Wait for Me in Vienna (25 page)

37

So many things did not go according to plan, and Thomas was unbelievably busy the whole time he was in New York. He had to hustle to wrap up before he could fly home again, or else he’d have to postpone his flight, and he didn’t want to do that. He was eager to get back to Johanna because, starting with his first evening alone in the big hotel bed with a height-adjustable mattress and fancy down pillows, he missed her. He worked overtime each day to make sure he could get back to Vienna as scheduled.

They talked by phone every day. Johanna made him tell her all about New York: what New Yorkers wore, about the hot-dog stands you always saw on television, everybody walking everywhere, the women wearing their special walking shoes until they arrived at the office, where they traded them for outrageously expensive and dangerously tall high heels like in the movie
The Devil Wears Prada
. Did every woman run around with a yoga mat under her arm? How safe was it there? Was it really so loud, and were there really tons of policemen? Had he run into movie stars while jogging in Central Park? Was there really a McDonald’s or a Burger King on every corner? And so on and so forth. Thomas was patient and answered all her questions—even though it took about two hours.

“Did I leave out anything?” he asked her after the storytelling marathon.

“No, but shouldn’t you be working? It’s the middle of the workday in New York now!”

Thomas had to laugh. “Answering your questions was arguably the hardest work I did all day.”

38

Johanna took a long walk. Vienna had gotten a bit warmer, and she needed only a sweater around her shoulders to keep warm. The roses in the city garden bloomed slowly; some buds were brave enough to open; some seemed hesitant to drink up a last bit of courage from the sun so they could finally bloom. Tourists expected a sea of multicolored flowers in shades of red, white, yellow, and pink; the blooms would serve as a wonderful background for their perfect keepsake photos of historic, romantic Vienna. They could use them as a screensaver on their computers until the next trip or winter came, and then the photos of flowers might give way to photos of various winter wonderlands.

It wouldn’t be long before the summer heat would wend its way into Vienna. Then it would be too hot much of the time; other times, it’d still be too cold or too windy. When it got too hot, fans and air-conditioning units would sell out quickly; you couldn’t even order them on the Internet. Shop owners gouged tourists on certain items in midsummer—a single half liter of bottled water would cost over three euros in the souvenir shops, for example. Public swimming pools would close due to overcrowding, and if you tried to swim in the old Danube, you’d find yourself covered in oil, which would unwittingly double as a slimy sunscreen. Johanna walked past the courthouse, past the city theater to a bookstore in the first district to browse through the latest bestsellers. She missed Thomas already and counted the days until his return.

Dozens of people—some stressed out, others relaxed—thronged onto narrow subway platforms as they waited for their trains, beads of sweat glistening on their foreheads. It was unusually warm for this time of year. What they all had in common was the hustle and bustle of the morning rush hour. The subway turnstiles and exits squeaked as hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers, tourists, and new arrivals to the city passed through daily. Thomas wasn’t one of those countless passengers who squeezed onto the train, grateful for every bit of space to stand or sit. He stuck to the street. He was lucky that his hotel was only a short walk from his office. It was nearly three o’clock in Vienna, he noted as he looked at his watch, which was still on Central European time. As he rode up the many floors in the glass elevator to his office, the sun lit up the cloudless sky and New York’s building facades sparkled. In the office, he eagerly turned on his computer, hoping for a message from Johanna. Unfortunately, he was disappointed to find only work e-mails in his inbox.

New York, 9:15 a.m.: What a disappointment! I got up this morning, walked to my office, and, full of hope, I turned on my computer. I checked my e-mail. The saddest moment of the day: no e-mail from you.

After sending his message to Johanna,
Thomas took care of thirty-four company e-mails. Johanna wrote back:

Vienna, 3:22 p.m.: Good morning to you in New York! Why didn’t you just check your smartphone first thing? Then you wouldn’t have had to wait so long to know that I didn’t write an e-mail. You didn’t write yesterday evening/night, either. Right? Kiss.

She had a point; he hadn’t written last night . . .

New York, 9:35 a.m.: Let’s change the subject. How’s the weather there? Spring is in full swing here. This time of year is simply captivating. What did you do today? Tell me every little thing; I want to know it all. Kisses, Thomas

Vienna, 3:40 p.m.: Change of subject accepted; the weather’s great in Vienna, too. I just finished shopping; it was extremely therapeutic. xx, Johanna

New York, 9:50 a.m.: Subject line: What did you buy?

Vienna, 3:55 p.m.: Subject line: Subject line: Are you only going to write in the subject line?

Suddenly, Johanna’s cell phone rang. It was Thomas.

“Hello, Johanna.” He sounded happy.

“Talking on the phone is better,” she said as she put her woven shopping basket down and sat on a park bench.

“Yes, but e-mail’s good in a pinch.”

“In a pinch? I’m good in a pinch?”

Thomas had to laugh. “Are you okay?” he inquired.

“Yes, but I’d be even better if you could come back now,” she admitted.

“Yeah, I know. I feel the same way, but it won’t be much longer. Besides, I haven’t been gone that long,” he said, knowing that he would have to go back to New York soon, and next time he’d have to stay much longer. He hadn’t mentioned it to her yet.

“Did you do anything last night?” she asked.

“Yes, I went to a musical.”

“Really? Who’d you go with?”

“So, to answer your first, missing question, it was the musical version of
Spider-Man
, and I went with a colleague from the new office here.”

“
Spider-Man
?” Johanna began to laugh; that was exactly the kind of thing Thomas would like.

“Yes,
Spider-Man
, and it was good. They did a great job with it. So don’t laugh.”

“I readily believe that you went with a
male
colleague.”

“And you? What did you do?”

“Nothing much. I stayed home, and before that I went to your place and watered the flowers,” she said, but she didn’t mention that she’d worn his sleeping shirt while she hung around his house, relishing his smell.

“Doesn’t sound too exciting, unless my plants have transformed into something special or different?”

“No, they haven’t. They haven’t even moved; they didn’t throw a party or get drunk.”

“Well, that’s good; I raised them well.”

“I think you were a bit too strict with them, actually; they’re not really blooming at all.”

“Yes, it was a very old-school upbringing: flower boot camp!”

They used their last ten minutes to talk about Thomas’s work, and then he had to go to a meeting.

39

The days until Thomas’s return were agonizingly slow, like the days for an eight-year-old waiting for Christmas day in the middle of November. He and Johanna continued to talk on the phone and write e-mails daily, and both worked more intensively than usual, which was a good thing, since they had both neglected their duties lately due to their new romance. Finally, they could wake up at eight in the morning with a clear head, take care of business the whole day, and not relax until well into the evening. Independently of each other, they went out for a beer or a glass of wine with new friends or work colleagues, or they watched TV alone; Johanna ate popcorn and Thomas ate nachos. In her free time, Johanna went to yoga, Pilates, and Hot Body for abs, legs, and butt. After work, Thomas went jogging. Johanna usually ate muesli or bread with butter for breakfast; Thomas ate ham and eggs. She rode her bike to work; on the other side of the world, amid the chaotic New York mornings, he happily walked to the office. He delegated; she was delegated to. At midday, he grabbed something from Starbucks or a kiosk; she got a good lunch at the school. Afterward, he’d hungrily down a donut or two; she wouldn’t, still full from lunch. In between, they exchanged short, kissy-kissy e-mails, which signaled that longer phone calls would soon be forthcoming. They’d both fall asleep late in the evening dreaming of each other, and they would both wake up well rested the next morning, still longing for each other.

And that’s how the days passed until the epic day finally came for Thomas to fly back to Vienna. Johanna spent the last few hours before Thomas’s return shaving her legs, armpits, and parts of her body that only Thomas touched. She also plucked her eyebrows and applied a face mask to help her dry skin. While Thomas was away, she hadn’t shaved with any regularity, simply letting everything grow out. But those days were over; after all, they weren’t Adam and Eve. This was the modern world, with depilatories, razors, and wax—all the necessities a person could desire for discreetly removing unwanted hair.

After all her body parts were smooth again, she checked her shopping list to see what was missing, planning to welcome Thomas home with both a sleek body and a culinary delight for dinner. She also pulled her newest acquisition from her dresser—lacy black lingerie she would wear later. A few months ago, she’d worn simple, comfortable cotton underwear because it was practical and cheap, although very unsexy. Back then, it didn’t bother her or make any difference to her nonexistent boyfriend. She had large rollers in her hair as she whipped up the mascarpone cream, which she wanted to serve up later with a pear mousse and a pinch of cinnamon.

Standing in Thomas’s kitchen now, she was a fully transformed Johanna. No one could have predicted this transformation, and three years ago, few would have believed it was even a remote possibility. Back then, due to the tragic circumstances of her past, she’d retreated from everyday life, just doing what she could to survive. Now, though, Johanna was thriving. She was happy and grateful for every day because she knew how quickly everything, including those things that made her the happiest, could be taken away. Every day was special. She secretly prayed that the happiness she and Thomas had would last forever. He was so dear to her heart; she could easily imagine having children with him and maybe even a dog. She wanted a traditional family. She would be there for the children and, if they agreed, the dog, preferably a German shepherd. Thomas would go to work; Johanna would stick to a budget, cook, and keep the house clean. On weekends, they would go shopping together, take day trips, and eat leisurely breakfasts. Once or twice a year, they would go on vacation. In the evenings, after they lovingly tucked their children into bed, they would enjoy a glass of wine or a Guinness on the terrace or cuddle in front of the TV. Her dreams were very simple. Liberated women might cry out, “Wake up, girl, those days are gone!” but as old-fashioned and unemancipated as it may have seemed, this was exactly how she wanted to lead her life.

“I’m not stupid; Martin has to clean and cook, too,” Linda once said to Johanna.

But Johanna imagined living primarily for her children, her husband, and the inevitable dog; she’d be good at wrangling the budget. Since her fifteenth birthday, she’d had no real family life; maybe that’s why she was so eager to embrace one now.

Thomas was exhausted when he got back to his apartment in Vienna around five in the afternoon. He’d hardly slept on the plane because the passenger in the next seat, an old man with a cowboy hat, snored staccato rhythms out of Haydn’s
Surprise
Symphony the whole flight. Johanna promised to get him earplugs so that, the next time he flew, he wouldn’t even be able to hear Mozart’s
A Little Night Music
. She looked beautiful. The only thing missing was a big gold bow draped around her waist; otherwise, she looked as pretty as a porcelain doll in her lovely Desigual dress.

The two welcomed each other with a kiss, which lasted at least ten minutes and ended in bed. Their lovely gourmet meal got cold since they didn’t come up for air until much, much later. Johanna soaped up Thomas’s back as they luxuriated in his big bathtub, the warm water caressing their bodies. The mirror fogged up and candle wax dripped onto the corners of the tub.

“I missed you so much,” he said as he let Johanna shampoo and massage his head. “You do that even better than my hairstylist.”

“I think you need to go to the salon more often if you’re thinking about her so much.”

“Whatever you say, she’s going to retire soon, but if you’re jealous . . .”

Johanna playfully dunked Thomas under the water. “I missed you, too,” she said.

This special moment felt like it could last forever. Reuniting with and embracing a loved one after a long separation was always special. They could enjoy each other’s smells and bodies, high on the joy of being together, experiencing the magic and electricity between them.

Can we just stay like this forever?
Johanna asked herself as she watched Thomas in amusement when he rose from the tub, dried himself off, and gave his best dance performance, twirling his towel in the air wildly like Elvis Presley.

After they ate their warmed-up dinner together, they cuddled in front of the TV and channel surfed.

“Johanna, I have something to tell you.” Thomas sat straight up; his expression was suddenly serious.

She became quite alarmed; she was worried he might tell her it was all over. “What is it, Thomas?”

“Well, it looks like our New York office is on track to launch sooner than expected. I have to fly over there again next week.” Thomas paused for a moment.

“Already?”

“Yes, but Johanna, I have to stay there a lot longer this time.”

“Two weeks?” she asked.

“No, longer.”

“What do you mean longer? Spit it out already,” she demanded. She suddenly lost the urge to snuggle up to him.

“Three or four months.” Thomas’s voice faltered on the word “four.”

“Four months? Are you crazy? What about us?”

“You can come with me.”

“I can’t come with you.” She shook her head indignantly.

“Just for a little while?”

“Not, not at all. I’m working at the cooking school full time now, and I can’t just jump ship! I don’t want to, either.” Johanna’s voice was full of despair. “This job is an amazing chance for me. I can’t leave.”

“Okay. I’ll fly home as often as possible.”

“But that’s not the same.” Tears rose in Johanna’s eyes.

“Johanna,” Thomas said tenderly as he turned her head toward him, “there’s nothing I can do to change this.”

“But if you won’t be here . . . who will I get up with early in the morning? Who will I eat with and sleep with? Do you really believe talking on the phone and e-mailing will be enough to sustain our relationship? Why do you have to be the one to go over there? Can’t anybody else do this? Your uncle?”

“Johanna, please, I took on this project. I was there from the beginning. This is a big chance for me, too.” Thomas paced up and down the living room.

“Big chance? There’s a big chance that our relationship might not survive,” she said as she stood up to go back into the kitchen, where she planted herself in front of the window with her arms crossed.

Thomas ran over to her. “Johanna, we can do this. I’ll fly home every two or three weeks. And maybe you can even visit once or twice. You’ll see; the three months will go by like nothing.”

“Four, you said!”

“Three, at the most four!”

“We’ll see about that. But don’t be surprised if things don’t stay the way they were,” she threatened.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, but it’s possible that I won’t be here.”

“Now you’re being unfair.”

“This could change everything between us.”

“Well, that’s a risk I’m willing to take, because I love you, and being away isn’t going to change that for me.”

“Isn’t Clarissa in New York?” Johanna realized what a bad idea it was to bring it up the moment she did it.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about? You’re afraid that I’m going to cheat on you with her over there?” yelled Thomas. “You don’t trust me?”

Now he was deeply offended, and Johanna was sorry. He went back into the living room, sat down at the table, and flipped through a magazine at lightning speed without paying attention to the content. She felt a pain in the pit of her stomach; Thomas’s chest hurt.

She doesn’t trust me
,
he thought as he went to the window, ran his hand through his hair, and stood there, frozen with sadness.

An hour later, Johanna tiptoed carefully into the living room.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, and hugged him from behind. “I trust you, but I don’t think I can stand being without you for three months. I miss you even when you’re gone only for a few hours.”

It was the same for Thomas.

“We’ll find a solution. I’ll fly back home as often as possible. We’ll make it happen. And we’ll fill in the rest of the time with phone calls and e-mails,” he said as he turned around to gaze deeply into Johanna’s eyes.

They both immediately committed themselves to making this work.

“Okay, let’s not think about it anymore right now. Let’s try to enjoy this week we have together before you go.”