Wait for Me in Vienna

by May, Lana N.

  After all her body parts were smooth again, she checked her shopping list to see what was missing, planning to welcome Thomas home with both a sleek body and a culinary delight for dinner. She also pulled her newest acquisition from her dresser—lacy black lingerie she would wear later. A few months ago, she’d worn simple, comfortable cotton underwear because it was practical and cheap, although very unsexy. Back then, it didn’t bother her or make any difference to her nonexistent boyfriend. She had large rollers in her hair as she whipped up the mascarpone cream, which she wanted to serve up later with a pear mousse and a pinch of cinnamon.

  Standing in Thomas’s kitchen now, she was a fully transformed Johanna. No one could have predicted this transformation, and three years ago, few would have believed it was even a remote possibility. Back then, due to the tragic circumstances of her past, she’d retreated from everyday life, just doing what she could to survive. Now, though, Johanna was thriving. She was happy and grateful for every day because she knew how quickly everything, including those things that made her the happiest, could be taken away. Every day was special. She secretly prayed that the happiness she and Thomas had would last forever. He was so dear to her heart; she could easily imagine having children with him and maybe even a dog. She wanted a traditional family. She would be there for the children and, if they agreed, the dog, preferably a German shepherd. Thomas would go to work; Johanna would stick to a budget, cook, and keep the house clean. On weekends, they would go shopping together, take day trips, and eat leisurely breakfasts. Once or twice a year, they would go on vacation. In the evenings, after they lovingly tucked their children into bed, they would enjoy a glass of wine or a Guinness on the terrace or cuddle in front of the TV. Her dreams were very simple. Liberated women might cry out, “Wake up, girl, those days are gone!” but as old-fashioned and unemancipated as it may have seemed, this was exactly how she wanted to lead her life.

  “I’m not stupid; Martin has to clean and cook, too,” Linda once said to Johanna.

  But Johanna imagined living primarily for her children, her husband, and the inevitable dog; she’d be good at wrangling the budget. Since her fifteenth birthday, she’d had no real family life; maybe that’s why she was so eager to embrace one now.

  Thomas was exhausted when he got back to his apartment in Vienna around five in the afternoon. He’d hardly slept on the plane because the passenger in the next seat, an old man with a cowboy hat, snored staccato rhythms out of Haydn’s Surprise Symphony the whole flight. Johanna promised to get him earplugs so that, the next time he flew, he wouldn’t even be able to hear Mozart’s A Little Night Music. She looked beautiful. The only thing missing was a big gold bow draped around her waist; otherwise, she looked as pretty as a porcelain doll in her lovely Desigual dress.

  The two welcomed each other with a kiss, which lasted at least ten minutes and ended in bed. Their lovely gourmet meal got cold since they didn’t come up for air until much, much later. Johanna soaped up Thomas’s back as they luxuriated in his big bathtub, the warm water caressing their bodies. The mirror fogged up and candle wax dripped onto the corners of the tub.

  “I missed you so much,” he said as he let Johanna shampoo and massage his head. “You do that even better than my hairstylist.”

  “I think you need to go to the salon more often if you’re thinking about her so much.”

  “Whatever you say, she’s going to retire soon, but if you’re jealous . . .”

  Johanna playfully dunked Thomas under the water. “I missed you, too,” she said.

  This special moment felt like it could last forever. Reuniting with and embracing a loved one after a long separation was always special. They could enjoy each other’s smells and bodies, high on the joy of being together, experiencing the magic and electricity between them.

  Can we just stay like this forever? Johanna asked herself as she watched Thomas in amusement when he rose from the tub, dried himself off, and gave his best dance performance, twirling his towel in the air wildly like Elvis Presley.

  After they ate their warmed-up dinner together, they cuddled in front of the TV and channel surfed.

  “Johanna, I have something to tell you.” Thomas sat straight up; his expression was suddenly serious.

  She became quite alarmed; she was worried he might tell her it was all over. “What is it, Thomas?”

  “Well, it looks like our New York office is on track to launch sooner than expected. I have to fly over there again next week.” Thomas paused for a moment.

  “Already?”

  “Yes, but Johanna, I have to stay there a lot longer this time.”

  “Two weeks?” she asked.

  “No, longer.”

  “What do you mean longer? Spit it out already,” she demanded. She suddenly lost the urge to snuggle up to him.

  “Three or four months.” Thomas’s voice faltered on the word “four.”

  “Four months? Are you crazy? What about us?”

  “You can come with me.”

  “I can’t come with you.” She shook her head indignantly.

  “Just for a little while?”

  “Not, not at all. I’m working at the cooking school full time now, and I can’t just jump ship! I don’t want to, either.” Johanna’s voice was full of despair. “This job is an amazing chance for me. I can’t leave.”

  “Okay. I’ll fly home as often as possible.”

  “But that’s not the same.” Tears rose in Johanna’s eyes.

  “Johanna,” Thomas said tenderly as he turned her head toward him, “there’s nothing I can do to change this.”

  “But if you won’t be here . . . who will I get up with early in the morning? Who will I eat with and sleep with? Do you really believe talking on the phone and e-mailing will be enough to sustain our relationship? Why do you have to be the one to go over there? Can’t anybody else do this? Your uncle?”

  “Johanna, please, I took on this project. I was there from the beginning. This is a big chance for me, too.” Thomas paced up and down the living room.

  “Big chance? There’s a big chance that our relationship might not survive,” she said as she stood up to go back into the kitchen, where she planted herself in front of the window with her arms crossed.

  Thomas ran over to her. “Johanna, we can do this. I’ll fly home every two or three weeks. And maybe you can even visit once or twice. You’ll see; the three months will go by like nothing.”

  “Four, you said!”

  “Three, at the most four!”

  “We’ll see about that. But don’t be surprised if things don’t stay the way they were,” she threatened.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing, but it’s possible that I won’t be here.”

  “Now you’re being unfair.”

  “This could change everything between us.”

  “Well, that’s a risk I’m willing to take, because I love you, and being away isn’t going to change that for me.”

  “Isn’t Clarissa in New York?” Johanna realized what a bad idea it was to bring it up the moment she did it.

  “Oh, so that’s what this is about? You’re afraid that I’m going to cheat on you with her over there?” yelled Thomas. “You don’t trust me?”

  Now he was deeply offended, and Johanna was sorry. He went back into the living room, sat down at the table, and flipped through a magazine at lightning speed without paying attention to the content. She felt a pain in the pit of her stomach; Thomas’s chest hurt.

  She doesn’t trust me, he thought as he went to the window, ran his hand through his hair, and stood there, frozen with sadness.

  An hour later, Johanna tiptoed carefully into the living room.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and hugged him from behind. “I trust you, but I don’t think I can stand being without you for three mont
hs. I miss you even when you’re gone only for a few hours.”

  It was the same for Thomas.

  “We’ll find a solution. I’ll fly back home as often as possible. We’ll make it happen. And we’ll fill in the rest of the time with phone calls and e-mails,” he said as he turned around to gaze deeply into Johanna’s eyes.

  They both immediately committed themselves to making this work.

  “Okay, let’s not think about it anymore right now. Let’s try to enjoy this week we have together before you go.”

  40

  At six the next morning, Johanna lay in Thomas’s arms, one leg slung over his knee, the other one stretched out over the mattress. She slept deep and hard.

  What is she dreaming about? Thomas asked himself as he watched her.

  Thomas had slept poorly, trying to figure out if there was any way he could send someone else over to New York, since Johanna wasn’t strong sometimes. She was vulnerable, and her experience with her parents had taught her to fear abandonment, even if there was an end date to her separation from someone. He understood this about her. But who could he possibly send in his place? Plus, vanity made it hard for him to consider giving the project to someone else. After all, he had invested so much in it already, and he wanted to be the one to see it through. He had to figure something out so that she wasn’t too lonely and sad without him.

  41

  The week they spent together was spectacular, as Johanna put it at the airport. She stood next to Thomas at the check-in counter with tears in her eyes. The lady in the crisp red uniform was remarkably friendly and smiled constantly. Was she forcing herself to smile so much? Or was always being in such a damn good mood a job requirement?

  “Okay, Johanna, I have to go now,” said Thomas as he pointed at the big airport clock.

  Johanna took a deep breath, then looked at the ceiling, trying to hold back her tears.

  Thomas held his boarding pass so tightly that his sweaty fingers almost tore a hole through it. It read, Gate H3, boarding time 9:40 a.m. Hundreds of people passed by the large digital display panel, which revealed the flight to New York was on time.

  “Johanna, look at me. We’re going to see each other soon. I promise!”

  She nodded and brushed imaginary strands of hair away from her face.

  He looked at the sweaty boarding pass again.

  “I know, you have to go,” she said.

  He nodded and kissed her good-bye, disappeared through the doorway, then looked back through the milky glass again, as she mouthed her up-till-now unsaid “I love you.”

  As the express train whisked her away from the airport, she remembered Thomas’s promise: “I’ll write you an e-mail every day. I’ll make you feel as though we spend every day together.” Johanna had laughed when he said that, laughed right in his face. The idea was so creative and original, but she wanted to wait and see how he’d actually do it.

  Later that day, she met up with Martin and Linda. Martin knew that he’d have to be there for his sister again, and he wasn’t going to let her down. Sitting in a café, the three ate some apple strudel and drank caffe lattes. But who could enjoy apple strudel when you’d just said good-bye to the love of your life?

  Linda cleverly used the opportunity to hire Johanna to plan the catering for the wedding, which she knew would be a good distraction. Plus, Linda was thrilled because she knew what a great job Johanna would do, and Johanna said she could even arrange a significant discount for the catering from the cooking school. Linda and Martin discussed what they wanted to offer their guests, but they didn’t agree on everything. After a while, Martin bowed out of the discussion and left it to the ladies to work things out.

  While they were debating the respective merits of a passed hors d’oeuvres, a sit-down meal, and a classic buffet, Thomas called. He had arrived and everything was fine. He had to go to the office immediately; he’d call back at the next available opportunity.

  Johanna turned on her computer and waited. She looked back and forth between her cell phone and the television for a while. She stayed up until eleven, but there was nothing—no call, no text, no e-mail. Johanna turned off her computer and the TV and went to sleep. She kept her cell phone on.

  42

  The plane was on fire. It had crashed in the middle of a forest en route from New York to Vienna. The charred body of a woman was visible between the wheezing pilots and a bloodied life vest. A woman held her newborn baby’s socks; the child had disappeared in the wreckage. Johanna looked around, screamed, and cried, looking for Thomas. But she couldn’t find him. Drenched in sweat, she hit her arm against the wall and woke up with a start in her own room.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” she cried as she struggled to breathe.

  She turned on the bedroom lights, looked at her cell phone—no call, no text; that was good. It was four in the morning. She padded sleepily into the kitchen and heated up some water in the teakettle.

  Setting a cup of tea next to her laptop, she checked her e-mail.

  New York, 7:50 p.m.: Hello, my dearest Johanna!

  Today was so chaotic; the office was crazy. You can’t imagine how unbelievably difficult it is to sit around with a bunch of egotistical people going off in every direction at once, unwilling to compromise.

  We thought a lot about the new advertising campaign, and we’re busy picking the new logo. As you can imagine, it’s really hard to reach a consensus. The days are really tedious.

  Around eight o’clock, I finally got home and you surprised me with an amazing lasagna. It was so delicious that it totally made up for how hard my day was. You even gave me a foot massage; you should do that more often. You’re a really talented masseuse, and you enjoyed it, too.

  Later in the evening, we watched a horror movie and you cuddled up close to me. But now we have to go to sleep because we’re both tired and have a strenuous day in front of us tomorrow.

  Kisses,

  Thomas

  It was a perfect distraction from her nightmare. She went back to bed thinking about what he’d written. Admittedly, the e-mail was quite original. Getting a foot massage seemed to be a long-cherished dream for him; perhaps she’d be willing to do that for him on occasion, but it definitely couldn’t become a habit.

  43

  The next day, Johanna got to work on her laptop.

  Vienna, 7:04 p.m.: Dear Thomas,

  Today you really got on my nerves because you kept stretching out your feet in an effort to get me to massage them. I’m not your private masseuse, and I won’t indulge you any time you want. So after we agreed that you’ll get a maximum of a ten-minute massage—how could I resist those sexy, corn-free feet—we went grocery shopping. As compensation for my massage skills, you carried all the bags home. You put lots of junk food in the shopping cart again, which I neatly sorted out before we checked out; I only let a few items through. You should think about what you’re eating every day. Here’s what I tossed out: a family-sized bag of M&M’s, a bucket of vanilla ice cream, a can of artificial whipped cream (gross), and a three-pack of frozen pizza. You protested, “It’s cheaper to buy in bulk,” but I didn’t let you keep it since it’s easy to make pizza from scratch at home. But I let you keep a few candy bars. After all, I don’t want to deprive you of all the pleasures in life.

  Thomas laughed when he read the e-mail. Without Johanna around, he’d been eating prepackaged meals—frozen pizzas and tons of caramel pudding with fake whipped cream. He stared at the empty pudding container next to his keyboard and tossed it into the trash.

  New York, 2:40 p.m.: Dear Johanna,

  You are totally right. Thank God you cooked us something healthy. Oh, I would miss your dishes so much if I were far away, like, in New York, for example. You’re a fabulous cook, and you take such good care of me—no artificial additives in the yogurt, no fake cheese on the fettuccine, no trans fats in the sau
ce. Does it astound you that I know all this? If I had to live a long time without you, which I would never let happen, then I would make sure to eat balanced and healthy meals. I promise. We’ll see each other this evening, then I have to go back to work again.

  Vienna, 9:00 p.m.: Yes, go to work. I hope you can afford to buy me a new Gucci bag. You can afford it if you work hard. See you later. I eagerly count the hours.

  Kisses,

  Johanna

  New York, 3:01 p.m.: Gucci bag? I thought you’d be more interested in cooking spoons, knife sets, and aprons?

  Vienna, 9:02 p.m.: My tastes change from time to time.

  44

  “The canapés were too small, too salty, not imaginative enough . . .” Who knew what the hell else they said. Johanna was exhausted after a long day of work, and totally annoyed by the negative feedback from a couple of clients. Paolo was even more offended, and he would have driven the shameless couple out of his kitchen with a dishtowel if Johanna hadn’t been there to salvage the situation at the last minute. But later, the critics crossed the line again when they said that her yellow cake wasn’t moist enough; she politely asked them to leave.

  “Unfortunately, we just have to deal with it, Johanna,” said Paolo as he shrugged and poured himself a beer. “We may not be able to shunt them off so easily. Chef Geyer wouldn’t let that happen; the customer is always right, she always says. Her reputation is at stake.”