by Andrew Grey
“Is that where the Sachertorte comes from? I’ve been seeing signs everywhere for them.”
“Well,” Hans grinned, “that’s one of the ongoing controversies. The Hotel Sacher claims to have originated the dessert, but so does Café Demel. No one pays attention except the tourists.” Hans leaned close, speaking in a stage whisper. “The best Sachertorte in town is at the Konditorei just around the corner from home. It’s even better than Oma’s, but don’t tell her.”
“I promise to keep your secret,” Jonathon responded with a conspiratorial smile. “Shouldn’t we be getting back? It’s starting to get late, and don’t you have school tomorrow?”
“Today’s Friday.” He smiled excitedly, and Jonathon stifled another yawn. “Forgive me. You must be really tired after your flight. We will go back home.” Hans began walking back toward the subway station. “Down there”—Hans pointed down one of the side areas—“is the plague column.” Hans placed his hand over his mouth. “It sounds kind of funny, but it’s dedicated to victims of disease four hundred years ago. It’s very beautiful.” They kept walking, and Hans continued pointing out notable sites until they reached the subway. Riding back, Jonathon continued looking around, surprised at just how bright and clean everything was. Emerging again on the street, much closer to his apartment, they walked down the sidewalk, lit with the warm lights of the houses spilling from the windows and lights near doors. Movement off to his side caught Jonathon’s attention, and he saw the young man from earlier peer at them. Jonathon smiled and lifted his hand in a quick wave before following Hans into the courtyard.
Saying good night, Jonathon unlocked his door, entering his apartment before climbing all the way to the bedroom. Voices mixing with car engines and even music filtered through the open windows. After going to the bathroom to clean up, Jonathon got ready for bed, climbing between the bottom sheet and the fluffy summer duvet that seemed to settle around him, cocooning him in comfort.
Jonathon woke hours later, knowing something wasn’t right. Forcing his eyes open, he listened carefully but heard only the soft sounds coming from the street. Shaking his head, sure he must have been imaging things, he lay back down, eyes sliding closed before flying open when the sound repeated, followed by what he was sure were footsteps on the stairs. God, there was someone else in the apartment. Jonathon looked around, trying to find some sort of weapon even as the footsteps reached the living room level.
Rung after rung, he heard the footsteps climbing to the bedroom, paralyzing him with fear. Staring at the stairs, he saw a head emerge, followed by a torso. Jumping out of bed, Jonathon yelled at the top of his lungs, throwing himself at the figure, who screamed back and then disappeared down the stairs with a clunk and then a thud.
Walking cautiously to the stairs, he peered down, seeing a figure sitting on the floor, appearing to rub his head. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?” Jonathon demanded in his best scolding teacher voice that brooked no argument.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” a male voice answered with a German accent, and Jonathon saw him trying to get up.
“Stay where you are or I’ll beat the shit out of you!” Jonathon yelled, and he saw the man sit back on the floor.
“I don’t doubt it, but you didn’t answer my question.” The man continued rubbing the back of his head.
“Since when do I answer the questions of a burglar? I mean it, don’t freaking move!” Jonathon kept his tone forceful. “Tell me who you are and why you’re here,” Jonathon demanded. “You have two seconds before I call the police.”
To his surprise, the man laughed. “You do that, and you can explain to them why you’re in my home.”
That stopped Jonathon in his tracks. “Your home? This is Hanna and her mother’s home, and I’m renting this apartment. Now get out.” The guy made no effort to move toward him, so Jonathon relaxed slightly. “I really suggest you leave.” Jonathon reached for his phone.
“Wait, I think I can clear up part of this. I’m Fabian, and Hanna Mueller is my mother.”
Chapter 4
“YOUR mother,” Jonathon echoed softly.
“Yes. Hanna is my mother. You know, tall woman, dark hair, gets driven crazy by my grandmother.” His voice became harsh when he referred to Oma. Jonathon saw the man hold up his hand, a set of keys dangling. “See? I didn’t break in, I had a key.”
Jonathon wasn’t sure if he should believe him or not. All those years living in New York had made him skeptical as hell, especially of strangers that showed up in the middle of the night. “Tell me something else.” He tried to think of something to ask. “What’s your brother’s name?”
The man smiled. “Hans. He’ll be going to university soon.” The automatic softness in the man’s voice told Jonathon he was telling the truth. At the very least, he cared for Hans.
“Okay, you can sit in the living room, I’m coming down.”
“Not so fast. What about you?”
“What about me? Your cousin Inge helped arrange for me to rent the apartment.” Jonathon moved away from the stairs, conscious of every movement from below as he pulled on some clothes. Slowly walking down the stairs, he half expected something funny to happen, but he reached the lower floor without incident.
Turning on a light, he nearly gasped at the man sitting in the chair. Swallowing while pulling his eyes back into his head, he questioned, “So, Fabio, what are you doing here, and why don’t you know what’s going on at home?” His confusion about what was going on was not enough to stop him from gazing over one of the most handsome men he’d ever seen. “Tall, dark, and handsome” was an understatement when it came to this man. Jesus, he could spend a month in those big, wide eyes alone, let alone the full mouth and olive skin that Jonathon couldn’t help following until it disappeared beneath the open collar of his shirt.
“It’s Fabian, not Fabio,” he corrected. “So, Oma rented out my home.” Disappointment was clear in Fabian’s voice.
“I don’t know anything about your family or what’s going on, except your cousin arranged for me to the rent the apartment through my stepdaughter Jeana.” Jonathon shook his head. “That sounds way too complicated for”—he glanced at the clock—“three in the morning.”
“You can say that again.” Fabian rubbed the back of his head.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, you hurt me, pushing me down the stairs,” Fabian’s words sounded harsh, but there was a certain amusement in his eye. “I’ll be fine,” he corrected. “So, how long are you planning to stay in my home?”
“Look.” Jonathon felt his temper rise a little. “Let’s get one thing straight—for the next two months, this place is my home, and we are not the Viennese version of The Odd Couple. I rented this apartment from your family, and I have the contract to prove it.”
Fabian sighed loudly in response but said nothing.
“Fine, I’m going up to bed. The door’s downstairs, I suggest you use it.”
“I cannot go there,” Fabian responded, tilting his head toward the main portion of the house. “Oma does not approve of me.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Jonathon retorted sarcastically. “Breaking into people’s homes at three in the morning. I must say I don’t particularly approve of you either.”
“I didn’t break in….” Fabian let his voice drop off as a steady stream of frustrated German spilled forth, and from the heated tone, Jonathon definitely knew there was plenty of swearing involved. “Look, I’ll stay here on the couch until morning, and then I’ll talk to my mother. Unless you’d rather I slept in the backseat of one of the cars.”
“You’d have to fold yourself in half to fit in the car Hans used to pick me up.” Jonathon felt a smile threaten. “Fine, you can stay on the sofa, but don’t even try to come upstairs.”
Fabian scoffed. “Please, your virtue is safe,” he replied as he rolled his eyes. “You may be kind of cute, but I think I can resist you.”
WAKING with a start to light filtering through the curtains, a thump from the floor below reminding him that he had an unexpected guest, Jonathon got out of bed, figuring he had better check to make sure everything was still intact. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he walked down the stairs, cautiously aware of any movement. Granted, he was probably overreacting, but it paid to be safe.
Exiting the spiral staircase, he saw the bathroom door open, and before he could turn away, Fabian walked into the room, dark, chiseled chest glistening with water droplets. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone in a few minutes,” Fabian said as he tugged a soccer jersey over his head. With Fabian’s head hidden for a second, Jonathon let his gaze travel lower, following the trail of dark hair until it disappeared into tight pants.
Jonathon didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to leave things on a sour note, particularly if Fabian was Hanna’s son. “Is your head okay?”
“Yes. I am fine,” Fabian answered as he gathered his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for letting me use my own couch.” Fabian walked down the stairs, and then Jonathon heard the door open and close.
“Asshole,” Jonathon called to the walls as he walked to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Stripping down, Jonathon turned on the water and used the hand-held showerhead to spray himself down. His soapy hands wandered over his skin. Jonathon’s thoughts began to wander too, and an image of Fabian naked flashed into his mind, his imagination filling in all the details his eyes hadn’t provided. His body reacted, and Jonathon stood stock-still, hand stopped mid-stroke. “I’m sorry, Greg,” he whispered to the air before washing himself quickly and rinsing off as though he didn’t trust his traitorous imagination.
Stepping out of the tub, he toweled himself off, almost stepping back in to try to wash off the guilt. He knew it was okay, that he should move on, but Greg seemed to be slipping further and further away from him lately. He hoped that meant he was healing, maybe getting ready to move on. He knew that was what Jeana would say. She’d been urging him to move on for months, but actually thinking of another man, even one as hot as the asshole Fabian, still seemed strange. He knew what Greg would tell him—that it was okay for him to move on. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Jonathon climbed the stairs, picking up the picture of Greg he’d placed by the bed. “I don’t want to forget you. I always want to remember what you sounded like, how you laughed, what you smelled like, the feel of your hands on my skin. Sometimes I feel like you’re slipping away,” he told the smiling picture, running his finger over the smile crinkles at the edge of the lips. “I miss you, but you’re not coming back, no matter how much I want you to.” Putting the picture back, Jonathon got dressed before descending to the kitchen, making coffee, and then climbing up to the living level and stepping out onto his balcony for some fresh air.
Sipping his coffee, he thought of what he wanted to do.
“Jonathon.”
Hearing his name, he looked down, seeing Hans weaving between the cars. “My brother came home.” Fabian joined Hans in the courtyard, and Jonathon could see Hans’s grin from there.
Jonathon motioned them up against his better judgment, and he heard the door open and close. A minute later, Hans bounded up the stairs, Fabian following behind. “This is my brother Fabian,” he said excitedly. Jonathon was about to say that they’d already met, but Fabian put out his hand, shaking like they were just being introduced, so Jonathon went along with it. “He used to live here before he went away for a while, but he’s back now.” Jonathon motioned toward the chairs, and his guests sat down. “Mutti asked me to tell you not to worry about the apartment. Fabian’s going to be sharing my room with me until you leave.”
“Did she say when breakfast would be ready?” Fabian asked.
“No.” Hans jumped up. “I’ll go find out.” Hans left, feet clanging down the stairs, door banging behind him.
“Thanks for not blowing my cover,” Fabian said as soon as Hans was gone.
“I don’t understand what’s going on. Why do you feel you need to hide?”
Fabian stood up, and Jonathon knew he wasn’t going to get his answer. “Thanks for being, how do you say, cool, with my brother.”
Jonathon shrugged. “You’re welcome. But I don’t like lying to him. He’s a good kid who for some reason seems to like me.” Jonathon followed Fabian down the stairs and to the door. “For the record, I’m sorry we got off on a bad foot last night.”
“No.” Fabian turned. “It was my fault. You didn’t have to let me stay. I should have been more grateful.” As he reached for the door, Fabian flashed him a smile that Jonathon felt to his toes. “Danke,” Fabian said as he opened the door, and Jonathon heard Hans return, he and Fabian conversing briefly in German. Jonathon found himself smiling as he went to finish getting ready for the day, wondering what was going on. He knew it was really none of his business, but he was still curious. Besides, maybe he’d get another of those smiles from Fabian. Dumping out his coffee cup, he washed the few dishes, leaving them to dry before leaving the apartment to explore.
“Jonathon!” Turning around, he saw Hans closing the front door, running down the sidewalk to catch up to him. “Would you like me to show you some things?” The open smile on his young face was refreshing, and he had to remind himself that he wasn’t in New York and he needn’t pull away as he normally would.
“Don’t you have friends your own age?” Hans nodded in response, his smile dimming at Jonathon’s question. “Wouldn’t you rather spend time with them?”
“But you’re my friend too,” Hans responded, his smile brightening. “And I learn to speak English better.”
“Then what would you like to show me?” Jonathon asked as they made their way toward the main street.
“The Karlskirche. Mutti said they take down the….” Hans stopped walking, thinking hard for a word. “Gerüst. Like a ladder, but bigger,” Hans explained, trying to get his point across.
“Scaffolding?” Jonathon supplied. He’d seen it almost everywhere the day before. It seemed as though every building had some somewhere, either inside or out.
“Yes.” Hans smiled, and Jonathon could almost see him storing away the bit of information. “They will take down the scaffolding soon.”
“Shouldn’t we wait until they do?”
Hans grinned. “No. You will see.” Taking Hans’s word for it, Jonathon followed, and they rode the subway again, getting off on the far side of town, walking toward the huge, white, domed church. Hans led him to the entrance. There were two prices, and Hans told him to pay the higher one. Buying two tickets, they walked inside and were surrounded by a Baroque masterpiece. Splendor upon splendor was all Jonathon could think of as he walked down the center of the building. Looking up toward the dome, the magnificent view he expected was blocked by a large, modern platform. Hans pointed at it. “We go up there after you see down here.”
Jonathon wandered through the majestic building with its gleaming marble pillars and altar that looked as though the sun permanently rose behind it. Old training attempted to kick in, and Jonathon almost slipped into a pew to kneel and pray, but he didn’t, as other memories overshadowed that training. Instead, he looked for Hans, finding him a few pews back, crossing himself before kneeling. Jonathon continued looking around and joined Hans when he was finished. “Are you Catholic?” Hans asked. “We could come here for mass tomorrow if you like.”
The question took Jonathon a little by surprise, but it probably shouldn’t have. “I used to be, but that was a while ago. I haven’t been to church in a ver
y long time.” And he had no intention of starting again now. Jonathon desperately needed to change the subject; he didn’t want to insult Hans’s beliefs, and he knew he would if this line of conversation continued. “Let’s go see about going up.” Hans nodded and smiled excitedly.
Once they had made their way toward the back, they found themselves at an elevator. They handed the operator their tickets, the doors opened, and they got inside for the short ride up. The elevator doors opened, and the view whooshed the air out of Jonathon’s lungs. Stepping away, he walked to the center of the platform, turning slowly. Everywhere he looked, on every side, were brightly colored frescoed figures, more than life size, in amazing detail. Walking to the rail, he looked down and then back at the paintings, realizing that he was seeing them as the artist had, up close. “They were to be seen from the floor,” Hans explained. “They were never meant to be seen this close, and when the scaffolding is taken down, no one will again.”
“They’re amazing,” Jonathon breathed, reaching for the camera around his neck, and he began snapping picture after picture.
“We can go all the way up.” Hans pointed to a staircase in the scaffolding that went all the way up to the top. “You can see the whole city from up there.”
“Have you been to the top before?”
Hans nodded vigorously. “Lots of times.” He indicated the paintings around them. “I want to be an art fixer.”
