Wait for Me in Vienna (5 page)

In the meantime, Thomas arrived at his friend’s place, happy to be able to take off his wet shoes. He set them on the radiator to dry.

“She cheated on me, the slut!” Christoph screamed as he punched the air wildly with his fists. “If I could get my hands on this guy, Thomas, I tell you, it would be all over!”

“Oh, calm down, now. How did you find out?”

“Well, the bitch told me. She said she fell in love with him and . . . That bitch!” he yelled, then panted and dropped onto the sofa. A second later, he jumped up again. “Slut!” he repeated.

Thomas handed him a beer to calm him down—the first of many.

Johanna sat in a small bar opposite the bookstore with Daniel, drinking a cocktail called Everything is Rosy. It wasn’t one of those passionate mojito or caipirinha cocktails, and it wasn’t a dangerous drink like a Zombie. No, it was a kind of piña colada, with a colorful cocktail umbrella and skewered cherries and pineapples on the rim of the glass. Johanna thought it symbolized all that was right in the world. Daniel had suggested that they go for a drink and discuss the book and the reading. Johanna agreed it wasn’t too bad of an idea. They had entered the cocktail bar together. Daniel told Johanna that he was a journalist, and she listened as he told her about his workday in great detail.

“My e-mail account is always overflowing. So, naturally, I choose only those press releases that have a catchy title and promise an interesting story. Over time, you get to know the senders. You know which press releases are worth your while. The newspaper also partners with public relations firms. Then you have to publish the story.” Daniel stirred his drink and took a sip of his caipirinha; he’d switched to a more passionate cocktail.

“That’s interesting, I’ve always liked journalism.”

“But journalism isn’t just writing; it also means that you have to meet people, attend events, and so forth. It’s actually quite demanding and exhausting,” he continued. “What do you do?”

“At the moment, nothing,” she said softly, and he nodded. He got the feeling he shouldn’t pursue the topic any further.

“Have you lived in town for very long?”

“No, not at all; I moved here just recently. I needed a change of scenery.”

“I understand,” he said. “I travel a lot and lived in London until recently. I really liked it there, so in a few years, I want to go back.”

Wow, London
, Johanna thought. She didn’t travel much at all. Not that she was scared or anything. No, she just felt no desire; she had no longing to hit the road, not even once or twice a year.

“Tell me about all the places you’ve visited.”

“After graduating with my degree in journalism, I traveled through Asia with my then girlfriend.” He paused thoughtfully for a minute. Johanna was wide-eyed with anticipation. “We broke up in Thailand. Actually, I even proposed to her. She was the woman I wanted to grow old with. I thought Thailand would be the perfect setting for a proposal. I got down on my knee after a nice romantic dinner. But she turned me down. It’s been a long time, though, and I’ve gotten over it,” laughed Daniel as he looked deep into Johanna’s eyes.

Embarrassed, she put her head down and looked at the floor, as if she were counting the tiles or inspecting them for cracks. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Like I said, I’m over it. It’s been three years.” He looked at Johanna invitingly. “Should we order something else?”

She liked sitting at the bar with Daniel. “Why not,” she said almost immediately. She smiled as she picked up the drink menu.

Thomas was on his way home. He was pretty drunk; maybe he’d had one too many, particularly since he hadn’t eaten much that day and he wasn’t used to hard liquor.

“Oh, come on, let’s have another one,” Christoph had slurred, “for the bitch.” Christoph poured one drink after another, masterfully blocking each of Thomas’s attempts to escape by pouring round after round “for the bitch.”

Thomas headed into the subway to ride the two stops home. He sat down on one of the red seats next to Johanna, but he didn’t notice her, as all his attention was focused on fighting—with all the might he could muster in his current condition—to control his hiccups.

Johanna leaned her head on the subway car window, lost in dreams about the pleasant evening she’d had with Daniel. She didn’t notice the young, drunk, but well-groomed man sitting next to her. If she had looked at him, it probably would have been with disgust. But she kept on musing dreamily and starting out the window into the darkness, past her reflection. She had Daniel’s phone number and he had hers. Thomas, unable to tame his hiccups, got off at the next stop. Johanna glanced up as he stumbled off the train and thought,
Ew, some people are so gross
, then got off a few stops later.

6

The next morning, Johanna was full of energy. She spread out a fresh tablecloth, set the table, and made coffee, all the while humming happily to herself.

“Wow, you’re in a good mood this morning,” said Martin as he stepped into the kitchen, stretching.

“Good morning!” Johanna knew this was one of those rare fabulous days in her life where she’d let herself believe that life was beautiful.

“Would you like to have some breakfast?”

“Love to, mainly because the table looks so beautiful!”

“Is Linda up?”

“No, she’s still sleeping.” Martin sat down at the table. While he spread butter on his bread, he couldn’t help but pry.

“Johanna, tell me right now why you’re in such a good mood!”

“I had a very nice evening,” she said, and sipped her coffee. She looked at him expectantly, hoping that he would continue probing. And he did.

“And what was so nice about it?” Martin took a bite of his bread.

“I went to a reading,” she said. Pause.

“And that’s it? The author must have been really good-looking and you must have snagged his phone number, or else his book is so fantastic that it made you impossibly cheerful today. Maybe I should read it, too.”

“No, that’s not it,” she admitted.

“Well, tell me about it. Please don’t make me drag every single word out of you. Why was it
sooo
nice?”

“I met someone!”

“Really, who?” Martin had to swallow his surprise.

“His name is Daniel, and we sat next to each other during the reading. Then we went for a drink.”

“And what does this Daniel do?”

“He’s a journalist and works for a business magazine.”

“Aha. And how old is he?”

“About your age, late twenties, early thirties, but I don’t know for sure.”

“When are you seeing him again?”

“I don’t know yet. Are you going to keep cross-examining me?”

“No, of course not. Sorry. You know it’s just that I care about you, and I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

“I’m not in any danger of that just yet, so don’t worry.”

“Good.” Martin pushed the last bite of bread and butter into his mouth.

“But it could happen,” she added.

Thomas woke up with a major hangover. He searched for an aspirin or something even stronger. Clarissa was coming home tonight.
She’s going to freak out if she sees the apartment in shambles
, he thought. He chased an Advil with a full glass of water, then filled an ice pack with ice cubes in the shape of little hearts and put it on his forehead. The ice hearts were leftovers from their last party and were intended for cocktails, but Thomas had no desire to drink anything but water in the near future—not after last night. So he decided to sacrifice the little ice hearts for the sake of his headache. He immediately plopped on the couch and fell asleep within ten minutes. He was awakened a few hours later with, “Honey, I’m home,” followed by a hysterical cry of, “What kind of a wreck is this? Really, Thomas, what the hell? I come home and everything is filthy. What is the meaning of this?”

At first, Thomas didn’t know what was happening. His ice pack had melted on his forehead and the headache was better, but the dizziness was worse. Where was he? At first, he thought he was dreaming; then as he woke up, it dawned on him. Clarissa was shaking him to get him up.

“Hey, honey, calm down, please,” he croaked.

“Calm down? Look at this mess! I get home completely exhausted from work, and you’re passed out on the couch! What the hell?” She threw some of his clothes, which were strewn around the room, in the air. “Where were you last night?”

Thomas let her rant and rave. He had no desire to justify himself right now. She would settle down soon. When things didn’t go exactly the way she wanted and she got like this, he didn’t say anything, just looked at her silently. That strategy was enough to make Clarissa disappear into the bedroom, where she unpacked her extra-large pink hard-shell suitcase. After a while, Thomas went to her, took her hand tenderly, kissed her neck, and then laid her on the bed. It was makeup sex, hot makeup sex, and dramatically improved Thomas’s hangover.
Sex like this sure beats an aspirin or Advil or anything else
, he thought as he lay next to her twenty minutes later.

7

Johanna decided she wanted to find a job. The problem was that she didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly. In the glow of this initial job-hunting excitement, though, she hoped that something appropriate would just fall into her lap.

Johanna took a walk through the park; it was a perfect autumn day. The sun broke through the orange and yellow leaves of the maple trees. The rays gently caressed the by-now pale skin of folks enjoying a walk; the sun’s power was no longer sufficient to tan, but it left a feeling of warmth and happiness in people’s souls as it found them. As if protecting a secret, fluffy cumulous clouds attempted to shroud the sun’s rays.

Johanna contentedly settled down on a bench and watched children play. She thought about Daniel. He had beautiful green eyes. The color reminded her of the Andalusian seaside, where she had vacationed with her parents and her brother. Dreaming of Daniel’s green eyes, she found herself thinking about the carefree holidays she’d spent with her family as a child, and suddenly she started to cry. She missed her parents, and for the first time in a long time, she admitted it to herself. Admitting it felt good. She didn’t feel more vulnerable. No, she could allow herself to miss something worth missing. Johanna knew then that it was time to get therapy, because she wouldn’t be able to heal the old, deep wounds by herself. The loss of her parents had isolated her, both physically and mentally. Johanna shuffled fallen leaves back and forth with her feet. Tears continued to fill her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

Thomas was angry.

“Why couldn’t you do it right the first time?” he raged at one of his employees. “Now we have to do it all over again. This is bullshit!” he yelled. He dropped into his office chair with annoyance. “Please, leave my office! We’ll talk about this later,” he said, trying to calm himself. He had to put on the brakes, otherwise the employee would have left the building crying. He was pissed off that he was already snowed under and had absolutely no time to correct work that was supposed to be finished already. The software interface his employee had submitted was abysmal. It wasn’t user-friendly at all. He’d have to redo the whole project, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to get anything else done for the next few days at least. It also made him realize he’d have to monitor the team better. He called a meeting.

Johanna looked at want ads in the newspaper and started circling suitable jobs with a pencil. The first two columns went unmarked, as did the third, but on the fourth, she spotted something interesting: “Temp wanted in the recreational kitchen! We are looking for a young person with a passion for cooking. Culinary training not required, but cooking ambition definitely is. Hobby cooks welcome.” Johanna read it a second time, excited by the idea of working in a kitchen. She knew that she wasn’t a professional cook, and the term “hobby cook” didn’t really apply to someone who’d barely had the desire to boil water for herself for years, but she took a liking to the idea and decided to give it a shot. The only contact information in the ad was a phone number. She didn’t own a smartphone, so she got on her brother’s computer to Google the kitchen. There wasn’t much information available, and it took all her courage—and she didn’t have much to begin with—to dial the number in the ad.

“Cooking school, Geyer speaking,” volunteered a lady with a deep, smoky voice.

“Good day, Johanna Stern here.”

“Hello, Ms. Stern, what can I do for you?”

“I . . . I read your ad and would like to apply for the job as a kitchen temp.”

“Do you have experience in the kitchen?”

“Actually, yes.” Her answer was wide open to interpretation.

“Okay, come tomorrow afternoon at three. Thank you!” said the lady with the smoky voice, who then hung up.

It had all happened so quickly that it made Johanna’s head spin. She was slightly puzzled as she put her phone away.
Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am
, she thought, and wrote a note—three o’clock, October 15—as if she’d be able to forget her only appointment.

Everyone made it out of the team meeting relatively unscathed. Thomas had calmed down from his initial tantrum and approached the problem calmly and objectively. The solution was simple, if somewhat unpleasant for all involved. There was a lot of work to be done, and that would mean late hours for the entire team, but no one dared to complain.

Thomas went back into his office and closed his laptop. He wanted to get outside; he needed fresh air and wanted to cool off. He called Clarissa and made plans to meet for lunch.

“You can’t imagine what’s going down at the agency,” Clarissa said as she tried to peel the shells off her shrimp. “First, he promised the job to Trudy, then it went to Stefanie, and now he wants me to take it. I mean, it would be a great opportunity, but it means I would hardly be home with you for the next few weeks, sweetheart,” she said excitedly as she weighed Thomas’s reaction to her last few words. She noticed that he wasn’t paying attention to her at all. “Thomas, I’m talking to you! Where are you?” she asked as she rolled her big beautiful eyes and gesticulated wildly with her fork.

“Sorry, honey. The office today is a total disaster because—” Thomas began, but Clarissa interrupted him and went on with her ever-so-important once-in-a-lifetime-modeling-opportunity story. He knew it was impossible to get a word in edgewise when she was like this, even if the building were on fire.

“Well, if I get the assignment, I’ll definitely do it,” she said as she stabbed the shrimp with gusto. “Damn it, my noodles aren’t al dente,” Clarissa fumed, then offered her fork to Thomas so he could enjoy them.

Thomas declined politely and continued to eat his lasagna. It was delicious.

“We have our cooking class soon,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, right . . . ,” sighed Clarissa. “You really want to go?”

“Of course, Clarissa. Those evenings are a lot of fun, and we already paid for them. We hardly do anything together!”

“That’s not true. We do a lot of stuff together,” Clarissa purred as she threw Thomas a furtive glance, then reached under the table and stroked his thigh seductively.

Thomas nodded as he pushed her hand away, observing that Clarissa had a very different idea of togetherness. He wanted to share interests with her. Usually, it was the woman who tried to establish a common hobby with her man. But Thomas was different than most men. He knew common interests and hobbies were crucial ingredients for a happy long-term relationship. In the beginning, their relationship had been considerably happier; they did things together, they laughed, they lived life to the fullest. But since Clarissa’s career had taken off, everything had changed. Now, Clarissa spent what little time they had together these days bragging endlessly about her modeling ability as Thomas listened patiently and sometimes absentmindedly.

After spewing some more mindless drivel, mostly about herself, Clarissa said good-bye and rushed off to get to her manicure appointment, though Thomas would have really liked to talk to her about his miserable day. As Clarissa left, he looked at her shapely butt.
She’s right, the sex is really good
, he thought, and then forgot about everything else.

Johanna couldn’t sleep, unable to stop the thoughts whirling through her mind. The ideas came out of nowhere, and she alternated between being joyful and worried. Sometimes, her thoughts were dim and vague, other times, they were perfectly clear. The upcoming interview worried her. Then thoughts of Daniel crept into her brain. He had beautiful green eyes and dimples when he laughed. What if she wasn’t right for the job? What if the other candidates were better? What if Daniel never called her? What if she was sent away due to her lack of experience? What if the lady from the cooking school was mean? Johanna’s brain sped down the proverbial neural superhighway, her thoughts crashing and burning, her heart pounding crazily.

She got up and went into the kitchen to fix herself some warm milk with honey, the soothing secret recipe that she’d gotten from her grandmother, one to which she remained ever faithful.
You can always count on warm milk and honey
, Johanna thought, recalling her grandmother’s advice.

“Things will be better in the morning,” she said to herself as she put the cup in the microwave. Suddenly, Martin stood in the doorway, wide-awake; he’d heard his sister rummaging around in the kitchen.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked.

As Johanna paced up and down the kitchen floor, she told him about her job interview. Martin smiled.

“Hey, it’s just an interview, not the end of the world. And it won’t be the last interview that you’ll have.”

Martin was so sensible. What’s more, he was right. Why was she making such a big deal out of it? She was well prepared, having researched the cooking school to find out how many employees Ms. Geyer had, when the school was first established, which products they preferred, and what public relations and marketing firms they used. Yes, she’d been extremely thorough. She probably knew more about the place than the staff did. Reassured, she went back to bed. After her thoughts finally settled, she fell asleep around two o’clock.