by May, Lana N.
“They literally tore everything apart! I mean, didn’t they like anything we prepared?” she asked, and took a sip from Paolo’s beer.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, the hell with it. Come on, let’s not spoil the rest of our evening,” Paolo said as he took off his apron. They’d both had enough for one day.
Vienna, 6:35 p.m.: It was a miserable day at work. Some people can be so cruel. A married couple was extremely critical of our canapés; I’m not convinced that they were even a couple because only the woman wore a ring. Whatever. Bottom line, it sucked, plus at least 90 percent of their complaints were uncalled for. However, when I came home, you took me in your arms and assured me that they were idiots. I appreciate your obviously objective opinion. We lay down on the couch and wiped out a couple of bags of chips, onion chips to be exact, the type we like so much. Damn those preservatives! Then I fell asleep in front of the TV with crumbs all over my clothes. Did you stay up and watch something?
New York, 2:43 p.m.: . . . about those preservatives, I’m surprised to see your violent reaction against them. Yes, I watched television after you fell asleep, and I chased the idiot couple from your mind. But, dearest Johanna, there are always people like that. Don’t worry yourself too much over it, and if any of the criticism was appropriate, learn from it.
Kisses,
Thomas, who misses you, and who successfully banished that idiot couple from your mind.
Thomas’s assistant brought him some coffee—weak, watery American coffee. Thomas was no fan of it, but all the other options were too complicated, and he had to be satisfied with what he got. He missed not only Johanna but also his beloved Illy espresso machine, with the copper kettle and automatic decalcification. He conjured up the smell of the aromatic espresso with hazelnut cream. His assistant spoke perfect German, because she’d worked for many years in Berlin; however, she was born in Spain and had been in New York for two years. She had dark, well-groomed hair; thick, lush lashes; and long legs, which she showed off in stylish skirts of different lengths.
“Bueno, the market share numbers came in,” she said as she laid the paperwork on the table. She’d liked Thomas right off the bat, since he loved Spanish cuisine and was European.
When she brought him a glass of water to drink with his coffee, a perfume cloud reached Thomas’s nose. It seemed that Alejandra wore Gucci Première perfume; he knew it all too well, since it was Clarissa’s favorite fragrance. After noting Alejandra’s one negative point, Thomas focused again on the market share numbers, and his assistant disappeared from the room.
“That looks so intimidating,” said Mr. Lehmann, suddenly filling the doorway.
“Uncle!” Thomas exclaimed happily.
“I thought I’d make an unannounced visit. I hope that’s all right with you?” Mr. Lehmann asked as he sat down in an armchair.
“Yes, of course. How long are you in town?”
“A few days,” he replied. He filled Thomas in on the current business situation back in Vienna.
45
The rain danced on Vienna’s rooftops and washed last week’s dust off the tiles, simultaneously forming small puddles on the streets, which pooled into several inescapable seas for Viennese ants. Children loved the puddles; they hopped in and out of them until their annoyed parents dragged them away, their shoes soaking wet. Johanna had overslept. As she hurried to work, she brooded over Thomas’s e-mail from the previous evening.
However reasonable it was for Thomas to see criticism as a learning opportunity, her wounded ego wasn’t ready for that yet. She had sent him a text response yesterday evening because she didn’t want to boot up her computer so late in the evening, and she disliked e-mailing via mobile as it seemed tedious.
Funny, she thought as she arrived in the cooking school and pushed the “Send and Receive” button—no new e-mail had come in, at least none from Thomas. She deleted the junk e-mails quickly, then she went into the kitchen to make herself a large latte. They were having a meeting soon.
The boss talked about a new target market, a television gig they’d been asked to do, how to stop wasting goods and materials; she also reported on their latest achievements and reviews in fine-dining magazines. Ms. Geyer had mastered the art of keeping a tight rein on her staff since she was the one in the hot seat; at least that’s the impression Johanna got. Chef Geyer quickly delegated responsibilities, set deadlines, and agreed on a date for the next meeting with her employees.
“Well, that will be all,” she said casually. “Johanna, can we sit down and go over the marketing strategy together?”
Johanna nodded.
After the others had left, the head chef straightened her dark-purple glasses. “Your boyfriend is in New York, right?” she said.
This question had nothing to do with the new marketing strategy.
“Yes, but how did—”
“From Paolo, the little chatterbox. Currently, you’re eligible for ten vacation days, but only if we can get past this month; it should be calmer next month.”
“Really?” Johanna’s first reaction was to give her boss a hug around her neck, but she held herself back to maintain some semblance of business decorum.
“Yes, we’ll talk again in two weeks about the best time for a little vacation to New York,” she said. “You could visit some local restaurants there and report back to me, and then you could bill part of your time there as a business trip.”
Johanna would have done anything for Ms. Geyer at that moment. She would have brought her a latte from Rome, massaged her feet, worked seven days a week—whatever her boss wanted, she would have done.
She wanted to tell Thomas immediately, so she called his number, but then hung up when she realized that it was the middle of the night in New York; her phone call definitely didn’t fall into the category of a life-and-death emergency. She texted him instead.
Good morning, Thomas! Please call me as soon as you get up. I have some news. Kisses, Johanna
46
The first thing Thomas was aware of, before he was fully awake, before he rolled from left to right to look out the window to see what kind of weather awaited him, was Johanna’s call.
“Really? You’re flying to New York?” he exclaimed, springing out of bed like an eleven-year-old boy allowed to sit on the back of a motorcycle for the first time.
A little later, as he brushed his teeth, he started to consider all the things he wanted to show her: the Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center, the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge. Thomas brushed over the sink. Broadway and Times Square, Fifth Avenue, Wall Street . . . Johanna probably wasn’t that interested in the world of high finance, but they at least had to see it. Thomas spit out the rest of the toothpaste as he thought about all the restaurants he could take her to. As he adjusted his tie, he thought of countless trendy bars where you had to make reservations, a standard practice in the city. He left his hotel room punctually and made his way to the office. Spotting tourists climbing onto a hop-on, hop-off bus tour, he contemplated buying tickets for Johanna’s visit.
At the office, Thomas’s uncle was waiting for him, checking over some reports.
“Well, it seems you have everything well under control here,” he said as he patted Thomas on the back. “I knew I could depend on you.”
“Thank you!”
“Come on, let’s go get some breakfast,” said Mr. Lehmann as he opened the door.
New York, 9:30 a.m.: I went to breakfast with my uncle today. He definitely doesn’t appreciate food the way you do. I love to look at you during mealtimes—my uncle, not so much. His mouth is like the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner, sucking up his food quickly, then loudly smacking his lips. I had to scarf down my food to keep up with him. Even though it was breakfast, he seemed so stressed out.
I love how you can study a menu for hours on end, how you t
ake your time to lovingly move your food here and there on your plate, until it’s artistically arranged, how you enjoy balancing colors, how you so fully perceive the smells of spices, some of which I didn’t even know existed before we met. I love that you enjoy my egg dishes and with every bite, you say, “Mmm.” Above all, I enjoy your presence. In short, having breakfast with you is a heck of a lot more fun than with my uncle. Kisses.
Forever yours,
Thomas
Vienna, 5:04 p.m.: I’m very glad you prefer my company over your uncle’s. This is quite reassuring and makes me incredibly happy. It’s probably reassuring to your mother as well. Otherwise, we would definitely have to rethink our relationship.
By the way, that idiot couple wrote an extremely malicious e-mail to my boss, Chef Meyer. How they think they can get away with such nasty slander against my coworkers is still a mystery to me. But Ms. Geyer can’t make sense of their critique, and neither can Paolo, the idiot couple’s guests, or I. At the wedding reception, their guests filled out our catering questionnaire after their meal, and they rated our dishes and service as “Excellent.” The boss suspects that the couple was just trying to get a discount after the fact.
What are we doing tonight?
Kisses,
Johanna!
PS: Your egg dishes are the best! :)
New York, 10:30 p.m.: I seduced you tonight. You goaded me into it with your allusion to my egg dishes. We went to a gourmet restaurant, the most highly acclaimed restaurant in the area, where a simple appetizer starts at around twenty-five euros and goes up from there. The waiters walked around, dressed up like penguins. It was a bit too snobbish for us, so we left after entrees and put off dessert until later.
You looked so seductive in your stunningly beautiful, dark-blue cocktail dress. From the beginning of dinner, I found myself unable to focus on the food or your face; I couldn’t stop looking at your unbelievably sexy neckline. My fixation didn’t escape you, and you shamelessly took advantage. You batted your eyelashes naughtily as you drew attention to your décolleté by lightly and oh-so-innocently stroking it with your lovely fingers.
Shortly thereafter, we pounced on each other in the cab. Of course, we didn’t go all the way. After all, we were sitting in the backseat of the taxi with the driver eyeballing us in the rearview mirror. A few minutes later, after we went up the elevator to my apartment, we gave into our passion.
Oh, how I miss your passion, how I miss you. If I could, I would take the next plane to be there with you, and I would immediately rip off your clothes. I love you. Kisses.
Forever yours,
Thomas, who is now consumed with desire and longing for you, as he overlooks the beautiful lights of the city, but can’t truly enjoy it without you.
47
Johanna got up early. When she read Thomas’s e-mail, she almost choked on her cheese Danish. On the one hand, she was moved, and on the other hand, she was so hot and bothered she had to open up her bathrobe and fan herself. He missed her and her passion? That was so arousing, so hot and sexy. It had been far too long, but Thomas would come home eventually, and then they could do everything they’d missed. They would stay in bed the whole day and, in between showers, eat delicious food, drink wine, and enjoy their togetherness. Unfortunately, he wasn’t coming back tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow; no, it would be a while before they would see each other again.
Johanna became quite sentimental and pushed the rest of her cheese Danish to the side of her plate. Thomas’s birthday was coming up, and she hoped to be in New York to celebrate the special day with him. After becoming lost in thought, she noticed the chipped polish on her toes. She was definitely in need of a pedicure, and yes, Thomas definitely had to come home again soon.
He was so shocked he thought he might faint dead away. All of a sudden, there she was, attractive as ever, enveloped by a cloud of perfume, dressed to perfection in a smooth black leather jacket, and showing off her shiny, bleached teeth as she smiled. She whispered, “Hello, Thomas,” before she dropped into an armchair, her heady Gucci Première fragrance radiating to every corner of the room.
“May I?” she asked when she’d already made herself comfortable; it wasn’t a question but more of a polite declaration requiring affirmation.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, I got no response from you on Facebook and knew that you were here in New York,” she said as she crossed her long legs, which were covered in shiny black silk stockings. Thomas knew she didn’t wear panty hose; Clarissa wore only gartered stockings.
“Sorry, I haven’t been on Facebook for a long time, but you know that’s it’s over between us. I find it quite inappropriate that you simply barged in here. What do you want from me?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I just barged in here. I have a job interview.”
“A what?” asked Thomas angrily as he sank noticeably lower into his big office chair.
“Yes, your uncle wanted to find someone for your new advertising campaign, and sweetheart that he is, he naturally thought of me.”
Well, now, isn’t that just sweet as shit of Uncle?
“You? But I don’t think you’re suited for the position. Clarissa, please appreciate the fact that I insist our paths should be separated professionally as well.”
“Now you’re just being selfish, don’t you think, Thomas?” she said, playing with her fingers.
“No, not at all. Besides, I cheated on you, and now you’ve decided to drop in for a visit?” Thomas surprised Clarissa with his belligerent attitude, but she didn’t comment on it.
“Oh well, you met someone else. What the heck; that’s in the past. I forgive you. Besides, I cheated on you one time, too,” she said, dusting off her pristine leather coat. Then she stood up.
“You still shouldn’t take this job.”
“That decision is better left up to me, don’t you think?” Clarissa purred as she walked closer to Thomas.
The Gucci perfume bit Thomas’s nose. He stood up to show her out. “Do what you want, but please keep your distance from me. Out of respect for Johanna, I don’t want to have any contact with you.”
“Ah, you’re back with her. I thought she no longer wanted to see you when she found out how you’d lied to her. Well, obviously she couldn’t say no. Who could? Who can resist your animal magnetism?” she said with a smile as she stepped toward him.
“Please, go now,” he said. If she’d been standing any closer to him, he would have been able to feel her breath on his face.
She tilted her head, stared into his eyes, then left.
Thomas scratched his ear and sat back in his chair. He was extremely upset that his uncle would do something like this. He tried to call, but his uncle didn’t pick up. Maybe he expected his nephew’s call and didn’t want to discuss the matter. No way in the world was he going to let Johanna know anything about this. Being apart was already stressful enough; he didn’t want to make it any worse, so he vowed never to breathe a word to her about Clarissa’s sudden and inappropriate reappearance. Big mistake.
48
Vienna, 9:03 a.m.: Yes, after another crazy, strenuous, passionate, exciting, love-filled, rewarding, and carefree night, it was a little difficult to start my day, and working was a challenge. Of course, I know it was the same for you. But I would like to mention that, although you’re a part-time Avenger, you are just a little older than I am. After all, making love for hours every night can be strenuous for the elderly. This can result in both bags under the eyes and being in an extremely good mood the next day, even for the young. These things never escape Paolo’s attention. But don’t worry, I never kiss and tell.
Are we going to talk on the phone today? I miss your voice.
Kisses,
Your overseas girlfriend
The morning sun reflected off Thomas’s computer screen. H
e had trouble reading Johanna’s e-mail, so he closed the blinds. He hated to block the sun, but sometimes he couldn’t read his e-mails any other way. His American coffee tasted horrible today; it was much too weak, as if someone had diluted it with a gallon of water. It was afternoon in Vienna, so he tried Johanna’s number. She should be reachable at this time.
“You sound tense,” she said. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
Thomas denied anything was wrong. This woman had kind of a sixth sense, even over the phone; she was incredible in so many ways.
“Well, that’s good. I thought that you might be calling to tell me that you can’t come home in three days.”
“No, no, everything’s all set, the flight’s booked. I would never ever cancel this trip. I miss you like crazy,” he said.
“Same here. My bed is so empty without you.”
“The stuffed animal and my sleep shirt don’t help?”
“Well, the stuffed animal isn’t as warm as you are, won’t even taste my gourmet meals, never asks me how my days are going, and has absolutely no skill when it comes to doing certain things that couples are prone to do every once in a while.”
“Like cleaning the house?”
“Yes, exactly, cleaning the house.” Johanna giggled. “Besides, it always has the same silly smile plastered across its face, which drives me crazy . . . Really, I’m counting the hours.”
“Me, too. According to my watch, there are seventy-three hours and, wait . . . twenty-four minutes left till we see each other. But who’s counting?” Thomas said with a laugh.