Wait for Me in Vienna (30 page)

“What does that mean?” asked Johanna. She was exhausted as well as slightly annoyed.

“It means you’re lucky. We don’t have to operate, but you have to wear a cast and take it easy for a while,” he said solemnly as he typed something into his computer again. He really seemed to enjoy typing.

“Take it easy? I can’t do that.” She looked at him helplessly.

“There’s no other solution. Yup, yup, that’s the only thing that’ll help.”

Johanna cried.

“Don’t cry!” Thomas said in an effort to calm her down when they returned to her apartment. “Look, it isn’t all that bad! You don’t need an operation, you have a cast, but you don’t have to wear it forever. You heard what the doctor said; when they take the cast off, you’ll just do a little physical therapy, and then you’ll be as good as new.”

He brought her some herbal tea. Johanna lay on her couch in her living room as day turned into night. From noon on, the whole day had been a damn disaster.

How idiotic to let myself fall
, she thought.

“But you know what that means,” she sobbed. “Now I can’t go to New York. We had so many things planned. You already booked the helicopter trip, we wanted to see some Broadway shows, try out some great restaurants, see the Statue of Liberty and—”

Thomas interrupted her; he was just as disappointed as Johanna—perhaps even more so—but he tried to be strong for her and not let it show. “Johanna, unfortunately, we can’t change the situation.”

She hated her cast and how sensible Thomas was being about the whole thing.

“And today is our last day together! And look what happened.” Johanna made a vulgar gesture toward her broken leg.

Thomas took her in his arms.

“Oh, I wish I hadn’t tried to go to the bathroom there,” she whined before she fell asleep in Thomas’s arms.

The pain relievers seemed to be working. They not only alleviated her pain but had a sedative effect, too; within minutes, they catapulted Johanna into dreamland.

Thomas gently laid her head on a soft pillow. Then he brought a blanket from the bedroom and tucked her in. He stroked her hair and kissed her on the forehead, then went into the kitchen and called Martin.

“Well, she’s asleep now, but she’s pretty shattered, mentally and physically.”

“I can understand that . . . Can Linda and I come over?”

“Not right now, but tomorrow should work. I have to fly out tomorrow morning, and I can’t push it back,” said Thomas with a loud sigh.

“Don’t worry, Thomas; Linda and I will look after Johanna.”

“Yeah, I know, but this just ruined all our plans . . . She was supposed to come to visit in three weeks,” said Thomas dejectedly. Now that Johanna was asleep, he could share his own disappointment with Martin.

“Yes, that’s such a shame.”

“Mmm . . . And I feel so terrible that I have to leave tomorrow.”

“Thomas, Johanna understands. You’re both going to be fine.”

“I know we will, but it will be a challenge.”

“Call if you need anything, okay?”

“Yes, I will, Martin. Thank you.”

Thomas sat back down on the couch and watched Johanna sleep.
If we hadn’t gone to the winery, none of this would have happened
, he thought, even though he knew it didn’t help to play the blame game. Things happened the way they happened; he had to accept it and move on. But the whole thing hit him really hard. Johanna looked so wiped out, so helpless and exhausted. He didn’t want to leave tomorrow; he wanted to be there for her. But he had no other choice. He hoped to return to Vienna as soon as possible.

The next day came quickly—too quickly—plus, Thomas had to leave early to pick up his luggage from his apartment and change into some fresh clothes. He’d barely slept the whole night; instead, he had leaned over Johanna and held her hand.

“I don’t want you to go,” she begged.

“I know. I don’t want to go, either.”

“Stay, then.”

“Please, don’t look at me that way. It hurts enough as it is.”

“But I’m so sad . . .” Johanna cried again, even though she knew that she had to control herself. She couldn’t allow herself to act like a spoiled child; she wasn’t eight years old. She also knew that this was anything but easy for Thomas, and that it made him feel even worse when she cried.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go now, Johanna.”

“I know!” Johanna forced a half smile, even though her heart was breaking.

“Martin’s coming by today to check on you,” he said. “He also suggested that he and Linda sleep here. It’s your decision, but it would make me feel much better to know you’re not alone,” he said.

He grabbed his car keys, then hugged Johanna tightly and gave her a long, meaningful kiss. It was serious and intimate, a kind of a confirmation that they belonged together. They both felt it; it was a wistful, hopeless, and, at the same time, hopeful farewell kiss that promised a reunion, which would be all the richer because of their respect and love for each other. The kiss seemed to have no beginning and no end. It was eternally unforgettable for both of them.

Then Thomas had to go; it broke his heart to leave Johanna behind.

52

Love exists independently of time and space. It’s simply there, connecting two people over a great distance. Love is palpable and ubiquitous, and not so easy to brush off, especially once Cupid’s arrow hits its mark. Love clings to a person; even when love expires, its memories remain and reverberate for all eternity.

A few days had passed since Thomas’s sad return to New York. He and Johanna talked or e-mailed daily. They remained committed to the plan of pretending they were spending the better part of their days together.

New York, 9:00 a.m.: Dear Johanna,

I have already told you that I loved how you looked when you wore that short silk nightshirt this morning, your messy, tousled hair going in all directions, you yawning and sighing softly, slipping into the bathroom quiet as a mouse, so as not to wake me up—but I was already awake. I observed you with fascination, your smile as you scratched your backside, stretching, then inhaling and exhaling deeply. I narrowed my eyes as I watched you strip off your shirt in front of the bathroom door, and I got a glimpse of your charming back. I wanted to wait until you came out of the bathroom, but that would have been almost impossible, as if the most delicious ice cream in the world stood melting in the blazing sun and I’d have to wait an eternity before the ice cream gods allowed me to taste it. So I snuck into the shower next to you. You were surprised and delighted at the same time. I love starting our mornings like this.

Kisses,

Thomas

Vienna, 3:30 p.m.: My beloved Peeping Tom, help me out here. What did we do when we were taking a shower?

New York, 9:45 a.m.: We drank coffee together. What else?

Johanna would be out of commission for a while, which really bothered her because being at home was quickly becoming unbearably boring. Looking back, she couldn’t believe she’d spent so many years of her life as a near shut-in. When she wasn’t cursing her cast or leafing through a magazine, she was staring at the second hand on the wall clock, fixated on the idea that she would banish any and all clocks from her home as soon as she could get up from her armchair. The dark-blue clock with the white dots had become a vile object of her hatred. She’d have to ask her brother to dismantle the clock, to tear off its hands or simply remove the batteries.

Martin and Linda visited every day. Johanna didn’t want them to sleep over, though, because she didn’t want to infringe on their privacy—and she didn’t want her privacy to be infringed upon, either. Though she so appreciated Linda, she could be a bit overprotective. All agreed that Martin and Linda could go shopping for her and clean her apartment as needed.

Paolo took over the role of private chef and entertainer. He took care of Johanna with homemade, reasonably healthy dishes and a dose of companionship.

Every day, Johanna found herself better able to deal with her situation and decided to commit herself to getting something positive from it.

“After this, I’ll be so rested, I’ll be able to rip up entire trees with my bare hands,” she assured Paolo and, for a moment, her statement freaked him out.

53

Vienna, 8:24 a.m.: Good morning, Thomas!

You snored so much last night, I almost—forgive me—threw you out of bed. I tried using earplugs, but after two hours, they fell out and I woke up. May I ask you a rude question? Why do you snore like a grizzly bear?

Otherwise, I can only say that I love you and miss you so much.

Kisses, your poor little crippled girl,

Johanna

New York, 5:44 a.m.: Good morning to you, too, although it’s already almost noon where you are. Yes, the snoring is a problem. Was I really that loud? Could you really hear me from so far away?

I mean, I just sleep on the other side of the bed. It’s still far away, though.

Kisses,

Thomas

PS: You snore sometimes, too, but I think it’s sweet. Do you think you would ever be able to find my snoring endearing? I would be forever in your debt if you could somehow transcend this aversion to my somewhat irritating sleep habits.

Vienna, 11:44 a.m.: Because I’m on special leave from work, I can write you back immediately and keep you from your much less important work. I’m quite pleased that I now have the time to distract you nonstop and wanted to mention it to you to ensure that you’re absolutely cognizant of this fact.

I don’t snore; otherwise, I would have noticed it. Right?

New York, 7:00 a.m.: No, you definitely snore.

New York, 7:03 a.m.: PS: Don’t worry. In the meantime, I’ve hired someone to cover all my work duties, just so that I can answer your countless e-mails.

PPS: I definitely don’t want to miss any of your multitudinous messages!

Thomas stepped into the elevator to his office and watched the sunrise through the glass walls, which revealed streaks on the glass and a few grease marks, probably from somebody’s hands. On his desk were photos of Clarissa.
Why are these on my damn desk?
he asked himself. He looked at them briefly, then threw them in the trash.

“You threw them away?” asked a voice from a dark corner of the room. It was Clarissa.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted to get your opinion on which photos you liked best and which ones we should use,” she said as she lounged on the couch, her long legs striking an elegant, ballerina-like pose.

“I have no comment.”

“Too bad, I’d love to know which one’s your favorite.”

“No. Please go now.”

“I hear that Johanna broke her foot.”

“That’s none of your . . . Who did you hear that from?”

“Oh, a little birdie told me,” she said as she bobbed her foot up and down.

“How about you get out of my office?” Thomas stared threateningly at Clarissa.

“Fine by me,” she said. She stood up, skillfully, slowly, and deliberately swaying her hips side to side as she slithered out the door.

Thomas waved off her antics; he already knew what she was all about.

Vienna, 4:00 p.m.: I’ve held off on writing you for several hours—three-and-a-half hours, to be exact. I hope you’re pleasantly surprised.

Could you bring me some raspberries and vanilla ice cream, please? I need some hot loving, because I’m cold right now.

New York, 12:00 p.m.: Yes, I’ll bring you a container of ice cream after work. But do you think that ice cream will warm you up?

Vienna, 6:00 p.m.: In a figurative sense. I mean, I miss you and you’re supposed to warm me up. Since when have you had so much trouble understanding my flowery words of seduction?

New York, 12:30 p.m.: That sounds a bit aggressive. Should I be afraid of this evening?

Vienna, 6:35 p.m.: Yes, if I don’t get my hot loving.

New York, 12:38 p.m.: You’ll get some after work. I promise.

XXXX,

Thomas

Vienna, 7:30 p.m.: Addendum: by the way, we went shopping today. You bought a lovely olive-colored sweater, a weakness of yours. I’m amazed, because you’ve expanded your current collection of twenty-four olive-colored sweaters with yet another olive-colored sweater. Did you think you didn’t have any? I’m almost starting to believe that you are color-blind, or maybe I just know your wardrobe better than you do. Yes, olive is a good color for you, but what about sky blue, orange, or a beautiful red?

Kisses,

Johanna

PS: If I were a color, I would be olive because then you’d always wear me.

New York, 2:02 p.m.: Dear Johanna,

If you were a color—and not olive—I would fall in love with you and I wouldn’t just wear you, even if you were a shade of sugary pink Paolo thought I looked sweet in. I’m sure if I asked my future therapist, he could definitely tell me which childhood trauma caused this penchant for olive-colored sweaters. It’s probably my mother’s fault. It’s a well-known fact that parents are always guilty when their adult children have some sort of problem, although I wouldn’t say that my twenty-two (!) sweaters—surely not more than that, because I donated two sweaters to charity recently—could reasonably be considered a problem. Or am I being too boring?

PS: We’re talking here only about my olive-colored sweaters because my shirts, T-shirts, and jackets are a variety of colors—except for violet, light blue, pink, light pink, turquoise, salmon, mahogany, rust (doesn’t do a thing for me), and beige—I just looked inside my closet. I have carefully itemized everything; the list has been checked and cross-checked for accuracy.

Johanna’s cell phone rang. She set her cup of tea aside, then muted the TV with the remote. The only shows on right now were unoriginal sitcoms, rather shallow entertainment for which she paid a handsome monthly cable fee. It was after eleven in the evening, a weekday—still no excuse for such mindless TV programming.

Thomas usually called around now because by this time of day he’d finally gotten back to his hotel room, bored to death after working all day, but also longing for Johanna. He didn’t like going out because he didn’t know anybody in New York anyway, and he wasn’t interested in hitting the bars with his colleagues; he’d rather call Johanna, watch TV, or go to bed early. He behaved like a sixty-year-old man living in the middle of nowhere. New York lifestyle? No way.

Johanna didn’t mind his late phone calls because she didn’t have to be up early while on sick leave. It would actually be a pretty cool thing, if only she didn’t have a broken ankle and was vacationing with Thomas somewhere in the Maldives, eating fresh pineapple, sucking down cocktails, getting massages, splashing around in a pool, reading good books, and enjoying Thomas nearby, in all his caring and loving glory. That would definitely be a dream come true. Of course, the reality of the situation was that she lay inside all the livelong day without sunshine, without cocktails decorated with colorful little umbrellas. She was alone in her apartment and so bored that she started to count the cracks on her walls. The only thing that reminded her of a five-star hotel was Paolo’s food, one of the few bright spots in her dreary days.

My next apartment will have a balcony
,
she thought, a big one with a view of the park. This was a very expensive proposition in Vienna, and the far greater problem was that apartments like that went very quickly. When you called about a new listing, you usually heard, “Oh, the apartment is no longer available.” This had already happened to Johanna when she was looking for a place a few months ago.

“How’s Mr. Plaster Cast?” Thomas asked when he called.

“He criticizes me incessantly and just won’t go away. Some guests are really stubborn.”

“Well, an uninvited guest.”

“Yes, very much uninvited. I painted a little heart on it.”

“On the cast?”

“Yes, it’s for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, of course for you!”

“What does it look like?”

“It’s gigantic and red, with our initials in it.”

“So, then, really corny.”

“Yes, impossibly corny!”

“Can you take a picture and send it to me?”

“Yes, good idea. I’ll do it later. Can you do something for me, too, Thomas?”

“Yes, what?”

“Can you hang a love lock on the Brooklyn Bridge as a symbol of our love?”

“Of course. I’ll get one engraved with our initials, totally schmaltzy, ‘J + T,’ and hang it on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“It has to be really schmaltzy. Then we’ll have our initials on public display in both Dublin and New York. I would gladly do it myself, but I’m indisposed at the moment and can’t fly all the way to New York.”

“Oh, really. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I’m terribly busy lying around and eating, so I really don’t have the time.”

“All right. A person must have their priorities. I understand, of course.”

“Yes, I appreciate that. Thank you.”

After a short pause in their conversation, Johanna went on. “The Brooklyn Bridge is one of the oldest suspension bridges in the United States. I read that on the Internet today.”

“Don’t worry, tomorrow after work I’ll put it up right away. I won’t forget; I never forget anything.”