by May, Lana N.
“You’re funny.”
“Good. Let’s keep writing e-mails to each other until then.”
“Okay. Let’s.”
“Perfect.”
“Absolutely.”
“Well then . . .”
“Okay, should we hang up now?”
“Yeah, sure. Right?”
“Well then, let’s hang up.”
Johanna was the first to hang up. Thomas was surprised she’d really done it.
Johanna noted certain unsportsmanlike conduct the next time she jogged with Paolo.
“Well, if you want to go running with your boyfriend, then you’d better train at least six times a week over a period of several months,” he said as he ran nimbly next to the klutzy Johanna.
Show-off, Johanna thought; though jogging wasn’t her thing, at least she dazzled in her choice of bright-pink running shoes.
“There’s no such thing as someone who can’t run,” he said as he watched Johanna with amusement.
She couldn’t reply because she was gasping for air, but if she could have, she would have told him off. This asshole doesn’t look all that cool when he’s running, either.
After half an hour, they finished.
“Well, that was about two-and-a-half miles. That’s nothing, really,” he said, dismissing the distance they had covered.
“Well, you’re not all that athletic, either. When Thomas runs, he does ten miles easily.”
“Hey, your superhero is a damn marathon runner,” said Paolo defensively as he tugged at his damp T-shirt. “Plus, he inherited his athleticism, his muscles, so I couldn’t possibly keep up with him, because my build is too slight. I got as far as I have by training my ass off; I wasn’t lucky enough to be blessed with the body of a Greek god.”
“I’m just saying . . .”
“And I’m saying you better not go running with Thomas because he’ll probably stop putting you on a pedestal.”
“Whew. You’re mean today,” she exclaimed, and pointedly turned away from him.
“I’m sorry. You’re right; that wasn’t nice.”
“I forgive you,” said Johanna, “because, though I hate to admit it, you do have a point.”
“You want to get another cup of coffee? It’s on me . . . as a thank-you for your fair-mindedness.”
“Sure. Why not? I think I can even run there.”
“That’ll work.”
Thomas took a much-needed jog during his lunch break. He hadn’t jogged much recently. He’d been logging extra hours at work so he could afford to take time for a trip to Vienna, but it wasn’t easy for him to be so dedicated to his uncle’s company these days. He’d already had a long conversation with Mr. Lehmann, who insisted that Clarissa was best suited for this job. Why invest time and money to set up auditions when they already had the ideal candidate, someone who perfectly matched the target market and blah, blah, blah, blah. The cards were stacked against Thomas, and he couldn’t talk his uncle out of it. However, they did agree that Thomas wouldn’t be involved in the shoot and the ad campaign. He didn’t even want to see any of the photos or copy. Mr. Lehmann understood immediately and asked about his new girlfriend, whom he’d already heard about from Thomas’s mother.
Thomas realized he really had to arrange another meeting soon so that his parents could get to know the real, healthy Johanna. Thomas had postponed it, then forgotten about it; now he wasn’t even in Vienna.
New York, 2:02 p.m.: Do you think you could make as good an impression on my parents as last time? I mean, this time we could try to stay even longer than forty minutes (including the time spent in the bathroom). What do you think?
By the way, we’re planning to go to the movies today. You won, and we’re going to see the newest tearjerker chick flick starring Jennifer Aniston. Oh, can’t you see how much I love you?!
Vienna, 9:00 p.m.: My dear boyfriend,
Sometimes I love you so much, sometimes a little less, and sometimes not much at all. The last describes how I feel right now. I would have loved to be flu- and virus-free when we visited your parents. Did you forget how sick I was and how much I threw up?
What’s more, my sweet beloved, the new movie starring Ms. Aniston wouldn’t qualify as a tearjerker at all—she looked amazingly sexy, as Paolo recently mentioned. Therefore, I can’t allow you to see that film ;-). We can discuss it over the phone at your leisure, unless you have to work because it’s the middle of your workday now.
Kisses,
Your tearjerker-chick-flick-loving girlfriend
New York, 3:27 p.m.: Even though I’m so prone to putting my foot in my mouth, even when writing (see earlier e-mail, yikes!), I find writing less hazardous and nicer than phone calls, but maybe that’s just a matter of taste. No, really, I love e-mailing you. None of the other e-mails I receive are nearly as delightful, loving, sarcastic, exquisitely nasty, and written by someone so close to my heart, who I miss around the clock. But I’ll call you later, before you go to sleep. Well, after we’ve gone to the movies, perhaps. And I promise you I’ll never watch that film; depriving myself shouldn’t cause too much undue suffering. I’ll be with you in twenty-six hours.
Kisses
Vienna, 10:00 p.m.: Your call has to wait, I’m out and about. We’re looking at bridal gowns.
Looking at bridal gowns, Thomas thought. He felt something in the pit of his stomach, right near his liver. It wasn’t a bad feeling; his stomach didn’t feel tense. It was a pleasant, warm feeling that emanated from his gut, then permeated the rest of his body and warmed him from head to toe. What did it mean? It probably wasn’t for her, although she would look gorgeous in a wedding gown. Then it hit him; this had to be for Linda.
Thomas couldn’t stop thinking about Johanna in a wedding dress. She’s definitely the right woman for me to marry. But it was too soon. He didn’t want to make excessive or premature demands on Johanna or himself. Still, he could imagine it in about six months, and he pictured how stunning she would look when she stepped slowly down the aisle toward him. Then he spilled his coffee, effectively ending his daydream.
It was the traditional Night of the Wedding Dresses in Vienna, and many shops stayed open until midnight. Linda and her bridesmaids quickly agreed upon the dress. It was a charming, floor-length, off-white gown with delicate lace and red embroidery at the neckline.
“Not completely white?” asked one of her girlfriends uncertainly. Linda shook her head emphatically.
“No, definitely not; I like it in off-white with the exact same embroidery.”
No one dared to question her choice; they all agreed with Linda, since the cut and style were quite becoming.
“Wow, so that’s that. I can’t believe it. Now I just need matching shoes, a veil, a great hairdo, perfect makeup, and—”
“Then you’ll look exactly like a fairy princess,” squealed Erika as she danced around wildly.
All her bridesmaids hugged each other. As the saleslady took Linda’s measurements, Johanna and the other girls took a peek at the plethora of wedding dresses hanging up around in the store. Each was one of a kind, crafted with luxurious fabrics, in a variety of lengths and sizes. It was a shame that you got to wear a wedding dress only once in a lifetime.
“Oh, man, by the time I’m ready to get married, you all will probably be divorced, and then I can borrow one of your wedding dresses,” said one of the friends, obviously a little bit too worked up.
Every dress was more beautiful than the last. Johanna hardly dared to touch them, let alone take one off the rack for fear of damaging it.
“That’s beautiful,” exclaimed Erika as she nodded at Johanna, who had screwed up enough courage to pull out a dream in white. “It would look so good on you. I mean, you have the figure for it. I would have to wear something that hid my curves, or maybe lose some weight—a lot of weight. It
doesn’t really matter, though—nobody will be popping the question any time soon.”
Johanna held up the dress and scrutinized herself in the mirror. It really did look gorgeous as she held her hair up and swung the dress lightly from side to side. She suddenly became uncomfortable and hung it back up quickly, but the dreamy look in Johanna’s eyes as she gazed into the mirror hadn’t escaped Linda’s attention.
New York, 4:01 p.m.: I haven’t been in Vienna for a few days. Did you find a dress and a matching groom?
Vienna, 10:47 p.m.: Let’s stick with the facts. It hasn’t been days. It feels like an eternity.
New York, 4:52 p.m.: Did you find a dress for yourself?
Vienna, 10:56 p.m.: Yes.
Thomas felt warmer, as though someone had turned up the heat. He loosened his tie.
New York, 5:00 p.m.: What does it look like?
Vienna, 11:03 p.m.: No comment.
Thomas wondered what she would have chosen. Something soft, not too sexy, with a little detail, probably elegant yet playful.
Johanna thought it over. She would probably want to wear something soft and sweet, with a modest neckline. Something elegant yet playful. Should she suggest that the only question now was who would stand next to her at the altar?
New York, 5:07 p.m.: Is Ms. Johanna always so reticent?
Vienna, 11:10 p.m.: She definitely is.
Thomas laughed.
Vienna, 11:15 p.m.: But you should be the one who unzips the dress.
New York, 5:18 p.m.: So, we’re still in a relationship? I feel so reassured.
“Silly man,” Johanna exclaimed into the telephone when he picked up. “Only you and no one else!”
“Well, now, I think that’s pretty good.”
“Pretty good?”
Thomas laughed again.
“You know what I mean. I would be totally depressed, crying in my beer, hassling strangers, and probably throwing myself off a bridge if I weren’t your one and only.”
Johanna felt reassured.
“Did Linda find a dress?”
“Yes, she did. It’s fantastic; it really suits her. You’ll see it soon. However, you’re not allowed to unzip it.”
“Okay, agreed . . . I wouldn’t want to unzip it, especially if you promise me that I can unzip yours one of these days.” He paused as he gazed at his calendar. “The end of September will be here before you know it,” he said.
“Martin and Linda chose a great month to get married,” Johanna said with a sigh. Time was flying by since she and Thomas had gotten back together. “Okay, let’s talk about something other than wedding dresses. What’s new in New York?” she said, changing the subject to relieve both their nerves.
They chatted for about an hour and discussed possible vacation plans and destinations; France and Italy ranked pretty high.
“We’ll need to discuss that later,” said Thomas. “I have to hang up now. Duty calls. I have a lot of work to finish before I jump back on that plane tomorrow.”
49
The sun shone brightly in the heavens. The pleasant temperatures of early June had given way to a mild heat wave. If it kept on going like this, Johanna would need an air conditioner in her apartment, or she’d be unable to bear the heat in July and August. She couldn’t imagine how much she would sweat as she sat melting in her living room, her feet in a bucket of ice water. At the cooking school, everyone talked about June’s abnormally high temperatures, dismissing them with “it’s unusual, but it’ll be over soon.”
It was June 19, the momentous day that Thomas would return. He nervously looked out of his airplane window onto the city below, searching for Johanna’s apartment. However, from this distance, the houses looked as small as peas. He had a vague idea where Johanna’s place was, but the airplane was too far away to pinpoint it. The seat-belt sign lit up, and a few minutes later, the pilot landed the plane safely. Some of the passengers clapped. Why did they do that? Would they clap when the dentist did a textbook job of pulling a tooth without killing his patient?
During the applause, Thomas unbuckled his seat belt at lightning speed and was the first to stand up, much to the annoyance of the gentleman sitting in the seat next to him. Typically, Thomas—Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected himself—waited patiently until all the passengers got up and moved slowly toward the exit. Only then would he pick up his carry-on and be one of the last guests to exit the aircraft. After all, his luggage wouldn’t be on the carousel any sooner without him. No need to hurry and bump into people. This time was different, though. Thomas became “The Shover” as restlessness and his overwhelming desire to see Johanna as soon as possible got the best of him.
She straightened her dress. She had worn the Desigual dress especially for today. It was the one Thomas liked so much. She brushed off two imaginary pieces of lint before the sliding glass door that led to baggage claim opened and the passengers walked out casually. Thomas wasn’t there yet; he was waiting impatiently at the carousel and looking repeatedly at the exit, hoping each time the doors opened to spot the object of his desire. The other object of his desire was the large black rolling suitcase with a crack on one side, which he hoped to spot on the conveyor belt. He was afraid that if he kept looking for Johanna, he might miss his suitcase and have to wait even longer as it took another lap. His patience was put to the test and the suitcase came out dead last—Murphy’s Law in action.
No surprise, Thomas thought as he heaved the rugged suitcase from the conveyor belt and ran through the frosted doors to the airport lobby. As if he had sensed where she was, his eyes fell right on Johanna and hers on Thomas. As she grinned, she held her breath, then stopped counting the minutes and seconds until they were reunited. She let him take her into his arms.
“I missed you so much,” he said as he hugged her tightly, stroked her hair, then kissed her—all in a matter of seconds.
Johanna dug her fingers into his back and thought back to the farewell scene almost three weeks ago. She tried to block out thoughts of him leaving again, knowing he could stay only three days. Three short days. The thought distressed her, but she tried to be optimistic and told herself, We have three full days just for us.
It was Thursday evening. Johanna didn’t have to work tomorrow, and Thomas had to fly back first thing Monday morning. They had eighty-six hours and fourteen minutes, she calculated as she stared at the clock in the airport lobby. It almost seemed as if the clock began counting down their time together as soon as they embraced.
“What should we do?” asked Thomas.
“Whatever you want,” she replied.
He was thrilled to be back. He gazed out of the taxi window, then back to Johanna, kissed her, looked out of the window again, took her hand, stroked her, and kissed her again. He would have done anything for her, but the most important thing was just that he was close to her once again.
“I didn’t make any plans for tonight,” she said as she pressed her body closer to his.
“Great. I like that.”
“Did you plan things for later?” she asked.
“Yes, first thing tomorrow morning and maybe for Saturday.”
“What?”
“I want to go see my parents again, with you, of course. They would love to have us over for dinner. Either tomorrow or Saturday, whatever works for you.”
Oh, yes, long overdue, Johanna thought, but at the same time, she was nervous. Her last appearance there was still quite embarrassing to her, but it was better to try again sooner rather than later. She couldn’t hide from them forever.
“Why not? How about Saturday night?” She ran her fingers through Thomas’s hair and lightly massaged his scalp.
“That’ll work. I’ll call my parents right away. They’ll want to know that I landed safely.” Thomas turned on his cell phone.
As he made his call, Johanna scrutinize
d his hands and his pallid face. It seemed he had acquired some small wrinkles since she’d seen him last. Thomas looked exhausted and stressed out as he spoke to his mother on the phone. She apparently wanted to know all about New York, asking him about the weather, traffic, exchange rate, theater, and restaurants.
“Mama, we’ll talk all about this Saturday. Johanna’s sitting next to me; we just got a taxi.”
His mother immediately understood and said good-bye to him. She also told Thomas to send her fondest greetings to Johanna.
“Let me take a good look at you,” said Thomas as she walked through the apartment door. “You look beautiful as usual.”
“I do believe you’re flirting with me,” she teased.
“Indeed I am,” he replied as he pulled her closer.
“You look a little tired,” she said as she touched his weary face. “Weren’t you able to sleep on the airplane?”
“Yes, but not for very long. I was too excited to see you.”
“You’re the cutest,” she said as she took his hand.
“My plants look far better when you take care of them,” he said as he went through his apartment, making a cursory visual inspection.
“It’s no big deal. I just talked to them, sang to them, ate dinner with them, read them a bedtime story—the usual stuff. I’m an expert on plant care, but I can teach you how to do it, too.”
Thomas looked at Johanna and admired the small beauty mark on her left cheek. Why it caught his eye right now, he didn’t know, but he scrutinized it thoroughly.
“I like your beauty mark,” he said, when Johanna gave him a somewhat perplexed look as he continued to stare at her face.
“My beauty mark? You just now noticed it?” she asked.