by May, Lana N.
The casserole might not have tasted very good, but when Johanna took it out of the oven after twenty minutes, the dish looked colorful and the ingredients appeared to blend in with each other beautifully.
“Time’s up,” the assistant yelled. She and her boss began to assess the creations. They filled out an evaluation form, which none of the candidates were shown. They didn’t even deign to taste Johanna’s strange casserole, a sure sign that she and the pseudosavior of the world had lost.
“Well, we thank you all for coming. We’re going to consult with each other, and we’ll return shortly to advise you of the results,” the chef, Ms. Geyer, said as she disappeared into a back office.
The selection process reminded Johanna of Germany’s Next Top Model, where Heidi Klum was the judge. However, where Heidi Klum had a slender figure with smooth curves in all the right places, Chef Geyer’s curves were large and lumpy, like a potato sack with a string tied around the middle. They both had the same shade of blonde hair, though.
I wonder if Chef Geyer has ever seen how they pick people on those shows, wondered Johanna as she watched the freaky biology student standing next to her—“I won’t wear leather because that would be so irresponsible”—continue to chatter as he wiped off his plastic shoes with a sponge.
The office door opened a few minutes later, and the chef pursed her lips.
“The groups with the creative schnitzel and the colorful casserole won. The schnitzel didn’t taste bad. However, we preferred the casserole.” Ms. Geyer looked in Johanna’s direction. Jörg was delighted and bounced happily up and down.
“Wait. Only one person from each group is moving on to the last round,” the assistant carefully explained as she straightened her glasses. “Ms. Stern and Mr. Ronacher.”
The chef said good-bye to the other applicants with a “Good luck to you, wonderful to have had you here.”
The assistant gazed at Johanna then said, “If you please, Ms. Stern, come with me right away. Ladies first.”
Chef Geyer went ahead, and a few seconds later, Johanna found herself in a large office. The room seemed bigger than it actually was. Cooking awards covered the walls. Johanna tried to think of any awards that she might have won in her life. She realized quickly that the number came to exactly zero—she really wasn’t the type of person who ever won anything. In school, she hadn’t been that crazy about sports. Her sport of choice was smoking cigarettes that she’d found on the ground, though they always left a terrible taste in her mouth. As for foreign-language competitions, her all-too-willing-to-criticize male Spanish teacher had deemed her “unburdened by talent.”
“Well, you’re never going to marry Prince Felipe. He wouldn’t be able to understand a word you said,” the Spanish teacher had liked to say, as if any of his pupils longed to marry the Spanish royal. Back then, everybody had a crush on Johnny Depp anyway. The Spanish teacher could ride into the sunset with Felipe himself, as far as Johanna and her classmates were concerned. She sat down in Chef Geyer’s office and nervously played with her fingers.
“Ms. Stern, you created a funny little casserole. It appeared edible, but well, I highly doubt whether it tasted good.” The chef laughed as she inspected Johanna’s resume. “Okay, you have a little work experience, but not in the field of cooking, right?” The holes in Johanna’s resume were big enough to drive a grocery-store delivery truck through.
“And you’re very thin; do you eat anything at all?” The chef waited anxiously for her reply.
“Actually, yes,” said Johanna, and paused. She didn’t know quite what else to say. “I find cooking to be very relaxing. That’s why I like it. I admit that I haven’t cooked that much, but I have a talent for detail.”
“Yes, I noticed that.”
“Anyway, I want to learn more, and I think that I could do that with you. I read that you teach all your employees how to cook.”
“Yes, when they don’t know how and I see potential in them. Do you have potential?”
“I would really love to learn, and I think that I’m a quick study. Plus, I have plenty of time on my hands to dedicate to learning how to cook.”
“You had a very tough partner, and I noticed that you didn’t lose your patience. Anybody else would have lost it with that character.” Ms. Geyer smiled. “That’s what won me over. You need patience in the kitchen . . . Okay then, do you have any questions for me?”
Johanna shook her head.
“Okay, that’s it, then . . . oh, the pay, we need to talk about that,” said Ms. Geyer as she leaned forward, folding her hands and describing the hourly wage.
Moments later, Johanna left the office and Mr. Ronacher was called in.
At least half an hour went by before Mr. Ronacher came out again. A winning smile spread across his face as he looked proudly at Johanna. Sitting opposite her, he casually crossed his legs and stared at the white wall behind his competitor. The only thing he didn’t do was whistle “Zippity Doo Dah.” Johanna had talked with the chef for less than ten minutes, so she knew she wouldn’t be getting the job. Game over, she thought. Mr. Ronacher seemed serious, neat, and organized, certainly a good match for the advertised position. Johanna was several years younger, and for the life of her, she couldn’t exude that kind of unwavering confidence. When she tried, it looked as if she’d just bitten into a lemon. The assistant offered them both a cup of coffee. A little later, the chef came out of her office.
“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 o
f 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.
Thomas would be home soon, and Clarissa wanted to change into the little black dress that she’d gotten as a gift at her last job. It was a refined, tight little number, which showed just enough cleavage to stir up the lust of anyone with a pulse. Clarissa knew that she looked stunning. She had curled her hair with a curling iron ahead of time, then pinned it up, pulling out a few sexy strands around her face. The strands were almost as sexy as her dress or, actually, almost as sexy as her body looked in the dress. She wore a burgundy kiss-proof lipstick, which promised another exciting night. She or Thomas would clean up the kitchen later. After all, she had gone to all this trouble to cook.
Johanna made her way to the Thai restaurant. She wore jeans and a black top. She styled her hair with a blow dryer and wore just a hint of blush on her cheeks, a little mascara, and lip gloss on her lips.
Linda had suggested the pink blush. “Pink makes every woman glow,” she had insisted when Johanna asked for advice.
Daniel was waiting for her at the Thai restaurant. He sat in a little alcove by the entrance. The atmosphere was romantic, and his face looked soft and warm in the candlelight. When he saw Johanna, he smiled. He stood up to greet her as he smoothed down his dark-brown pants that he wore with a beige Versace shirt. He was stylish and elegant. Johanna liked that.
Thomas came home to the aroma of baked potatoes. Clarissa met him in the hall.
“Hello, sweetheart. I cooked for you,” she said, smiling.
Thomas was surprised.
“We’re having juicy steaks with potatoes, salad, and a good Cabernet Sauvignon from our last vacation. You remember the nice wine grower,” she explained.
Thomas was very pleased, mainly because Clarissa had actually made an unselfish effort to do something for him.
Daniel and Johanna ordered.
“So tell me more about your new job,” Daniel said, and poured her a glass of white wine.
Their waiter served their food a few minutes later. Johanna elegantly speared a piece of ginger-coconut chicken on her fork; Daniel opted for the salmon and mussel curry as he told her about his trip to Bangkok and sipped his wine. Daniel had traveled all over the world, and Johanna adored his storytelling. She’d never been with anybody who could get to the point so easily, so succinctly, and with such enthusiasm. How could she help falling hopelessly in love with him? How could she keep herself from dreaming of a future with him? How could she keep herself from melting at the sight of his beautiful emerald-green eyes sparkling in the candlelight?
Johanna immersed herself in his tales about his trip to the Amazon, imagining it as if she were Indiana Jones. Her daydream was ruined, however, when she realized that she’d wasted her life so far; she had just been taking up air on this planet, and with each breath, her life was coming closer and closer to the end. She didn’t have one worthwhile or interesting story to tell from the years since her parents’ death, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was as if some inexorable external force had compelled her to desire nothing, to be interested in nothing, to be numb. She’d been unable to feel any real joy or experience anything at all—traveling, dancing, singing, or laughing—all the things that made life worth living. Thanks to her brother, though, she was finally on the right track. Living with him had greatly improved her mental and physical condition; she was beginning to get back to normal, living more and more like normal people should. Now she had goals in life; she was building relationships; she was interested in books, movies, music, clothing, and love. She was taking time for herself and trying to figure out who she was and what she wanted. She wanted to participate in life. It became abundantly clear that, at this moment, Daniel was really good for her.
