Vengeance in Vienna

by Pierce, Blake

  The woman shrugged. “Perhaps. Like I said, he’s very good.”

  “I do feel like I owe you something. Let me at least pay for your coffee.”

  “No need,” the woman said, waving her hands. “It’s my pleasure. I’m happy to grant the opportunity to a fervent music lover such as yourself. You will be moved.”

  “You think so?” Diana asked, opening up her wallet and pulling out the bills. She counted them carefully and slid them across to her. “It’s funny that you say that. Because when I was deciding on coming here, my top bucket list item was to be moved to tears by beautiful music.”

  “Ah. Well, I am sure Lukas Huber will do that for you. Her moves me to tears, just thinking of him.” She stared into her coffee for a moment and sighed. “He’s truly an artist.”

  She lifted her coffee with long, slender fingers. Diana couldn’t help but stare at the massive diamond ring on her finger as she brought the coffee to her lips, leaving a red imprint on the cup that matched the scarf around her neck.

  A woman like her . . . she is well taken care of, I’m sure. She must have a live-in nanny. I can’t believe she couldn’t get a sitter for tonight! Diana thought, but then shook it away as the woman handed her the ticket. She read the words, again and again, getting lost in them. Doesn’t matter. Whatever happened, it’s my gain. I’m going to see Lukas Huber and the Vienna Philharmonic tonight at Musikverein!

  She thanked Leonie Winkler and checked her phone. No more messages from her family, but it was getting late. She rushed from the café, her heart pounding. It was time to get ready for the night of her dreams.

  *

  Back at her suite in the Hotel Beethoven, Diana slipped into her one nice dress, the one she’d gotten in Verona, put on her heels, and stared at herself in the mirror as she applied a mauve-colored lip gloss. Yes, this would do nicely. Not too shabby, Mrs. St. James. You look like you belong among the hoity toity types at Musikverein.

  The only thing that would make her fit in more would be a tuxedo-clad man, on her arm.

  Stop it, Diana. You were just talking about how this trip was about soul-searching and rediscovering your independence. You don’t need anyone else.

  She went through the magazine that had been left in the hotel room and found a restaurant right next door to Musikverein, called, Restaurant Ludwig, which sounded right up her alley. Calling down to the concierge, she said, “Could you please make me a reservation for one at the Restaurant Ludwig for six o’clock?”

  The man cleared his throat. “For one?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly, or as if she’d made a mistake.

  “Yes. That’s right. Just one.”

  It was always the same way. No one seemed to believe that she’d be alone. It was as if they thought she’d made some grave mistake. Interestingly enough, I can count that high. And I’m sure. It’s just me.

  She added, “I’d be fine with bar seating, if they can’t accom—”

  “One moment.”

  Likely, everyone who went to these things went as part of a couple. Or they went with family. Never as a single. She’d be alone at the restaurant, unable to engage in any conversation, staring at nothing and trying to avoid the gazes of pity other patrons gave her. And it would probably look odd, getting a glass of wine at intermission, by herself.

  But she’d gone on this trip expressly to be alone. Because there was something gratifying about self-reliance. It was her way of declaring her independence from her ex-husband, and in doing so, she planned to do just the things that she wanted.

  Okay, so the impetus for the trip had been a man named Stephane, her old French college boyfriend who’d once wanted to whisk her off to Versailles. She’d missed the chance at that, and had instead wound up meeting Evan. On a silly whim, she’d had the idea that she might arrive at Versailles and pick up with Stephane at their masked ball, as if thirty years hadn’t passed in the interim.

  Of course, he hadn’t been there. Instead, she’d had a little adventure with a fake French aristocrat who turned out to be a thief. And she’d met a kind Irishman named Sean. They’d chatted a little, and there had been a few sparks, and he’d said maybe he’d see her again.

  But that was the extent of her interaction with him. He’d been the one good man she’d met during her time in Europe. Grabbing her purse, she pulled out the old Gaelic coin he’d given her, when they parted. Maybe I should text him and see where he is now? He said he might be going to Austria . . .

  Flip a coin. That’s what Sean had said to do.

  So she flipped it and placed it on the back of her hand. “Heads I text him. Tails, I don’t.”

  She looked at it. Tails.

  Hmmm. Fate seems to want me to be alone. But . . . best two out of three?

  She swallowed as she thought of Marco, the last man she’d met, in Verona. He’d been an actor, and at the moment she’d seen him, she’d been starstruck. But then he’d been murdered. He’d drank poisoned wine right in front of her, and she’d been a suspect. After a while, it came out that he was a big ladies’ man, the kind who invited women backstage all the time.

  So no . . . she was pretty much over men. And Sean, as nice as he was, might disappoint her, eventually. Much better to be alone.

  “Frau St. James, your reservation is confirmed,” the voice on the phone said. “Table for one at six o’clock sharp. Enjoy your night.”

  “Thank you.”

  Just as she hung up the hotel phone, her cell phone buzzed. A message from Lily: I think I lost my phone charging cable in Verona—it didn’t get mixed up with your things, did it?

  Diana groaned.

  She typed in No, sorry, just as her phone began to ring with a call from Bea. She answered it. “Hello, Bea. And how are you?”

  Her daughter sighed dramatically. That was Bea—always the overly dramatic one. “Mommy. I texted you hours ago. And you never responded.”

  “I did! I thought I did.”

  “Not to my last one. The one about the wedding.”

  She suddenly remembered the text about the wedding. Something about Hai, and the location, and the date? She really couldn’t recall anything else. Her mind was elsewhere, now.

  “Sorry! I’ve been busy. Yes, I’m in Austria, and you’ll never believe. I’m going to see a performance at Musikverein!”

  Instead of the squeals of excitement she anticipated, her youngest said, “Huh? I don’t even know what that is.”

  “It’s like a better, more historic version of Carnegie Hall. It’s only one of the greatest—"

  “Mom. I don’t have time to chat. I’m here with Hai and his parents. We’re really trying to square away a date for the wedding. So . . . next June?”

  Diana fluffed her hair in the mirror. She didn’t quite understand how all this needed to be decided right away, considering the date was almost a year in the future. “Well, I don’t have a crystal ball so I don’t know what will be happening by June, but I’m assuming it’s okay.”

  “You’re going to come, aren’t you?”

  “Of course! What kind of mother do you think I am? Why would you even ask that? I wouldn’t miss your wedding! So it’s going to be in Japan?”

  “Yes. Really, just his immediate family and mine. I’d love for you to come here so we could go dress shopping, but Hai’s family is Shinto, so I think I’m going to wear a shiro-muko. So it’s probably better if Hai’s mom helps me pick it out.”

  “All right,” Diana said, thought she wasn’t quite sure what that was. Truthfully, she’d never pictured Bea in a white gown. She’d long since known that giving Bea advice was futile—the free-spirited girl did whatever she liked. And as long as Bea was happy, Diana didn’t care. Clearly, from Bea’s chipper tone of voice, she was still ecstatic from the engagement ring she’d gotten, a few days before. “Sounds lovely. Let me know if I can help with anything.”

  “Okay, Mommy. Have fun at Musikhoffen, or whatever you said.”

  “Musikverei
n.”

  “Right! That, too. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  She hung up and realized she had another text from Lily: Mick’s having a fit. I was in such a rush to pack that I think I left the earrings he gave me for our anniversary in the bathroom of the AirBNB we rented in Verona. Do you know the number of them, so I can call?

  Diana sighed and typed in: I’m so sorry. But I don’t have that info. Your father rented the place, remember? Ask him.

  A moment later: Oh, right! Thanks! I’ll check with him.

  She shook her head. Lily had always been the book-smart one, but she lacked common sense, sometimes. Thus, believing in ax murderers, and often losing and forgetting things when she went on trips. And messaging her mother, who was in another country, instead of her father, who was clearly better equipped to help her with this situation. Not that Evan had ever been very good at helping the kids with their “situations.” Diana had always been the fix-it parent.

  But it had always been that way, with everything. Her daughters had always been closer to her than they’d been to Evan.

  But they can do without me for one night.

  She flipped the phone to Do-Not-Disturb and checked the time. Fifteen minutes until her reservation, and then, at eight, she’d be in the hall that had witnessed some of the greatest music ever played. She couldn’t wait. She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

  Don’t worry, Diana. It’s good to be alone. No one to bother you. You can really concentrate on your food. On the music. You’ll have tears in your eyes before long!

  Two hours and counting. Soon, the magic would begin. She wondered if she would even be able to enjoy the meal prior, with the excitement swirling in her stomach.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Diana’s cab pulled up at the restaurant, she looked across the street at Musikverein and a chill passed through her. There it was: the hallowed hall of the greatest musicians known to man. She stared up at it, reading the words, Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, wondering what that meant. A lot of German was similar to English. Friends of music? Well, that was definitely her.

  Similar to the café, the Restaurant Ludwig on Dumbastraße/Bösendorferstraße, though conjuring up images of instruments and sheet music and everything Beethoven, had no décor whatsoever to show that it was connected with the famous music hall across the street. As Diana walked into the modern restaurant with geometrical patterns on the wall and tables with stark white cloths, she decided that the gimmick of adding memorabilia to the walls of a restaurant to convey a cutesy theme was perhaps more of an American thing. As the waiter led her to her table, a booth in the corner, and she shuffled around the long, curved bench seating, she realized she’d have very little of interest to look at while she dined.

  Not to mention, the booth felt rather cavernous for her, alone. She had plenty of room at her elbows. It almost felt as though it was swallowing her up.

  “Enjoy your meal,” the host said as he placed a menu in front of her.

  She took a sip of the water in front of her as she studied the offerings on the menu. As she did, a woman across the way giggled. Diana looked up to see a buxom, scantily-dressed blonde woman with an older man who seemed completely entranced by her. She couldn’t help but think of Evan and his fiancé, Tilda, who was Bea’s age. Evan and Tilda looked ridiculous together, more like father and daughter, probably to everyone but themselves.

  But as she scanned the restaurant, she realized there were quite a few gray-haired or bald men with their attractive, younger significant others.

  The point was, at least they were together. And they all seemed to be having a lovely time.

  Leaving Diana, and all the other women who’d reached their fifties, to sit alone in restaurant corners, drowning their sorrows in wiener schnitzel and beer and watching them having the time of their lives.

  She may have been over men, but sometimes, only sometimes . . . she had to admit, they had their charm.

  The waiter came and said, “All alone, are we?”

  “Yes,” she stated, a little flatly, though just minutes ago, she’d resolved not to let it bother her. Thanks for pointing that out.

  “That’s all right,” he said, as if there was something intrinsically wrong with it, but he needed to be polite. “Would you like to hear our specials?”

  “No, thanks,” she said, now wanting to finish up and leave as quickly as possible. She scanned the menu and chose the first thing that caught her eye. “I’ll have the wiener schnitzel. And a glass of your house white. Thanks.”

  He nodded, took the menu from her, and left.

  She sighed, still watching Blondie and her older companion, heads tilted toward one another, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ear. She took a forkful of something and fed it to him, giggling when he tasted it. They were so involved in one another; Diana didn’t have to worry about openly gawking—they wouldn’t have noticed her if her hair caught fire. She flashed back to the times when Evan had taken her out to fancy dinners in New York, and they’d looked that way, so completely oblivious to everything and everyone around them.

  It had been a long, long time. She could barely remember it. It felt like another lifetime.

  But it was okay. She done all that before. She’d fallen in love, and two lovely children had come out of it. Her marriage had been good, but it wasn’t without its troubles. There was something to be said about being alone, having no one to answer to but yourself. Had I been here with a man, I might not have had the nerve to order something as fattening as the wiener schnitzel—I might have forced myself to go with JUST a salad. And what fun would that be?

  The waiter came by with her first course, and she laid the napkin on her lap and dug in. Salad’s not bad when you have more coming. I don’t even have to worry about getting salad dressing on my chin! This is freeing! She thought to herself.

  Then Blondie giggled loudly. She looked over to see them, glasses raised, toasting each other.

  Diana stared at her as the older man lifted her hand and lovingly kissed her knuckles.

  She sighed and took a large mouthful of her salad. I need to get out of here before I get sick. Quickly.

  As she was sucking a piece of radicchio into her mouth, coated with vinaigrette, someone came and stood in front of her. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Vinaigrette splashed on her face. She looked up to see the large, round form of the man she’d seen earlier, in the park. The one with the pants that went up to his breastbone. Now, he was wearing a dinner jacket that hid that particular wardrobe calamity, but he was still wearing his jaunty Tyrolean hat. He took it off and bowed to her, as low as he could go for his substantial weight, which was only a few inches at most.

  “Oh. Uh . . . hi . . . “

  “Hans.”

  “Right. How are you?”

  “Very good, thanks. And you are?”

  She looked around. “Fine. I’m Diana.”

  He grasped her hand, bowing again and pressing a wet kiss to her knuckles before she could think to pull it away. When she did, she saw slobber, in the shape of his mouth, there. She wiped it on her napkin, finding a bit of brown vinaigrette there, too.

  “I see you are dining alone. I am dining alone, too. Perhaps we dine together?”

  “Well, I—”

  He slid in so that, in order to get away from his massive form, she had no choice but to shuffle over to the other edge of the bench. As he set his big form down, the bench groaned in protest and her cushion inflated underneath her, see-sawing her up a little bit. The crystal and silverware bounced on the table, and she had to grab her wine to stop it from sloshing over the side of the glass.

  Suddenly, the once-cavernous booth felt very cramped, indeed. His large belly strained against the table, looking like a balloon that was on the verge of popping. “The goulash here is particularly wunderbar, might I recommend.”

  She frowned and pointed to her salad. “I’ve already order
ed.”

  “Ah! So you did!” He grinned and patted his hefty stomach. “I can’t eat the salad. It doesn’t agree with me.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I understand,” she said, even though she didn’t. She scanned the tables in front of her, and all the people, making pleasant conversation. Maybe that was all she needed to do. Converse pleasantly with him. It didn’t have to be romantic. In fact, romance was the last thing she wanted. “So, are you from Vienna?”

  He shook his head. “From Innsbruck. So you are American? I have been there once. I like your Longhorn Steak House.”

  “Right. What part did you visit?”

  “Oh, I was just there for business. They had a great buffet breakfast. At the Waffle House?”

  “Yes. Right. What kind of business are you in?”

  “I finance things. We all had dinner at the. . . . the Shoney’s? Yes? That is good food, right there.”

  Yes, America is known for its “fine” dining, for sure. She sighed and looked around. Why did it seem like forever since the waiter had taken her order? “I’m sorry, Hans. But you know, you might want to eat elsewhere. Remember that performance I was trying to get a ticket to? I was able to snag one.”

  “At Musikverein? That’s a feat. Good for you!” His eyes narrowed. “Not from one of those thieves, I hope?”

  “Oh no. I should thank you, because you were right. The scalper’s prices were outrageous. I was able to get the ticket from a woman who was unable to attend. So it all worked out.”

  She pushed her salad away, no longer hungry, as he said, “And what is on the program for tonight?”

  “Oh . . . it’s Lukas Huber.”

  “Ah.” He frowned, opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, because his fleshy jaw snapped shut. Was it possible she’d finally found the one Austrian who wasn’t in love with the pianist? Or maybe he just wasn’t interested in classical. “And what will the philharmonic be performing tonight?”

  “I believe, from what I read, it’s Schubert’s Unfinished, Beethoven’s 4th Piano Concerto, and an original composition from Huber himself that has never before been performed. The Jupiter Symphony.”