Wait for Me in Vienna (26 page)

40

At six the next morning, Johanna lay in Thomas’s arms, one leg slung over his knee, the other one stretched out over the mattress. She slept deep and hard.

What is she dreaming about?
Thomas asked himself as he watched her.

Thomas had slept poorly, trying to figure out if there was any way he could send someone else over to New York, since Johanna wasn’t strong sometimes. She was vulnerable, and her experience with her parents had taught her to fear abandonment, even if there was an end date to her separation from someone. He understood this about her. But who could he possibly send in his place? Plus, vanity made it hard for him to consider giving the project to someone else. After all, he had invested so much in it already, and he wanted to be the one to see it through. He had to figure something out so that she wasn’t too lonely and sad without him.

41

The week they spent together was spectacular, as Johanna put it at the airport. She stood next to Thomas at the check-in counter with tears in her eyes. The lady in the crisp red uniform was remarkably friendly and smiled constantly. Was she forcing herself to smile so much? Or was always being in such a damn good mood a job requirement?

“Okay, Johanna, I have to go now,” said Thomas as he pointed at the big airport clock.

Johanna took a deep breath, then looked at the ceiling, trying to hold back her tears.

Thomas held his boarding pass so tightly that his sweaty fingers almost tore a hole through it. It read,
Gate H3, boarding time 9:40 a.m.
Hundreds of people passed by the large digital display panel, which revealed the flight to New York was on time.

“Johanna, look at me. We’re going to see each other soon. I promise!”

She nodded and brushed imaginary strands of hair away from her face.

He looked at the sweaty boarding pass again.

“I know, you have to go,” she said.

He nodded and kissed her good-bye, disappeared through the doorway, then looked back through the milky glass again, as she mouthed her up-till-now unsaid “I love you.”

As the express train whisked her away from the airport, she remembered Thomas’s promise: “I’ll write you an e-mail every day. I’ll make you feel as though we spend every day together.” Johanna had laughed when he said that, laughed right in his face. The idea was so creative and original, but she wanted to wait and see how he’d actually do it.

Later that day, she met up with Martin and Linda. Martin knew that he’d have to be there for his sister again, and he wasn’t going to let her down. Sitting in a café, the three ate some apple strudel and drank caffe lattes. But who could enjoy apple strudel when you’d just said good-bye to the love of your life?

Linda cleverly used the opportunity to hire Johanna to plan the catering for the wedding, which she knew would be a good distraction. Plus, Linda was thrilled because she knew what a great job Johanna would do, and Johanna said she could even arrange a significant discount for the catering from the cooking school. Linda and Martin discussed what they wanted to offer their guests, but they didn’t agree on everything. After a while, Martin bowed out of the discussion and left it to the ladies to work things out.

While they were debating the respective merits of a passed hors d’oeuvres, a sit-down meal, and a classic buffet, Thomas called. He had arrived and everything was fine. He had to go to the office immediately; he’d call back at the next available opportunity.

Johanna turned on her computer and waited. She looked back and forth between her cell phone and the television for a while. She stayed up until eleven, but there was nothing—no call, no text, no e-mail. Johanna turned off her computer and the TV and went to sleep. She kept her cell phone on.

42

The plane was on fire. It had crashed in the middle of a forest en route from New York to Vienna. The charred body of a woman was visible between the wheezing pilots and a bloodied life vest. A woman held her newborn baby’s socks; the child had disappeared in the wreckage. Johanna looked around, screamed, and cried, looking for Thomas. But she couldn’t find him. Drenched in sweat, she hit her arm against the wall and woke up with a start in her own room.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she cried as she struggled to breathe.

She turned on the bedroom lights, looked at her cell phone—no call, no text; that was good. It was four in the morning. She padded sleepily into the kitchen and heated up some water in the teakettle.

Setting a cup of tea next to her laptop, she checked her e-mail.

New York, 7:50 p.m.: Hello, my dearest Johanna!

Today was so chaotic; the office was crazy. You can’t imagine how unbelievably difficult it is to sit around with a bunch of egotistical people going off in every direction at once, unwilling to compromise.

We thought a lot about the new advertising campaign, and we’re busy picking the new logo. As you can imagine, it’s really hard to reach a consensus. The days are really tedious.

Around eight o’clock, I finally got home and you surprised me with an amazing lasagna. It was so delicious that it totally made up for how hard my day was. You even gave me a foot massage; you should do that more often. You’re a really talented masseuse, and you enjoyed it, too.

Later in the evening, we watched a horror movie and you cuddled up close to me. But now we have to go to sleep because we’re both tired and have a strenuous day in front of us tomorrow.

Kisses,

Thomas

It was a perfect distraction from her nightmare. She went back to bed thinking about what he’d written. Admittedly, the e-mail was quite original. Getting a foot massage seemed to be a long-cherished dream for him; perhaps she’d be willing to do that for him on occasion, but it definitely couldn’t become a habit.

43

The next day, Johanna got to work on her laptop.

Vienna, 7:04 p.m.: Dear Thomas,

Today you really got on my nerves because you kept stretching out your feet in an effort to get me to massage them. I’m not your private masseuse, and I won’t indulge you any time you want. So after we agreed that you’ll get a maximum of a ten-minute massage—how could I resist those sexy, corn-free feet—we went grocery shopping. As compensation for my massage skills, you carried all the bags home. You put lots of junk food in the shopping cart again, which I neatly sorted out before we checked out; I only let a few items through. You should think about what you’re eating every day. Here’s what I tossed out: a family-sized bag of M&M’s, a bucket of vanilla ice cream, a can of artificial whipped cream (gross), and a three-pack of frozen pizza. You protested, “It’s cheaper to buy in bulk,” but I didn’t let you keep it since it’s easy to make pizza from scratch at home. But I let you keep a few candy bars. After all, I don’t want to deprive you of all the pleasures in life.

Thomas laughed when he read the e-mail. Without Johanna around, he’d been eating prepackaged meals—frozen pizzas and tons of caramel pudding with fake whipped cream. He stared at the empty pudding container next to his keyboard and tossed it into the trash.

New York, 2:40 p.m.: Dear Johanna,

You are totally right. Thank God you cooked us something healthy. Oh, I would miss your dishes so much if I were far away, like, in New York, for example. You’re a fabulous cook, and you take such good care of me—no artificial additives in the yogurt, no fake cheese on the fettuccine, no trans fats in the sauce. Does it astound you that I know all this? If I had to live a long time without you, which I would never let happen, then I would make sure to eat balanced and healthy meals. I promise. We’ll see each other this evening, then I have to go back to work again.

Vienna, 9:00 p.m.: Yes, go to work. I hope you can afford to buy me a new Gucci bag. You can afford it if you work hard. See you later. I eagerly count the hours.

Kisses,

Johanna

New York, 3:01 p.m.: Gucci bag? I thought you’d be more interested in cooking spoons, knife sets, and aprons?

Vienna, 9:02 p.m.: My tastes change from time to time.

44

“The canapés were too small, too salty, not imaginative enough
. . .”
Who knew what the hell else they said. Johanna was exhausted after a long day of work, and totally annoyed by the negative feedback from a couple of clients. Paolo was even more offended, and he would have driven the shameless couple out of his kitchen with a dishtowel if Johanna hadn’t been there to salvage the situation at the last minute. But later, the critics crossed the line again when they said that her yellow cake wasn’t moist enough; she politely asked them to leave.

“Unfortunately, we just have to deal with it, Johanna,” said Paolo as he shrugged and poured himself a beer. “We may not be able to shunt them off so easily. Chef Geyer wouldn’t let that happen; the customer is always right, she always says. Her reputation is at stake.”

“They literally tore everything apart! I mean, didn’t they like anything we prepared?” she asked, and took a sip from Paolo’s beer.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, the hell with it. Come on, let’s not spoil the rest of our evening,” Paolo said as he took off his apron. They’d both had enough for one day.

Vienna, 6:35 p.m.: It was a miserable day at work. Some people can be so cruel. A married couple was extremely critical of our canapés; I’m not convinced that they were even a couple because only the woman wore a ring. Whatever. Bottom line, it sucked, plus at least 90 percent of their complaints were uncalled for. However, when I came home, you took me in your arms and assured me that they were idiots. I appreciate your obviously objective opinion. We lay down on the couch and wiped out a couple of bags of chips, onion chips to be exact, the type we like so much. Damn those preservatives! Then I fell asleep in front of the TV with crumbs all over my clothes. Did you stay up and watch something?

New York, 2:43 p.m.: . . . about those preservatives, I’m surprised to see your violent reaction against them. Yes, I watched television after you fell asleep, and I chased the idiot couple from your mind. But, dearest Johanna, there are always people like that. Don’t worry yourself too much over it, and if any of the criticism was appropriate, learn from it.

Kisses,

Thomas, who misses you, and who successfully banished that idiot couple from your mind.

Thomas’s assistant brought him some coffee—weak, watery American coffee. Thomas was no fan of it, but all the other options were too complicated, and he had to be satisfied with what he got. He missed not only Johanna but also his beloved Illy espresso machine, with the copper kettle and automatic decalcification. He conjured up the smell of the aromatic espresso with hazelnut cream. His assistant spoke perfect German, because she’d worked for many years in Berlin; however, she was born in Spain and had been in New York for two years. She had dark, well-groomed hair; thick, lush lashes; and long legs, which she showed off in stylish skirts of different lengths.

“
Bueno
, the market share numbers came in,” she said as she laid the paperwork on the table. She’d liked Thomas right off the bat, since he loved Spanish cuisine and was European.

When she brought him a glass of water to drink with his coffee, a perfume cloud reached Thomas’s nose. It seemed that Alejandra wore Gucci Première perfume; he knew it all too well, since it was Clarissa’s favorite fragrance. After noting Alejandra’s one negative point, Thomas focused again on the market share numbers, and his assistant disappeared from the room.

“That looks so intimidating,” said Mr. Lehmann, suddenly filling the doorway.

“Uncle!” Thomas exclaimed happily.

“I thought I’d make an unannounced visit. I hope that’s all right with you?” Mr. Lehmann asked as he sat down in an armchair.

“Yes, of course. How long are you in town?”

“A few days,” he replied. He filled Thomas in on the current business situation back in Vienna.

45

The rain danced on Vienna’s rooftops and washed last week’s dust off the tiles, simultaneously forming small puddles on the streets, which pooled into several inescapable seas for Viennese ants. Children loved the puddles; they hopped in and out of them until their annoyed parents dragged them away, their shoes soaking wet. Johanna had overslept. As she hurried to work, she brooded over Thomas’s e-mail from the previous evening.

However reasonable it was for Thomas to see criticism as a learning opportunity, her wounded ego wasn’t ready for that yet. She had sent him a text response yesterday evening because she didn’t want to boot up her computer so late in the evening, and she disliked e-mailing via mobile as it seemed tedious.

Funny
, she thought as she arrived in the cooking school and pushed the “Send and Receive” button—no new e-mail had come in, at least none from Thomas. She deleted the junk e-mails quickly, then she went into the kitchen to make herself a large latte. They were having a meeting soon.

The boss talked about a new target market, a television gig they’d been asked to do, how to stop wasting goods and materials; she also reported on their latest achievements and reviews in fine-dining magazines. Ms. Geyer had mastered the art of keeping a tight rein on her staff since she was the one in the hot seat; at least that’s the impression Johanna got. Chef Geyer quickly delegated responsibilities, set deadlines, and agreed on a date for the next meeting with her employees.

“Well, that will be all,” she said casually. “Johanna, can we sit down and go over the marketing strategy together?”

Johanna nodded.

After the others had left, the head chef straightened her dark-purple glasses. “Your boyfriend is in New York, right?” she said.

This question had nothing to do with the new marketing strategy.

“Yes, but how did—”

“From Paolo, the little chatterbox. Currently, you’re eligible for ten vacation days, but only if we can get past this month; it should be calmer next month.”

“Really?” Johanna’s first reaction was to give her boss a hug around her neck, but she held herself back to maintain some semblance of business decorum.

“Yes, we’ll talk again in two weeks about the best time for a little vacation to New York,” she said. “You could visit some local restaurants there and report back to me, and then you could bill part of your time there as a business trip.”

Johanna would have done anything for Ms. Geyer at that moment. She would have brought her a latte from Rome, massaged her feet, worked seven days a week—whatever her boss wanted, she would have done.

She wanted to tell Thomas immediately, so she called his number, but then hung up when she realized that it was the middle of the night in New York; her phone call definitely didn’t fall into the category of a life-and-death emergency. She texted him instead.

Good morning, Thomas! Please call me as soon as you get up. I have some news. Kisses, Johanna