by May, Lana N.
Thomas sat on the bench in front of the fountain, beside a closed café. Two passersby crossed the plaza; here and there he heard the drone of cars. A delivery truck parked in front of the café, carrying fresh bread and rolls through the back door. The driver wore a dark uniform and carried precious goods, almost like James Bond on a secret mission. Thomas caught a whiff of the fresh bread and inhaled deeply. He usually didn’t go out walking at this time of the morning, and neither did anybody else; the streets were nearly empty. Back in college, if he’d been out at this time, he probably wouldn’t have been sober enough to appreciate it. Now, older, sober, and in love, he could hear eager birds singing loudly and clearly. Thomas was so happy that he beamed like the headlights of a new BMW. His inner vitality and new lust for life seemed to affect everything he saw. He felt he could even uproot trees with his bare hands. He moved energetically down the street with no real destination in mind.
Around nine o’clock, Johanna’s cell phone rang. Paolo wanted to know everything.
“Every detail, sweetheart. Tell me everything. I’ve made myself a big pot of tea, and I’m waiting for your story with bated breath. Come on now, honey, dish all the dirt,” he said cheerily.
Johanna sighed, bit her lip, and thought dreamily about last night. “There isn’t that much to tell, exactly, but it was so, so intense.”
“What happened?”
“We talked and we kissed.”
“And what else did you do? You can’t tell me that you just chatted and kissed the whole night.”
“Well, we went to a really fancy restaurant, but we didn’t talk very much at first; we were both being kind of shy. I didn’t know what to talk about, and I think he was in the same boat. We talked only about boring, trivial things.
“Oh, so then that’s when you kissed?”
“No, that happened later, when we went to my place.”
“So you brought him to your place and nothing happened except kissing? That could only happen to you.”
“We kissed for a long time, and it was beautiful, Paolo. I miss him already!” She sat on the couch in her yellow polka-dotted bathrobe.
“Well, he must be a hell of a kisser,” said Paolo, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Oh, yes,” she gushed as she lay down on the side of the couch that Thomas had sat on. She stroked the couch softly with her hand.
“And when are you going to see each other again?”
“We haven’t made plans yet, but I’m certain we will soon. I can’t wait to see him again. I could call him now . . . Well, I don’t know, that would seem too desperate, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would; don’t do it. Oh, Johanna, your evening sounds lovely. I hope he thinks so, too,” said Paolo, regretting the last part as soon as he’d said it.
“What do you mean, you hope he thinks so, too?”
“No, forgive me, I didn’t mean to say that. You know I’m an eternal pessimist.”
“Yes, you are, so don’t infect me with your cynicism. I want to try to see things between Thomas and me in a whole new light and forget what happened back in the fall.”
“Yes, that’s a good plan. Please excuse me, I really didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay, Paolo. I understand. But I have the feeling that it could get really serious between us. I’m pretty sure he thinks so, too.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Paolo.
Stretching out on the couch, Johanna searched for Thomas’s masculine smell. Maybe there was still a hint of him somewhere on one of the pillows.
Thomas paced around his apartment, holding his smartphone with his right hand and an old coffee cup in the other with the slogan, “I’m a genius, but nobody notices it.” It was a ridiculous relic from his student days. He couldn’t decide whether he should contact Johanna right now or wait till later. He wanted to know how she’d slept, what she dreamed of, what she was wearing, how she looked right now, how she smelled; he wanted to know everything, but what interested him the most was what she thought about their fledgling relationship. Did she think that there was any chance for them at all? A seed of doubt started to grow inside Thomas. Did she see things the same way he did? He needed to know right now, so he scrolled to Johanna’s number, but then chickened out and wrote her a text message instead.
My dearest Johanna, I hope you slept well. I hardly slept at all ;-) I thought of you the whole time.
Thomas deleted it; it was far too sappy.
Dear Johanna, I hope you slept well. Can I see you?
Not sappy enough. He deleted it once more, and then started over.
Dear Johanna, last night was so beautiful. Do you have plans for today? Kiss, Thomas.
He decided the text was half-cheesy, half-good, and sent it off. She texted back, fast as lightning.
Hello, Thomas, no plans. And you? Kiss, Johanna.
He wondered if she’d been staring at her cell phone, waiting.
It’s good you don’t have plans. Should I make plans for us?
Johanna wrote back, No, don’t make plans.
Thomas was perplexed. What did that mean?
I’m making plans :), she followed up quickly, and he calmed down again. Johanna tortured him by letting a half hour pass before making a proposal.
Let’s meet at the Naschmarkt to pick up some groceries, and then we can make brunch together at my house?
Yes, or we can eat at my house. I live just around the corner from the Naschmarkt.
When?
In one hour.
Great. I’ll be counting the minutes till I see you there. Kiss.
Johanna pined for him; he counted the minutes. She kissed the phone and held it to her bosom, rereading the lively texts they’d exchanged over the last eight minutes. She tried to read more into the texts, something she had a bad habit of doing. She possessed a knack for overinterpretation, which wasn’t always to her benefit.
A short time later, they found each other at booth N23. The Naschmarkt had thoughtfully designed the booth numbers so that any moron could find his date. Yelling, food samples, and crowds of people made the Naschmarkt—the heart of Vienna—a unique place. It was more of an open-air cultural fair than a farmers market. The offerings were incredibly diverse. Outdoor seating was hard to get, even on the wintriest days. You were lucky to score a free table any time of the year. The market offered a wide variety of multicolored vegetables, fresh fish, cheeses from around the world, Italian antipasti, and Asian delicacies. It was a paradise for food lovers, with a palette of delicious goodies that left nothing to be desired. Just strolling through the market was a pleasure.
Thomas and Johanna walked around the market carrying a woven wicker basket. It was an heirloom she’d inherited from her grandmother, and she didn’t realize how trendy it was; several people were walking around with expensive new retro baskets that looked like hers. Johanna and Thomas bought flatbread, antipasti, hummus, bananas, grapes, and apples.
“We’ll make a fruit salad,” she said excitedly as she purchased a few apples.
“You’re the chef,” Thomas said with a smile as he carried her basket like a gentleman. He watched his companion with pleasure as she smelled the fruit, picked out spices, and tasted everything offered to her.
“I think we have everything,” she said with satisfaction, then gave him a kiss on the cheek.
He pulled Johanna close and gave her a proper kiss.
“Good, then, let’s walk back to my house,” he said as he pointed to a side street.
The view across the rooftops was breathtaking from Thomas’s apartment. You could see St. Stephen’s Cathedral, the red and gray of old and new buildings, the cars that cruised down the street or stood still in traffic jams, honking wildly. You could also see the peaks of the Kahlen
berg Mountains and the ultramodern DC Towers, which rose dreamily into the steel-blue sky. Johanna couldn’t help but admire Thomas’s condo.
“Your place is huge, and this terrace is awesome. How long have you lived here? You never told me.”
“A long time now. Yeah, the apartment is great; I love living here.”
“Is the terrace all yours?”
“Yes, it’s completely mine,” he laughed as he unpacked their groceries.
“You can lie outside all day, read a book, listen to music, enjoy the sun. You can work on your tan, or you can sit in the shade if it gets too hot or you want to stay out of the sun for some reason. There’s even a huge outdoor table for when you have friends over . . . Wow!” Johanna just couldn’t get over it.
“You’re welcome to sit out here whenever you like,” said Thomas as he stood at the terrace door watching Johanna’s delight.
“Crazy.” She leaned over the terrace and looked down. The apartment must have cost a fortune.
They walked into the kitchen.
“Is this place yours, or do you rent?” she asked as she popped a grape into her mouth.
“I was renting at first, but after a while, I bought the place. I loved it, and it was time to invest in something, because the economy wasn’t stable. Savings accounts are bad investments when interest rates are so low,” he said as he took a plate and knife out of the cabinets. “I don’t invest in stocks, and real estate usually doesn’t lose its value.”
“Wait a second, let me do some of that,” Johanna said, and took the cutting board and knife out of his hands. “I’ll make the fruit salad,” she declared. “You can set the table if you’d like.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Thomas as he carried the napkins, dishes, silverware, and glasses into the living room.
Johanna followed him with the breadbasket.
“You have a ton of books!”
“Yes, I’m very proud of my collection.”
“Those books by Thalia are complete crap,” she said, and then went over to the CD section; next to it were vinyl records. “Want to put on some nice music for us?”
“What would you like to hear?”
“Surprise me; you’re the one with great musical taste.”
Thomas appreciated the compliment. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, he had dreamed of being a famous DJ. When he’d told his parents he wanted to drop out of school, go to London, and do something with music, they dashed his dreams. His parents weren’t impressed with his vague musical plans and forced him to stay in Austria. The only reason they were successful was because he was still a minor. Thomas was grateful about it nowadays, because though he loved music, he wasn’t really a born DJ, and the nightlife would have been exhausting for him after a while, especially after his thirties. He couldn’t imagine playing music until he retired—an aging wild man running around with teenagers until three in the morning. Thomas looked for an old U2 CD.
“Do you like their music?”
“Yes, definitely,” she said as she chopped the fruit into neat little pieces.
His kitchen was outfitted with the latest high-tech gadgets. Johanna was sure that Thomas barely used them. She suspected that some of them had never been used at all. They were just state-of-the-art decorations in this perfect kitchen, glistening under the bright kitchen lights like all get out.
“Do you ever cook for yourself?”
“No, not really. You mean because of the kitchen appliances?” He had Johanna all figured out.
“Yes, because you have all this great equipment here. It’s very impressive, even better than what we have at the cooking school.”
“I know; I don’t actually know how to use this stuff. But now that you’re here . . . You can come any time and cook for yourself—and save a few bites for me,” he said impishly.
“I’ll teach you how, and you can cook for us both.”
He liked Johanna’s assertive, cheeky side.
“Well, the only thing missing is the antipasti and hummus, and then we can start eating,” she said as she gently pushed Thomas aside so she could open the packages. She arranged the antipasti carefully on a platter as he stood behind her and kissed her on the neck.
“Stop that!” Johanna giggled. The U2 song “Beautiful Day” rang out from the speakers in the living room. “We can eat the hummus right out of the container,” she said. They went into the living room and sat down at the dining table.
“This looks so delicious,” Thomas said as he reached for some bread. “We should do this more often.”
Johanna was happy. Her face turned the color of a tomato, but she tried hard to look relaxed.
“Good idea. I’ll be there.”
After the meal, the two were so full they decided to lie down on Thomas’s leather couch.
“A little nap wouldn’t be a bad idea right now,” she said as she patted her full stomach in satisfaction.
Thomas moved her hand aside and reached under her blue sweater to stroke her stomach gently. He didn’t trust himself to go any lower, so when his hand got down near her navel, he stopped and let it wander to the side, then slid it upward again.
“We’ll digest and bounce back quickly,” he said.
He moved his fingers lightly over her skin. It was an effective and dramatic move. She turned to him and they kissed. There was a difference between these kisses and the kisses from the night before. This time the kisses were more demanding, more passionate, wilder. Johanna noticed something stirring in Thomas’s pants. He moved his mouth from her lips and nibbled Johanna’s ear. She groped at the bulge in his pants.
“Are you sure you want to?” he asked her. He was quite aroused and hoped she wouldn’t say no.
“Yes, I was ready to back then. Don’t you remember?”
Thomas let his hand slide over her hips. He unbuttoned her jeans and softly massaged her crotch. Johanna started to groan lightly as she caressed Thomas’s neck. He pulled off his jeans. She stroked, then licked what his pants no longer hid. She kissed him passionately and Thomas pulled her sweater over her head. He couldn’t wait to free her from it. He stroked her breasts and let her take off his shirt, which promptly landed next to his pants on the floor.
You smell so good, she thought as she buried her face in his chest, while he gently started to penetrate her.
“Everything okay?” he said, questioning the expression on Johanna’s face; he was afraid he saw uncertainty there.
“Yes, everything’s great. Don’t stop.” Her expression wasn’t sad or uncertain; it was a look of relief that she could finally enjoy this moment. She tenderly pressed her fingernails into his skin, leaving light impressions like footprints in the sand, like the impressions this afternoon of passion was leaving on her.
Thomas and Johanna stayed in bed the entire day, stroking and kissing each other; they shared their feelings about God and the world and everything in between. That evening, they took a shower together and cuddled up in front of the television to watch a DVD. Johanna fell asleep quickly, and Thomas held her in his arms until the end of the movie.
28
The next morning, Thomas got up first and stood in the kitchen wearing a comical rabbit’s foot apron and a chef’s hat. He hummed as he stirred four egg yolks into a pan.
“Good morning,” Johanna mumbled.
“Good morning! Did you sleep well?” he asked as he hopped around the kitchen with the pan.
“Yes, very well. I slept a long time, too. Are you doing an egg dance?”
Thomas laughed.
“No, honestly, are you always in such a good mood in the morning?”
“Yes. What about you?”
Johanna shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Then you’d better watch out, because good moods are infectious!” he teased.
She laughed. �
�What are you making there?” she said as she tried to peek into the pan. The table was lovingly set, decorated with a single lily in the middle.
“The flower is for you; I bought it from the stand down the street. Would you like to read the newspaper while I get everything ready, madam?” he asked, imitating the refined accent of an old-school Viennese waiter as he politely pulled her chair back with a bow.
“What? You were already out and about? You’ve already done everything? Are you some sort of superhero? If so, you should have told me; I don’t like surprises.”
“Yes, exactly. Just between you and me, I’m actually Iron Man,” Thomas joked as he rushed to the stove, briskly stirring the Hollandaise sauce and monitoring the progress of the poached eggs in another pan—a rescue operation suitable for such a hero.
“You’re spoiling me,” she said as she leafed through the newspaper. He treated her as if she were a guest at his very own five-star hotel. She took a bite of the eggs Benedict and smiled with satisfaction.
“Well, you’re my guest; I’m just giving you the royal treatment.”
“Ah, and you do this for all your guests?”
Thomas laughed. “No, not really.”
“This tastes really good!”
“I bet you never would have expected it, right? I have a culinary trick or two up my sleeve. I have a very small repertoire, though. Mostly egg dishes.” Thomas took off his chef’s hat and the rabbit’s foot apron, then sat with her at the table and quickly consumed a double portion of the eggs Benedict.
“No, don’t step on the left pedal; that’s not the gas, that’s the clutch,” said Thomas as he frowned.