Wait for Me in Vienna (11 page)

Johanna’s red beet soup and pumpkin risotto were imaginative dishes that didn’t just look or sound good—they were delicious. Linda and Martin declared her their own personal chef goddess.

“Mmm, it’s so delicious.”

“Wow, really great.”

“You should cook every meal.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, though, they changed the subject to Daniel; maybe it was prearranged.

“Now tell me, what’s going on with your new boyfriend?” asked Linda as she laid the checkered napkin beside her plate.

“Mmm . . . Daniel,” Johanna said as she cupped her chin in her hand and thought about it. It was almost a struggle to remember who Daniel was. “Well, I don’t know what I can tell you, exactly. He’s not my boyfriend. We’re not really a couple; we just had a nice date.”

“Well, that’s just swell, now you’re downplaying it,” Martin complained. “When you first told me about him, you were practically on cloud nine,” he reminded Johanna, who was twirling a strand of hair around her finger pensively.

“Yeah, well, I guess I was, but I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she replied as she stood up to do the dishes.

She wished they’d let it go. She’d only known Daniel for a short time, and she was concerned about his reaction when she hadn’t invited him in. Of course, maybe she’d feel more effusive about their date at the Thai restaurant if the encounter with Thomas at the cooking school hadn’t shaken her to the bone.

“Hey, would you like to go out with me and some of my girlfriends?” asked Linda as she cleared the glasses off the table.

“Yes, I’d love to!” Johanna responded enthusiastically.

“Good, we’re going dancing on Saturday. It’s a big music festival and we’re leaving the men home,” she explained.

Using her smartphone, Linda found the festival’s homepage and showed Johanna its location. Johanna was nervous because she hadn’t gone dancing in a very long time; she wondered whether she could dance at all anymore. She would have to practice in her bedroom and work on her skills. Johanna had gone out dancing and drinking every week before the night of her parents’ death. Since then, of course, everything about Johanna had changed, and her love for dancing—her dancing-star persona, as she’d thought of it—had been in exile all these years.

12

Clarissa finally got Thomas on the phone.

“I’ve tried to call you a dozen times. What was going on that you couldn’t pick up or call me back?”

“Sorry, honey, I was completely snowed under every time,” he said in his defense, knowing it was a lie. “All hell broke loose here at work. But tell me, how’s everything going in New York?”

“The job is exciting, but I’m not sleeping very much. We’re in the studio from early in the morning to late at night. But it’s going really well, at least that’s what Chris, the photographer, says.”

It was true that Clarissa was working a lot, but she didn’t bother to tell him that all the models, male and female, were spending their nights barhopping all over the city.

“You poor thing,” said Thomas, sure that she was partying at night.

“I miss you.”

“Yes, you’re far away,” Thomas answered.

This reply displeased and unsettled her. “Is everything really okay, Thomas? You sound so distant.”

“Of course. I’m just tired. Maybe we should talk more later.”

“Okay, but only if you promise that you’ll pick up when I call,” she whispered.

“I will. I promise. Bye,” he said, hanging up.

Thomas went to the cafeteria and picked up a soda—Coca-Cola, because he didn’t drink any other kind: not Pepsi, African Cola, River Cola, organic Guarana Fizz Cola, or Red Bull. He drank only original Coke—never the diet or zero versions. Returning to his office, he noticed how the rays of the afternoon sun fell through the window into his top-floor office, making the wood furniture glow like gold. His dust-free shelves and mementoes were polished to a high sheen. The sun’s rays glinted off the silver window frames. Thomas leaned back in his leather swivel chair and rolled over to the window with his eyes closed to do a little sunbathing. He wasn’t feeling very well today, but he couldn’t exactly say what it was that was bothering him. He decided to leave work earlier than usual and go lie down at home. On the way, he bought some chips and nacho dip at the supermarket, with the intent of having a cozy evening on the couch watching movies.

As Thomas left the supermarket, Johanna was riding her bike on a street across the city. She cycled swiftly and purposefully, looking straight ahead, as though competing for a place on the winner’s podium in the Tour de France. While she looked the part, she still had a lot of work to do on her speed. She was on her way to the cooking school on the new—to her anyway—bike that she’d conveniently acquired that afternoon at a flea market. She peddled quickly, as fast as her untrained legs would allow, because she was late and didn’t want to make Paolo angry. Today he was teaching her how to make homemade pasta. She rejoiced because this was something special. At least that’s what dear pseudo-Italian Paolo had announced. He could be remarkably exuberant when it came to these kinds of things.

At home, Thomas made himself cozy on the new fancy Italian designer leather couch. Clarissa had ordered it online a few weeks ago. Clarissa had style, you had to give her that, and the couch was extremely eye-catching in the living room. The coziness factor left something to be desired, as you had to sit upright, but at least the smooth leather looked nice. Thomas had a Dolby Surround speaker system—and actually it was Clarissa’s, too—which would have made any audiophile’s heart beat faster. Clarissa appreciated the system because it was flashy and would impress their friends. Thomas liked how the excellent sound quality created a great home-theater atmosphere. The price was also quite reasonable, a decisive factor in their decision.

Perched on the uncomfortable couch, Thomas flipped open his tablet and checked his Facebook account. He occasionally posted things he was interested in and had about two hundred friends, give or take. He thought maybe the cooking school would have a Facebook page and that he’d be able to find information about Johanna there, but his search came up empty. Disappointed, he put the tablet on the table and went to get a beer out of the fridge. It hissed when he opened it; he took a sip, then stuffed a few chips with dip into his mouth and—one-and-a-half bags later—decided to forego a proper dinner altogether. Bored, he looked out the window instead of at the flat-screen. The TV was on, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to the terrible shows with dumb names like
Home for Dinner
. That wasn’t real television to him, so he called Martin on the off chance that he wanted to stop by and play some PlayStation. His friend agreed without hesitation. Thomas and Martin were such avid gamers that if one called the other even at two or three in the morning, they would hop out of bed immediately for the opportunity to play together—in the truest sense of the word. Along with countless other video gamers, the two would probably still be playing at the age of ninety, though maybe not as much should they fall victim to the infirmities brought on by old age: incontinence, Alzheimer’s, gastritis, flatulence. The average nonagenarian would probably struggle to hold a water glass and a game controller at the same time. One of them would surely lose his dentures if he got too excited and jumped around in front of the TV. “At least today you managed not to spill your water,” his buddy would say with a winner’s smile before succumbing to a coughing fit.

An hour later, Martin was at Thomas’s door with a six-pack.

“Well, it looks just horrible!” he cried, clapping his hands in gleeful dismay. Paolo and Johanna had been experimenting in the kitchen; her pasta hadn’t come out very well. Paolo found the mess quite entertaining; her penne noodles looked just like mealworms.

“Now, tell me whether you have a boyfriend. I can imagine a handsome, charismatic man by your side.”

Johanna couldn’t help but burst out laughing. She’d been single most of her adult life. She told Paolo about her date with Daniel but didn’t mention meeting Thomas in the cooking class. Johanna didn’t know whether he was already attached or even interested, and she wanted to keep it to herself for now.

“Well, you don’t seem very enthused about this Daniel,” said Paolo, visibly disappointed. He turned back to the mealworm pasta with a critical eye. He’d hoped for a grandiose love story, but there wasn’t one, not yet anyway.

“And you? Do you have someone, Paolo?”

“Well, no, not currently. The men that I’ve met recently aren’t even suitable for a one-night stand. Tragic, quite tragic,” he sighed as he put a pot of water on the stove. “I got a new app that’s supposed to help you find a date—or even just a hookup—by searching your vicinity. I came up with nothing, nothing at all—not at St. Stephen’s Cathedral, not on Mariahilfer Street in the shopping district, not on the shore of the old Danube. Stupid app! I could really use some romance in my life right about now.” Paolo cast a longing glance at Johanna. If she hadn’t already known that he was gay, she would have interpreted the look as some sort of romantic invitation. “When is your Daniel getting back to town?”

“Tomorrow, I think,” she said, throwing the mealworm pasta into the water to cook.

“Your noodles are very unique, Johanna, just like you,” Paolo told her with a smile. “Never change.”

Martin and Thomas each drank their second beer as they continued to play, completely engrossed in the game. It was their only addiction—they didn’t do drugs, smoke, or binge drink—and they considered their PlayStation obsession perfectly healthy.

“Hey, how’s your sister? Has life in the big city helped her get over things a little?” asked Thomas as he pressed wildly on the game controller.

“Yes, she actually seems a lot better, and she even has a new job now—it seems like it’s really fun. There’s also a new man in her life; we’ll see how that pans out . . . Yeah, it’s so good to see her doing better and—damn! Nooo, this can’t be happening!” exclaimed Martin; he’d lost focus for a split second and bungled the game.

“Looks like I won fair and square,” Thomas said triumphantly, and picked up another beer.

Martin declined the beer, reaching instead into the bag of chips. “How’s Clarissa? Has she caught a cold yet? Modeling swimwear in those temperatures, it wouldn’t surprise me. Your girlfriend’s a tough broad.”

Thomas looked at Martin questioningly.

“She posted photos on Facebook. You didn’t see them?”

Thomas shook his head. He hadn’t seen them, and right now he didn’t want to think about Clarissa. She wasn’t just physically far away, but far from his mind as well.

“In a bikini on Facebook?” Thomas cleared his throat. “Wait a minute . . .” He paused and thought things over. He’d been thinking so much about Johanna—who she was, what being with her would be like, what it was that drew him to her like a magnet—that he didn’t have room in his thoughts for Clarissa. The truth was, he didn’t want to think about her at all.

13

It took Johanna an hour and a half to dress and put on her makeup, the longest she’d ever spent getting ready. She had to start early so there’d be plenty of time to troubleshoot, or maybe even start all over again. First, she spread a moisturizing treatment in her hair and then, after rinsing, a gloss treatment, and then she put a mud mask on her face. She painted her nails a color called Dangerous Pink, then plucked her eyebrows very carefully, but managed to mess up her right one anyway. She cursed loudly and tried to disguise the gap with eyeliner, but that made her eyebrow look way too thick. She did a better job on the second try. It wasn’t noticeable in low light anyway, and there probably wouldn’t be much light at the club.

Johanna hadn’t even taken this long getting ready for prom. Back then, she’d had no interest in attracting anyone’s attention. This afternoon, though, she felt a new and strange compulsion to get all gussied up. In a few hours, she was supposed to go party with ultrachic Linda and her girlfriends. What if she didn’t fit in and they didn’t like her? Johanna had grave doubts but tried to stay calm and ask herself,
What’s the worst that could happen? If the girls are monsters, I’ll just come home.
Besides, a nice, smart girl like Linda wouldn’t have mean, stupid friends.

Johanna chewed nervously on her dangerously pink fingernails and inspected every single pore in the mirror. Her fingernails were already quite short before she started biting them; only later did she realize how noticeably short they were. She curled her hair, applied sparkly eye shadow, and—remembering Linda’s tip—brushed on some pink blush in a shade she hoped matched her fingernails. Now the only thing missing was the right outfit. She chose the skirt, the top, and the boots she’d purchased from Linda’s boutique.

“Wow!” her brother exclaimed, shocked at his sister’s transformation. “Have fun and keep an eye on Linda for me, even though she’s probably the one who should keep an eye on you.” He shut the door, then opened it again. “And take care of yourself,” he called after her.

There were sixty steps from the streetcar station to Linda’s front door. Johanna counted them nervously. She searched for Linda’s name on the apartment’s directory, then lingered a few minutes in front of the main entrance, staring at the buzzers, numbered one through eighteen. She took a deep breath but was too timid to press buzzer number eighteen. Suddenly, a young lady appeared next to her and pushed Linda’s buzzer. Johanna scrutinized her, then followed her inside.

Hesitantly, Johanna forced herself to smile and said, “Hello! I’m going to Linda’s, too.”

Erika turned toward her with a friendly smile. “Oh, then you must be Martin’s sister?” she said as she happily reached out her hand. “I’m Erika. Let’s take the elevator. I swear, I’m barely be able to crawl up five flights of stairs right now. My trainer really put me through the ringer today. He promised me if I trained hard enough, I could get Jessica Biel’s body.”

Two of Linda’s other friends had already arrived. Linda grinned when she saw Johanna’s new look and hugged her around the neck. Johanna was unsure what to make of the reaction.

“Do I look ridiculous?”

“No, you look great! You look gorgeous!” Linda’s friends nodded and Johanna found a chair. “Do you want a gin and tonic?” Linda asked, handing her one without waiting for a response.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Clarissa chirped brightly as she stood at Thomas’s door. No, actually it was
their
front door, though it had previously belonged to Thomas, and somehow he still thought of it as his alone.

“I’m totally surprised. I never thought you’d do something like this,” Thomas said.

“Exactly, that’s why it’s such a good a surprise!” Clarissa hugged and kissed him; Thomas kissed her back rather mechanically. “Hey, aren’t you happy to see me?” she asked, caressing him again in an attempt to elicit a little more enthusiasm.

“Yeah, I’m happy, it’s just, like I said, I’m really surprised.”

“Do you have plans or something?”

“No, not really, it’s just . . .” Thomas didn’t know what to say. Even though he didn’t have other plans, her presence suddenly irritated him. He’d really been enjoying the peace and quiet.

“Well, anyway, your timing is perfect; the pizza is still warm,” he said, gesturing toward the living room, where he’d been headed before a blonde with a perfectly shaped butt had interrupted his lazy evening.

“Aw, no thanks, I don’t want any. We’re doing another swimwear shoot in Barcelona next week, and I actually need to lose two or three pounds.”

Thomas nodded. For her to lose more weight was incomprehensible; she was practically skin and bones as it was, but he knew better than to try to talk her out of it. It didn’t matter; he didn’t care anymore anyway.

“How long are you staying?” He was afraid she’d be home for the next cooking class.

“I leave Monday.”

“Monday morning or evening? What time?”

“You’re acting weird, Thomas.”

“What do you mean? I’m just asking.”

“I’m leaving around noon. Why do you need to know so precisely? Do you have important plans?” asked Clarissa warily.

“No, I was just curious.”

Clarissa knew their relationship had suddenly become cold and strained. This fact didn’t escaped Thomas, either, but he alone knew the reason. Poor Clarissa didn’t have a clue.

“Hey, watch out. Don’t spill that on my couch!”

But it was too late; a full gin and tonic was seeping onto the dark-gray couch, leaving behind a round, wet stain that was spreading.

“Oh, it’ll dry,” one of her friends said with a laugh.

“I don’t want my couch to stink of gin and tonic,” Linda replied. “Here’s a rag. It won’t wipe itself up.”

Linda couldn’t stand stains: oil, vinegar, juice, cake, ice cream, gin, and tonic spots weren’t acceptable. Even water spots made her nervous. She particularly hated things like crumbs in between and underneath her couch cushions.

With each additional round of drinks, everything seemed funnier and the girls got louder. Even Johanna was relaxed; she felt comfortable with Linda’s friends. Her doubts about not fitting in were gone. The women told her, between gales of laughter, about their last road trip to Croatia. They described meeting a go-go dancer in a bar who was actually a government official, and how Erika had gotten food poisoning from some quiche. They told her about the time they ate hashish in Zagreb, and about a crazy guy named Robin who fell in love with Linda and asked to marry her on the spot.

“Martin doesn’t know about that,” she said to Johanna. “The dude followed us everywhere; he even checked into the same hotel in Porec. It was seriously weird, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Martin about your stalker,” Johanna said, nodding emphatically.

“You’ll definitely have to join us on our next trip,” exclaimed Erika, giggling so hard she had to lie down on the couch.

Johanna grinned.
Why not
, she thought, and took a gulp of another big gin and tonic.

Clarissa went to unzip Thomas’s pants. She thought having sex would be the best way to ease the tension; they just needed some intimacy after being apart. But Thomas resisted.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” she said as she tenderly kissed his neck. He didn’t pull away, and moving to nibble on his left earlobe, she knew she had him. He couldn’t resist her persistent advances any longer and cursed himself for his lack self-restraint.

Thomas lay awake for a long time after Clarissa fell asleep. Sometimes she snored faintly—more like sighing, really. Finally, he got up and walked into the living room to watch TV. There were endless reality shows and competitions on at this hour, like
Germany’s Next Superstar
and
The Big Chance
, but Thomas didn’t enjoy that kind of thing. He decided to watch
The Walking Dead
on DVD instead. Clarissa didn’t like the series because it was too brutal and unrealistic for her taste. Thomas took great joy in being able to watch it alone and indulged himself at every opportunity.

Hello, Johanna! I just got back in the country. I’ve been invited to a party at the Underground tonight, but if you have time tomorrow, maybe we could do something. Kisses, Daniel

The sip of gin and tonic caught in her throat. Daniel was going to the same party they were. Johanna showed Linda the text.

“Well, cool. That’s just perfect,” Linda said, her words a bit slurred.

The other women pulled the phone out of Johanna’s hand.

“This is the Daniel you’ve been telling us about?” asked Erika, and gave her the phone back.

She nodded.

“Well, text him back,” said Linda.

Johanna hesitated for a moment and then texted him back.
Hi, Daniel, what a coincidence, I’m going there tonight with some girlfriends. Hopefully, we’ll see each other there.
She didn’t reply with a kiss; instead, she moved her fingers nervously up and down, then pressed “Send.”

Erika applauded and the other girls screamed excitedly; exaggerated, emotional outbursts were the norm for Viennese women having a night on the town, though the British could be even more over-the-top.

“We should get going soon, so let’s take a taxi. I don’t like taking public transportation,” Linda suggested.

Less than thirty minutes later, all four women piled into a yellow taxi, then excitedly touched up their makeup. The taxi driver was from Budapest. He told them about his former job as a nurse, and how taxi driving was a pretty good job for him, even if it wasn’t as lucrative as nursing. He was always angling for good tips so that his two children could have a better life. The gossiping girls showed little interest in the driver’s life story, though, which irritated him, so he took the long way in an attempt to pad the bill.

“Text him to say you’re here,” Erika ordered Johanna.

“Right now?”

“No, not yet,” said Linda resolutely.

The lovely cashier at the entrance told them there were several dance floors. They paid the cover charge, walked past security, and threw themselves into the fray.

Johanna was eagerly keeping a lookout. On the one hand, she wanted to find Daniel, but, truth be told, she was really hoping to run into Thomas. How this idea popped into her head wasn’t entirely clear; she was already pretty drunk. Maybe Thomas was into this kind of music. But even if he was, what were the chances that he would be there this evening? Suddenly, someone caught her eye. It was Daniel.