Wait for Me in Vienna

by May, Lana N.

  “Well, was it lovely?” asked Paolo.

  “Yes, totally. Dublin is really worth seeing; though it’s a little too cold for my tastes this time of year.”

  “Well, the island certainly isn’t famous for its sunbathing. But I’m not terribly interested in the weather; I’m interested in you and Thomas . . .”

  The plans for New York became more and more concrete.

  “We’ll be sending you over in two months, and it’s looking like you should plan to stay for a while,” his uncle said as he read the latest progress reports on the new branch.

  Thomas knew what that would mean.

  “Do you want to do this? You seem so pensive.”

  “Yes, I do, but I have a new girlfriend, and I don’t know how this is going to work with me over there and her here . . .”

  “Can’t you take her with you?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know. I have to talk to her; she doesn’t know anything about it yet.”

  “You should do that soon. Is the relationship serious?”

  Thomas nodded, then said, “Definitely.”

  “Then there’s no choice but to talk it over with her.”

  35

  Johanna invited Martin and Linda over for dinner on Wednesday. Thomas arrived in the late afternoon to help her set the table and wash the salad greens. She wanted take care of the entrée herself.

  “I feel like such an amateur next to you,” Thomas complained.

  “At least in one area,” Johanna said as she mashed up some potatoes.

  Thomas took a sip from his beer, which he had brought since Johanna never had any around.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “What makes you think that? Because I’m drinking a beer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s so sweet!” she exclaimed.

  “Don’t say ‘sweet.’ A man’s not supposed to be sweet,” he said, tickling her.

  “Stop, we have a lot to do.”

  “You have a lot to do, but my salad is ready and the table’s all set.”

  “Okay, then get out of my kitchen.”

  “I’m already gone,” Thomas declared.

  He looked out the living-room window onto the street below to catch a glimpse of Martin and Linda’s imminent arrival. Once they reached the parking lot, it would be less than three minutes until they rang the doorbell.

  Johanna had put the white wine on ice, and she checked to see that it was cooling properly, very important since she and Linda were wine drinkers. She still wasn’t crazy about beer other than Guinness.

  “They’re coming,” Thomas shouted to the kitchen from his guard post.

  “Great. No problem. It’s going to be a lovely evening.” Johanna hoped she was right about that.

  “Hello, Thomas,” said Martin warmly to his old friend.

  “So great to see you,” Thomas said. They gave each other a high five, a greeting they’d used since their student days.

  “I brought a bottle of wine,” Linda said as she surrendered a little wine bag to Johanna.

  “And for you or for both of us, we brought beer. It’s already cold,” said Martin.

  “You know what’s kind of funny?” Johanna asked as she looked at both men. “Thomas brought beer, too.”

  Johanna had acquired the chef’s habit of inspecting her plates to see that she’d arranged the food just right before sending them out to the table. She would tilt her head left, then right, nod when she was satisfied, and then pick up the next plate. The disadvantage to this ritual was that the food would sometimes get cold, but that didn’t matter to her because she had a penchant for culinary perfection that was stronger than the desire for a warm dish. She had such a talent for food styling that Thomas had once suggested that she start a career in it. Johanna had no idea what he was talking about. Thanks to Google, though, she would close that knowledge gap in a very short time.

  “Wow, you’ve outdone yourself, Johanna,” gushed Linda, who had saved her appetite all day.

  “You two were in Dublin?” Martin asked Thomas, and he started to tell them about their short trip. Martin was familiar with the city because he’d gone there with Thomas and a few other friends years back, kind of a boys’ trip. Martin was one of the guys who’d thrown up.

  “Oh, the lovely poteen,” he sighed, and left it at that, as if to say that what happened in Dublin would stay in Dublin.

  “Did you see the game the day before yesterday? It was awesome, wasn’t it?”

  Thomas nodded. In order to see it, he’d left work early and watched it for a few hours without Johanna around. In hindsight, it had been a wise decision, as the soccer game was indeed awesome. Thomas pulled out his smartphone, and the two men watched clips of the best goals. They got so excited that they almost decided to watch the whole match again—just as Johanna was serving dessert. She shot Thomas a look, waving the mango cream right under his nose. He got the message immediately.

  “Let’s watch that a little later. How are the wedding plans coming along?” Thomas asked.

  At first, Linda was a bit reticent, but she became more enthusiastic as she opened up about her plans. She shared her ideas about potential venues, which she had come up with practically single-handedly.

  Martin only nodded.

  “Our wonderful florist recommended purple flowers.”

  Martin nodded.

  “The bridesmaids will wear pale yellow.”

  Martin nodded.

  “We haven’t decided on my dress yet, but we’ll figure that out next, right?” Linda looked at Johanna.

  Martin nodded.

  Thomas looked at Martin. “Are you planning to go, too?”

  Martin started to nod absentmindedly, but caught the joke in time. He hated wedding planning, but he loved Linda; he trusted her to make the right decisions for a perfect day.

  “Yes, next week we’ll go look at some wedding dresses,” Johanna said as she wiped some mango cream off Thomas’s chin.

  Linda and Martin left a little before midnight.

  “It was such a lovely, relaxed evening, don’t you think?” Johanna asked as she washed the dishes.

  “Yes, it was quite lovely,” Thomas said. He was pretty tipsy and Johanna was, too; she and Linda had split almost two bottles of wine.

  “They thought your cooking was delicious. Sweetheart, you are a gifted cook,” Thomas said proudly, then kissed her and held her close.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” Since when does he use a word like “sweetheart”? Johanna thought, and let him reach under her T-shirt.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “You have to get up early tomorrow morning.”

  “But we’re not going to be seeing each other for a couple of days,” Thomas said as he picked her up and brought her to bed.

  Johanna couldn’t resist his deliciously erotic touches.

  36

  “Thomas, you have to get to the airport,” Johanna cried, and shook Thomas rudely from his dreams.

  “It’s late. Shit!” he said as he sprang out of bed, stumbled over the mountain of clothes that had piled up next to their bed the night before, then disappeared into the bathroom to speed-brush his teeth. Then he tucked his toothbrush away in his overnight bag while Johanna, fast as lightning, threw some salami and ham into a sandwich roll and wrapped it in foil.

  “Here,” she said. “Don’t forget your sandwich.”

  It was no wonder they’d overslept; they’d stayed up way too late last night. Thomas grabbed his suitcase, stuffed a small bottle of mineral water from the fridge into his briefcase, and then kissed Johanna good-bye. Then an “I love you” burst out of his mouth. Johanna froze as he disappeared through the door. His unplanned profession of love hit him when he was in the taxi. He didn’t regret anything about it, though,
because it was true. He was in love.

  Johanna, meanwhile, was beside herself. It was still so early in their relationship for him to have said that. And worse, she hadn’t replied. Should she have said it, too? What if something happened to Thomas on his trip, and she hadn’t professed her love for him? Then her bland, unromantic last words, “Don’t forget your sandwich,” would be the last thing she ever said to him. Would Thomas be sitting in the taxi or at the airport, brooding over her silence? Hopefully, he knew that he’d run out of the house too fast for her to have a chance to respond appropriately. Besides, she felt the same way. She wasn’t just in love, she was really in love.

  37

  So many things did not go according to plan, and Thomas was unbelievably busy the whole time he was in New York. He had to hustle to wrap up before he could fly home again, or else he’d have to postpone his flight, and he didn’t want to do that. He was eager to get back to Johanna because, starting with his first evening alone in the big hotel bed with a height-adjustable mattress and fancy down pillows, he missed her. He worked overtime each day to make sure he could get back to Vienna as scheduled.

  They talked by phone every day. Johanna made him tell her all about New York: what New Yorkers wore, about the hot-dog stands you always saw on television, everybody walking everywhere, the women wearing their special walking shoes until they arrived at the office, where they traded them for outrageously expensive and dangerously tall high heels like in the movie The Devil Wears Prada. Did every woman run around with a yoga mat under her arm? How safe was it there? Was it really so loud, and were there really tons of policemen? Had he run into movie stars while jogging in Central Park? Was there really a McDonald’s or a Burger King on every corner? And so on and so forth. Thomas was patient and answered all her questions—even though it took about two hours.

  “Did I leave out anything?” he asked her after the storytelling marathon.

  “No, but shouldn’t you be working? It’s the middle of the workday in New York now!”

  Thomas had to laugh. “Answering your questions was arguably the hardest work I did all day.”

  38

  Johanna took a long walk. Vienna had gotten a bit warmer, and she needed only a sweater around her shoulders to keep warm. The roses in the city garden bloomed slowly; some buds were brave enough to open; some seemed hesitant to drink up a last bit of courage from the sun so they could finally bloom. Tourists expected a sea of multicolored flowers in shades of red, white, yellow, and pink; the blooms would serve as a wonderful background for their perfect keepsake photos of historic, romantic Vienna. They could use them as a screensaver on their computers until the next trip or winter came, and then the photos of flowers might give way to photos of various winter wonderlands.

  It wouldn’t be long before the summer heat would wend its way into Vienna. Then it would be too hot much of the time; other times, it’d still be too cold or too windy. When it got too hot, fans and air-conditioning units would sell out quickly; you couldn’t even order them on the Internet. Shop owners gouged tourists on certain items in midsummer—a single half liter of bottled water would cost over three euros in the souvenir shops, for example. Public swimming pools would close due to overcrowding, and if you tried to swim in the old Danube, you’d find yourself covered in oil, which would unwittingly double as a slimy sunscreen. Johanna walked past the courthouse, past the city theater to a bookstore in the first district to browse through the latest bestsellers. She missed Thomas already and counted the days until his return.

  Dozens of people—some stressed out, others relaxed—thronged onto narrow subway platforms as they waited for their trains, beads of sweat glistening on their foreheads. It was unusually warm for this time of year. What they all had in common was the hustle and bustle of the morning rush hour. The subway turnstiles and exits squeaked as hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers, tourists, and new arrivals to the city passed through daily. Thomas wasn’t one of those countless passengers who squeezed onto the train, grateful for every bit of space to stand or sit. He stuck to the street. He was lucky that his hotel was only a short walk from his office. It was nearly three o’clock in Vienna, he noted as he looked at his watch, which was still on Central European time. As he rode up the many floors in the glass elevator to his office, the sun lit up the cloudless sky and New York’s building facades sparkled. In the office, he eagerly turned on his computer, hoping for a message from Johanna. Unfortunately, he was disappointed to find only work e-mails in his inbox.

  New York, 9:15 a.m.: What a disappointment! I got up this morning, walked to my office, and, full of hope, I turned on my computer. I checked my e-mail. The saddest moment of the day: no e-mail from you.

  After sending his message to Johanna, Thomas took care of thirty-four company e-mails. Johanna wrote back:

  Vienna, 3:22 p.m.: Good morning to you in New York! Why didn’t you just check your smartphone first thing? Then you wouldn’t have had to wait so long to know that I didn’t write an e-mail. You didn’t write yesterday evening/night, either. Right? Kiss.

  She had a point; he hadn’t written last night . . .

  New York, 9:35 a.m.: Let’s change the subject. How’s the weather there? Spring is in full swing here. This time of year is simply captivating. What did you do today? Tell me every little thing; I want to know it all. Kisses, Thomas

  Vienna, 3:40 p.m.: Change of subject accepted; the weather’s great in Vienna, too. I just finished shopping; it was extremely therapeutic. xx, Johanna

  New York, 9:50 a.m.: Subject line: What did you buy?

  Vienna, 3:55 p.m.: Subject line: Subject line: Are you only going to write in the subject line?

  Suddenly, Johanna’s cell phone rang. It was Thomas.

  “Hello, Johanna.” He sounded happy.

  “Talking on the phone is better,” she said as she put her woven shopping basket down and sat on a park bench.

  “Yes, but e-mail’s good in a pinch.”

  “In a pinch? I’m good in a pinch?”

  Thomas had to laugh. “Are you okay?” he inquired.

  “Yes, but I’d be even better if you could come back now,” she admitted.

  “Yeah, I know. I feel the same way, but it won’t be much longer. Besides, I haven’t been gone that long,” he said, knowing that he would have to go back to New York soon, and next time he’d have to stay much longer. He hadn’t mentioned it to her yet.

  “Did you do anything last night?” she asked.

  “Yes, I went to a musical.”

  “Really? Who’d you go with?”

  “So, to answer your first, missing question, it was the musical version of Spider-Man, and I went with a colleague from the new office here.”

  “Spider-Man?” Johanna began to laugh; that was exactly the kind of thing Thomas would like.

  “Yes, Spider-Man, and it was good. They did a great job with it. So don’t laugh.”

  “I readily believe that you went with a male colleague.”

  “And you? What did you do?”

  “Nothing much. I stayed home, and before that I went to your place and watered the flowers,” she said, but she didn’t mention that she’d worn his sleeping shirt while she hung around his house, relishing his smell.

  “Doesn’t sound too exciting, unless my plants have transformed into something special or different?”

  “No, they haven’t. They haven’t even moved; they didn’t throw a party or get drunk.”

  “Well, that’s good; I raised them well.”

  “I think you were a bit too strict with them, actually; they’re not really blooming at all.”

  “Yes, it was a very old-school upbringing: flower boot camp!”

  They used their last ten minutes to talk about Thomas’s work, and then he had to go to a meeting.

  39

  The days until Thomas’s return
were agonizingly slow, like the days for an eight-year-old waiting for Christmas day in the middle of November. He and Johanna continued to talk on the phone and write e-mails daily, and both worked more intensively than usual, which was a good thing, since they had both neglected their duties lately due to their new romance. Finally, they could wake up at eight in the morning with a clear head, take care of business the whole day, and not relax until well into the evening. Independently of each other, they went out for a beer or a glass of wine with new friends or work colleagues, or they watched TV alone; Johanna ate popcorn and Thomas ate nachos. In her free time, Johanna went to yoga, Pilates, and Hot Body for abs, legs, and butt. After work, Thomas went jogging. Johanna usually ate muesli or bread with butter for breakfast; Thomas ate ham and eggs. She rode her bike to work; on the other side of the world, amid the chaotic New York mornings, he happily walked to the office. He delegated; she was delegated to. At midday, he grabbed something from Starbucks or a kiosk; she got a good lunch at the school. Afterward, he’d hungrily down a donut or two; she wouldn’t, still full from lunch. In between, they exchanged short, kissy-kissy e-mails, which signaled that longer phone calls would soon be forthcoming. They’d both fall asleep late in the evening dreaming of each other, and they would both wake up well rested the next morning, still longing for each other.

  And that’s how the days passed until the epic day finally came for Thomas to fly back to Vienna. Johanna spent the last few hours before Thomas’s return shaving her legs, armpits, and parts of her body that only Thomas touched. She also plucked her eyebrows and applied a face mask to help her dry skin. While Thomas was away, she hadn’t shaved with any regularity, simply letting everything grow out. But those days were over; after all, they weren’t Adam and Eve. This was the modern world, with depilatories, razors, and wax—all the necessities a person could desire for discreetly removing unwanted hair.