughed. “What are you making there?” she said as she tried to peek into the pan. The table was lovingly set, decorated with a single lily in the middle.

“The flower is for you; I bought it from the stand down the street. Would you like to read the newspaper while I get everything ready, madam?” he asked, imitating the refined accent of an old-school Viennese waiter as he politely pulled her chair back with a bow.

“What? You were already out and about? You’ve already done everything? Are you some sort of superhero? If so, you should have told me; I don’t like surprises.”

“Yes, exactly. Just between you and me, I’m actually Iron Man,” Thomas joked as he rushed to the stove, briskly stirring the Hollandaise sauce and monitoring the progress of the poached eggs in another pan—a rescue operation suitable for such a hero.

“You’re spoiling me,” she said as she leafed through the newspaper. He treated her as if she were a guest at his very own five-star hotel. She took a bite of the eggs Benedict and smiled with satisfaction.

“Well, you’re my guest; I’m just giving you the royal treatment.”

“Ah, and you do this for all your guests?”

Thomas laughed. “No, not really.”

“This tastes really good!”

“I bet you never would have expected it, right? I have a culinary trick or two up my sleeve. I have a very small repertoire, though. Mostly egg dishes.” Thomas took off his chef’s hat and the rabbit’s foot apron, then sat with her at the table and quickly consumed a double portion of the eggs Benedict.

“No, don’t step on the left pedal; that’s not the gas, that’s the clutch,” said Thomas as he frowned.

He and Johanna were in an empty parking lot so she could practice driving, because Johanna had never gotten her driver’s license; she’d been a passenger her whole life. Because of her parents’ accident, her grandmother was terrified of Johanna driving. Her grandmother drove until she turned eighty and largely stopped for the benefit of other motorists, who didn’t appreciate the fact that in her extreme caution, she never went more than thirty miles an hour—whether on highways, main streets, or country roads. She was worse than a Sunday driver; Oma was a once-in-a-blue-moon driver, riding the brakes on the beat-up VW station wagon as it lurched and shuddered down the road.

No wonder Johanna’s desire to drive was nonexistent; every car trip with her grandmother had either been a drama or a bad comedy, depending on how you wanted to look at it. She’d told Thomas these stories the day before, when she was still comfortably snuggled up in bed. If she had imagined that Thomas’s response would be to push her into the driver’s seat of his innocent BMW, she would have kept her mouth shut. Gas pedal, clutch, brake—she chose the wrong one time after time.

“I will never, and I mean never, be able to do this. And you can do it automatically, at the exact right time. I mean, the exact right time. How are you able to step on the clutch, change gears, then press on the gas pedal or the brake?” she asked in disbelief.

“Of course, Johanna. It’s just as automatic as breathing or walking. Soon, you’ll be able to do it blindfolded.”

“Maybe you can, but I can’t. You have some sort of special talent for this. Can’t you drive now?” she begged him uncertainly, gripping the steering wheel for dear life.

“Don’t grab the wheel so hard, it’s not going to fly away.”

“Not yet anyway.”

“Take it slowly, let the clutch out, and then, at the same time, step on the gas pedal.” The car lurched forward.

“I would be happy to be a passenger my whole life, y’know. I really don’t have any problem with that at all,” said Johanna nervously. “It’s worked for me so far.”

“Sure, you could do that, but believe me, driving is fun. Keep trying; it doesn’t matter if you mess up. There are no cars here and no one around, so nothing bad can possibly happen.”

Johanna tried again. And again. A few jumps forward, several slams of the brakes, and countless exclamations of horror later, she began to get the hang of it just a little bit.

Thomas was proud of her.

“Well, look at that. You did a great job. We’ll keep on practicing, and one day you’ll be a professional race-car driver.”

Johanna gave him a kiss for being so patient with her.

“Thank you,” she said. She got out of the car feeling like she’d just flown a fighter jet.

29

Monday morning meant that they had to separate, at least for a couple of hours. Thomas and Johanna had spent the entire weekend together. Now, normal everyday life called, and they both had to go back to work, which meant that they had to perform other duties besides cooking together, cuddling, watching TV, throwing popcorn at each other’s heads, and soaping up each other’s backs.

“Paolo, it was so beautiful doing everything with him,” Johanna said dreamily as she schlepped a box of potatoes into the cooking school.

“Oh, I wish something like that would happen to me, but I just don’t know anymore,” he sighed as she set down the box.

“It’s coming, Paulo. Just you wait and it’ll happen—exactly like it happened to me.”

“I went clubbing this weekend. I tell you, the types of guys who run around at those clubs, no thanks. I’d rather be alone my whole life, or I’ll have to turn straight,” he said, only half in jest.

“Thomas cooked for me, and he’s teaching me how to drive.”

“Cooking! Well, what do you know? Was it good?”

“Yes, it was, lucky for him,” she joked, then giggled. “No, but it was such a sweet gesture, and he wore this stupid apron—”

“Yes, yes, but it has to taste good—that’s the most important thing,” said the master chef seriously, interrupting her gushing.

“I know, Paolo, but he looked really good in that apron. Good enough to eat.”

“Good enough to eat? So you two hooked up this time?” Paolo asked as he stared a hole through her.

Johanna paused, embarrassed, then nodded and blushed.

“Oh my God! Was it good?”

She nodded. “Damn good!”

Instead of reviewing the new blueprints for the New York office his secretary had left on his desk the previous Thursday, Thomas searched for flights to Ireland. He wanted to surprise Johanna with a weekend trip to Dublin. The blueprints collected dust while he spent his time researching tasteful hotels, which should not just be conveniently located but also have four or five stars. All the nice hotels were right in Dublin’s city center, so that part was easy, but there were so many choices. He didn’t want anything big or pretentious. No, he wanted a chic, privately run boutique hotel. It took a few hours for him to find exactly what he was looking for. In the middle of the hotel’s lobby, which boasted purple leather furniture and dark wood floors, was a roaring fireplace. Just looking at the picture, Thomas could practically smell the wood smoke and hear the fire crackling loudly. White carpet set off the dark, polished parquet floors. Milky-white glass tables stood next to couches covered with large, comfortable throw cushions. The four-star hotel wasn’t a standout only for its interior design, but also because it was in a particularly ideal location. It fulfilled all the requirements of young, modern lovers who wanted to be spoiled in their spare time. He read the reviews, which enthusiastically detailed the hotel’s wonderful breakfast, spacious rooms, and the small spa, which was open twenty-four hours a day.

His obsessive research was interrupted by a Facebook message. Thomas definitely wasn’t a diehard Facebook user. He’d created his profile to stay in touch with former classmates and colleagues, but rarely posted anything himself. He’d never even uploaded a profile photo. He now had 250 Facebook friends and counting, but wondered how many of these “friends” he would actually help if they were in a pickle: probably about 10—10 out of 250.

Thomas read the message. It was from Clarissa.

What does Clarissa want?
he thought as he yanked his head away from the monitor in disbelief before he leaned forward again and read the message.

Hello Thomas. Your mother told me that you’re in New York a lot. Please feel free to contact me next time you’re here. We can meet up for coffee. Best, Clarissa.

He hadn’t expected to hear from her ever again. If he were in her position, he would sic a pit bull on him and order it to go for the throat. This had to be his mother’s doing. Why was she interfering? Evidently, she had suggested that Clarissa and he make a new start. Thomas was pissed. He didn’t want to have anything to do with his ex. It was time to make his mother understand that. He needed to introduce Johanna to his family as soon as possible so his mother would stop coming up with these crazy schemes.

I need to call her right away, no putting it off
, he thought to himself.

Thomas’s basic personality traits took hold. He was goal oriented, and proper planning was important to him. He wasn’t the type to postpone things. He liked to get things done in a timely fashion, and in this case, he couldn’t take care of things fast enough.

“Hello, Mama. How are you and Papa doing?”

“Thomas, so lovely of you to call. Thank you, we’re doing well. And you?”

“Very well. You’ve probably heard by now that Clarissa contacted me. Do you know anything about that, by chance? Have you been in touch with her?”

“Oh, not too much. When we talked recently, she was so sweet and asked about how your father and I were doing. She also said that she was mainly living in New York now, and I told her that you were going there every now and then lately.”

“Aha. And that was that?”

“Well, I also mentioned that you’d be in New York for a longer spell in the future. She was so pleased. Such a sweetheart, I tell you!”

“But I don’t want anything to do with her. Besides, I haven’t made a final decision about moving to New York,” Thomas exclaimed gruffly, trying to rein in his emotions and not come down too hard on his mother.

“But Thomas, we just talked about you two maybe seeing each other every now and again. I didn’t want to—”

“Yes, but that’s exactly the point. Clarissa and I haven’t been together for a long time. She no longer has a place in my life.” Thomas paced back and forth in frustration. He almost knocked over the big ficus plant, which was looking rather skeletal, having lost almost all its leaves.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. We’ll let it go.”

“You’ll let it go. It’s not like Papa’s in touch with her, right?”

“No, he’s not. You know how he is. He hates talking on the phone.”

“Okay, but do you really understand me now?”

“Yes, I do.”

Thomas calmed down. “Good, let’s move on to happier topics.”

“Okay. Like what?”

“I’d like to come over for dinner this week. How’s Thursday?”

“Of course!” she said, happy to change the subject. “You’re always welcome here, you know that!”

“I know, but I’m not coming alone. I want to bring someone.”

“You’re bringing someone? Who?”

“I’ve met a really great girl and—”

“A new girlfriend?”

“Yes, I have a new girlfriend.”

The cat was officially out of the bag.

Johanna and Thomas met that same evening in a Chinese restaurant, unable to spend a whole day apart, like the new lovers they so obviously were. They fit the cliché 100 percent: they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, couldn’t bear to be apart, and were unfailingly sweet to each other. There was an underlying tentativeness in their gestures and facial expressions as they carefully opened up to each other about their hopes, dreams, and aspirations; they touched or kissed at every opportunity.

Relationship goals were a sensitive issue, because after a certain age, it was about more than just holding hands; going to parties, festivals, or concerts; or staying in bed and having great sex for days at a time. No, adult relationships were about loftier things: finding an apartment or building a house; starting a family; and, if time and money allowed, even getting a sweet-tempered family dog. Gradually, romantic couples’ concerns turned to careers and finances instead of passing their final exams and scraping together enough pocket money to buy cigarettes and beer. It was important to have steady household income, to provide for everybody and hopefully go on vacation at least once a year. Additionally, setting up and paying into a private retirement account made sense, since the future was too uncertain to rely solely on social security.

And while they sat across from each other, so in love, and began to forge mini-plans for the very near future. Thomas said, “I have a surprise for you,” and handed her an envelope.

“A surprise?” Johanna tentatively took the champagne-colored envelope with the Lehmann & Partners logo on it.

“I didn’t have another envelope; the outside has nothing to do with what’s inside. You’re not getting a job offer from Lehmann.”

Johanna was clueless.

Thomas nodded with a big smile across his face. “Open it!”

She opened the intimidating envelope and examined its contents. “What? No! You’re kidding!” she exclaimed. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“We’re flying to Dublin for the weekend?” she said, loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear.

“Yes. Can you come?”

“Of course, of course!” Johanna was beside herself with joy.

“I thought it would be better than lying around the apartment like lazy bums, having sex, cooking together, sleeping all day . . .”

“We’re going to Dublin!” Johanna exclaimed. She hadn’t traveled for a long time, except for the day-trip back to her hometown with Martin.

“I have another question,” Thomas said. He was being a little bit coy.

“Yes, what? Ask me already!”

“Okay . . . Will you accompany me to my parents’ house on Thursday?”

“Meet you parents already? Oh my God!” she exclaimed as a little alarm went off in her head.

“Don’t worry. They’re really great, and if they’re not nice to you, then I’ll disown them.”

“Ha-ha,” she giggled as she nervously scratched her neck, leaving behind pink lines that turned bright red a few minutes later. “Okay. What’s the occasion? What should I wear? Is there anything I should know ahead of time?”

“Well, they smoke pot, listen to the Rolling Stones constantly, and love going to swingers’ parties—”

“Stop joking, I mean it.”

“All right. Don’t worry. They’re totally normal. Whatever that means.”