Wait for Me in Vienna (7 page)

“Dear Mr. Ronacher,” she said, then paused dramatically. “Thank you so much for taking the time to come here, but I’ve chosen Ms. Stern for the position.”

When Johanna heard her name, she opened her eyes wide and looked at the boss—
her
new boss.

“Ms. Stern, please go with my assistant. She’ll explain everything you’ll need to know to get started.”

Johanna could hardly believe her luck. She immediately texted her brother.

Wow! Congratulations! We’ll have our own personal cook in the house. I’ll never have to eat cold pizza again
, her brother texted back.

Johanna and the assistant went over all the details: her training, the first day of work, dress codes, and personal data for her work contract and her file. After that, she happily left the cooking school and decided to walk back home. If she hadn’t been too shy, she would have skipped all the way—she was that happy. Should she text Daniel about it? She wanted to, but the two didn’t really know each other well enough. Anyway, she would have preferred to meet him somewhere—just briefly, ten minutes would be enough—to exchange a few words or give each other a passionate kiss. She made her triumphal tour through Vienna accompanied by her romantic daydream.

“I got the job! This is a huge break for me,” Clarissa shouted happily over the phone.

Thomas was busy at work and less thrilled about it than she was.

“That means that you won’t be here very much, right?”

“Unfortunately not, sweetheart, but this could be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.”

“Well, you know what you want to do.”

Clarissa rambled on and on until Thomas finally had to interrupt her; he’d had his fill of listening to her prattle on about all the glamour, all the opportunities, all the top models, and the jet-setter lifestyle. Honestly, he was more pissed off than happy for her. He had important things to do, and he wanted to get something to eat.

“Listen, I’ve got to go back to work. Congratulations.” He hung up. Then he got a text message.

I’m sorry about the cooking class next week, but I’ll make it up to you. We’ll do something fun together soon. I promise. :-) Kisses, Clarissa

Look at that stupid smiley face
, he thought with annoyance. He’d paid good money for that cooking class, and getting stood up by his girlfriend didn’t make him feel like smiling. Staring at it, he felt his heart sink.

Thomas pulled a bottle of soda out of the break-room cabinet. He made up his mind to go to the cooking class alone. He really enjoyed the idea of learning how to cook and perhaps he’d even meet some nice new people.

Johanna screwed up her courage and called Daniel. The prospect of her new job made her brave today; it was a remarkable and fortuitous step in the right direction. Daniel didn’t pick up, though, and Johanna didn’t leave a message, instantly regretting calling him. She walked in circles. She had to get rid of all this nervous energy; she couldn’t keep still.

The more he thought about it, the angrier Thomas felt. Clarissa was revealing herself to be narcissistic and blindly obsessed with material success—not at all the woman he’d thought she was. He had to get some air, so he went outside for a walk around the block. At that exact moment, Johanna and Thomas were both walking around the block on opposite sides of town: Johanna exuberant and Thomas fuming.

Finally home, Johanna decided to leave her cell phone in the deep recesses of her purse and resolved to focus on her job and not think anymore about the journalist. A few minutes later, though, it rang. It was Daniel. Johanna’s heart pounded wildly.

That evening, Clarissa decided to surprise Thomas with a candlelight dinner. She knew that she had to make amends in advance for going away, and she wanted to pamper her sweetheart. She bought a steak, salad ingredients, and potatoes. Although Clarissa wasn’t a gifted cook, she had no inhibitions about trying, and she certainly didn’t mind receiving compliments. If her cooking went wrong, she could always order in. And for dessert, there was always sex. She smiled as the cashier rang up her groceries.

“Hi, Johanna! I was so happy when I saw your name on my phone! Unfortunately, I couldn’t take the call earlier because I was in an interview with an important real-estate manager,” Daniel said on the phone.

Relief flooded over her. “Hi there, no problem.”
Now, anyway.

“Actually, I’ve been wanting to call you, but I’ve been super busy.”

“No problem.” Johanna kicked herself for being so devoid of imagination when it came to small talk.

After a short pause, Daniel asked, “So, how’s it going?”

“I’m fine, I’m doing well. Actually, I got a new job today.”

“Really? What kind of job?”

“Next week, I’ll start as a kitchen assistant in a cooking school. It’s not a full-time job, but I think it’s a good start anyway.”

“Yes, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Part-time assistant.
Her excitement faded a bit as she pictured the unimpressive words in Daniel’s head.

“We should go celebrate!” Johanna surprised herself with those words.

“I love that idea. I’m leaving town tomorrow on an assignment, so maybe tonight, totally spontaneously?”

Today was today; today meant that there were only seven hours left to hang out because it was already five o’clock.

“Okay, yeah,” Johanna said succinctly, because she knew that if she thought about it for too long, she’d get scared and say no, and she really didn’t want to blow her chances with a guy she felt so attracted to.

“Great. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?” Johanna had no idea what there was to do in Vienna in the evening, so she let him make the decision. She felt absolutely helpless, clueless, inexperienced, and frustratingly dependent when it came to dating.

“We could go to dinner, that’s always a good option,” he said in a charming and congenial way.

“Sure. No problem.”

“Good. I know an exquisite, small Thai restaurant where we can meet at eight o’clock. I’ll text you the address, okay?”

“All right. No problem!”

“Perfect. See you soon, Johanna. I’m happy. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“See you soon. No problem.” she said, then hung up.

She replayed the entire conversation in her head, annoyed by her curt repetition of “no problem.” He said he was happy . . . Was he happy about seeing her or about eating Thai food? Was he even really happy? Definitely. But how happy was he? Was he really excited, filled with a romantic longing, or simply just a little bit happy, like, “Oh, I’m kind of happy, I guess, but we’ll see.” Saying you’re happy has a lot of different connotations. You have to make it completely clear what you’re really happy about.

Johanna, on the other hand, was thrilled—so happy that she decided it really didn’t matter exactly how happy Daniel was. At the same time, though, she was nervous and uncertain, with a thousand thoughts running through her head:
What should I wear? How should I do my hair? Will he try to kiss me tonight? If he does, will he be a good kisser? What if he doesn’t show up?
She really didn’t know him at all. What if he intended to do something bad to her? The last thought unnerved her, but at the same time, she told herself that it was pretty improbable he was some kind of hardened criminal. She could Google his name quickly to make sure. But what would she Google? Daniel + handsome + business journalism? Darn it, she didn’t even know his last name. What if he really was a criminal or a small-time crook? What if she fell in love with some sort of scumbag? He probably was, especially since she was already falling for him, and there wasn’t any going back.
But she would definitely draw the line if he was a murderer or something.

A little while later, a text arrived with the Thai restaurant’s address. Her doubts fell by the wayside. Overcome by the joy of having a real first date, she pirouetted around the apartment.

In her enthusiasm, Clarissa made a huge mess in the kitchen. The potatoes were already in the oven, and the sauce for the potatoes—a nice sauce with coarsely chopped chives—was already cooled off and put aside. She lovingly marinated the steaks for a little while. All she had to do was throw them in the pan. The last step in preparing a good steak was an art. Everything depended on the cooking temperature, flipping the steaks at the right moment, and cooking them just long enough.