by May, Lana N.
Linda was the complete opposite of Johanna: lively, enthusiastic, and relaxed. Linda came back with a colorful stack of clothes and handed Johanna a top. She had a good sense of what would suit Johanna and showered her with compliments. After some initial uncertainty, Johanna felt increasingly comfortable in the fancy new clothes.
“Do you know what I’m going to do?”
Johanna shook her head as she raised her eyebrows.
“I’m going to give you a really good discount.”
Meanwhile, Thomas headed to a typical Viennese café in the city center, not far from Linda’s boutique. It was one of his favorite places to visit with his mother, Henriette. He probably wouldn’t have met Martin or another friend there, but it was perfectly suited for afternoon tea with Mama. It was a popular, old-fashioned café with lots of unfriendly Viennese waiters. Being unfriendly was unofficially part of the job description for a waiter in the city—one of the typical “Viennese grand traditions.” The quota of female servers was hardly ever filled because the profession was traditionally male. Men served the special Viennese coffee, made extra dark with whipped cream and accompanied by apple strudel, an assortment of cakes, and the obligatory scowl.
“Tell me, Thomas. When do you plan to propose to your girlfriend? You know that pretty girls won’t stay with a man forever without a commitment,” Henriette said as she stirred her black tea. She loved tea more than anything. Even coffee didn’t win her over, as it was too tart, too strong. “Oh, pass me the sugar, please,” she continued, beaming at her son as if he’d made her the happiest mother in the world for coming to the café—but he would make her even happier if he’d just get married or give her a grandchild.
Thomas grimaced. “Oh, Mama, I don’t know. Sometimes I think that it won’t . . .” Thomas hesitated. What did he really want to say? He didn’t even know for sure himself. He wasn’t sure whether he even wanted to marry Clarissa.
“What were you going to say? You know how much we’d love to have a grandchild. You’re over thirty now, and well, you’re our only hope, since you don’t have a sibling,” she said as she touched Thomas’s face. She knew full well that he couldn’t stand it when she did that, but she just couldn’t help herself.
“Really? I had no idea,” he countered. “Enough with the interrogation. If I do propose, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Yes, yes, I won’t say another word. But I hate that I can’t talk to you about these things! You always shut me down right away,” she said, and Thomas realized that she was insulting him in her own sweet, inimical way.
“So then tell me how work is going,” she continued, and took a sip of tea. In her excitement, she had let the tea steep too long, and the bitterness was evident on her face. Thomas told her all the latest news.
Thomas hated the pressure he got from his family to marry Clarissa. He also knew that Clarissa wanted nothing more than for him to propose. She’d confided in his mother, but it was almost impossible for the old woman to keep a secret. So Henriette told him enthusiastically about the spectacular wedding plans they had dreamed up, though Thomas wasn’t interested in thinking about it. Recently, when Clarissa had raved about a Marc Jacobs wedding dress, Thomas had only said, “Markus who?” He didn’t feel the slightest inclination to get engaged to Clarissa. He wanted to leave everything as it was for the time being. That seemed reasonable, at least in principle.
After tea, his mother said good-bye with a seemingly endless series of exhortations: “Be good,” “Take care of yourself,” “Let’s hear from you again soon,” “Come over for dinner sometime,” and “Your father would like to see you, too, you know.”
On his way home, Thomas ducked into a bookstore in search of a new novel. There, he came across a book by a local author who would be giving a reading at the bookstore that night. He decided to go and perhaps buy the book then.
Johanna had barely walked through the door when her brother tore the shopping bag out of her hand.
“Let’s see,” he said, and pulled out the skirt, two tops, and the boots. “Wow, you have to put these on right now,” he said.
“Later, later,” Johanna promised, then disappeared into her room.
Surprising herself, Johanna found that she did want to wear the new clothes, and she also really wanted to do something tonight that would force her to venture out. She searched the Internet for an interesting event. She hadn’t been to a cultural event in ages—not to the theater or an exhibition or anything—and it was high time to take advantage of the big city and start getting some culture. On an online event calendar, she spotted a reading by her favorite author. Johanna was pleased and made up her mind to spend the evening there.
Heavy rain poured down in the late afternoon; huge drops fell from the sky, pounding on the pavement. Johanna sat in her bed snuggled up with a cup of tea as she looked out the window, watching people with raincoats and umbrellas run around on the street below. Most of the umbrellas were dark: black, brown, or navy blue, some printed with catchy slogans, obviously promotional freebies from enterprising companies. On occasion, she spied brightly colored umbrellas, which belonged mostly to children trying to keep dry. The littlest ones wore bright-yellow hooded raincoats and held umbrellas decorated with cherries, frogs, flowers, or cartoon characters. Some umbrellas had action-hero designs that made the kids think they could save the world. The scene was hectic. The raindrops gurgled in the gutter, then sped away down the street to their final destinations. Johanna looked at the clock and put the cup down. It was time to get dressed for the reading.
Thomas showered, put on blue jeans and an olive-colored sweater, gobbled down some chili con carne he’d prepared for lunch from a mix, and then hastily left his apartment. The rain poured down, and within a few steps, his shoes were drenched. Luckily, he lived only a few blocks from the bookstore.
Johanna left the apartment at six o’clock. She was wearing her new outfit, which her brother had given his full approval for.
“You look really nice,” Martin said. “Have fun.”
It was still raining buckets, and walking to the bookstore, even with her umbrella, meant her new clothes would be completely drenched by the time she got to the reading. Johanna was nervous about running into unsavory characters on the subway but decided that if she wanted to stay dry, she’d just have to get used to it. So, she talked herself into it, and everything was fine until she got off at Karlsplatz, where two suspicious-looking men hurried past. Using the map she’d printed out from Google, she turned down a side street in the direction of the bookstore. Thomas was trotting down the same alley, only a few steps ahead.
Thomas’s cell phone rang loudly, shrilly, and unmusically. He’d chosen a simple ringtone that made it unequivocally clear that what he was hearing was a telephone call and not a radio. Having Rolling Stones, Simply Red, or Queen songs as a ringtone would have confused him. It was his friend Christoph calling, asking him to meet.
“Right now,” Christoph said. “It’s an emergency.” He simultaneously cursed and sobbed as he spoke—a combination of emotions with which Thomas was unfamiliar.
Christoph’s girlfriend had left him. Thomas knew that he had no other choice but to go console his friend. He turned around immediately. Johanna, her umbrella held close to her head, bumped into him and apologized without looking up. Though the collision startled Johanna, she held her course to the bookstore and forgot all about it within five minutes.
The shop smelled of old books. The wood-plank floors creaked and groaned as she walked over them; the sound triggered a feeling of comfort, reminding Johanna of her family’s old living-room floor, which had creaked the same way many years ago. Her childhood home was originally an old farmhouse. For a second, Johanna could even remember its smell. Her mother was an interior designer and had redecorated it, completely upholding the traditional elements of the farmhouse, but at the same time expanding it
with contemporary elements. Newspapers and magazines often photographed the house and its interior. Johanna’s mother redecorated as often as some people cut their hair. As a child, Johanna didn’t understand all the fuss. She was just glad that the smell of manure gradually faded away.
She sat down on a chair in the fourth row and looked anxiously at the stage.
“May I?” a young man with brown hair and wet clothing asked. He made it abundantly clear that he wanted to sit right next to Johanna. The wet shirt immediately caught her eye; it stuck like glue to his upper body. Johanna nodded and he continued. “I should have brought an umbrella.”
She briefly turned to him, gave him a half smile, and turned her gaze toward the stage. A half smile was the most Johanna could manage—she was too shy to say or do anything more. Usually, when she saw an interesting, good-looking man, she would take measures to make herself invisible. She’d duck her head or turn away, which is what she did right now. The wet man dug out the event program from his left coat pocket, briefly left to hang his coat, and came back. He carefully unfolded the program on his lap.
“My name is Daniel, by the way.” He offered his hand to Johanna.
She stretched out her hand to him somewhat hesitantly, then said, “Johanna.”
“Hi, Johanna, pleased to meet you. Are you familiar with this author?”
Apparently, he was as talkative as Johanna was shy. She found herself quite overwhelmed by the situation.
“You’re a fan of this author?” he asked again.
“Yes, I’ve read all his books.”
He nodded. They both fell silent. Johanna looked to the front again; Daniel did the same.
After a while, Johanna asked hesitantly, “And you?”
Daniel turned his head to Johanna, “Yes, me, too. He has a brilliant writing style and the stories are quite exciting.”
Suddenly, the conversation between the two thawed a little; what had been a frosty January turned into March, and the thick blanket of snow began to melt.
“Have you ever been to a reading before?”
“Do you mean in general, or with this author?”
“No, I meant with this author,” she said.
“Yes, quite often. I’m very excited about his new book. The press is just about deifying him.”
“I’ve read quite a few pages, and it’s really good.” Johanna smiled shyly. Then the reading began.
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.
