Wait for Me in Vienna Read Free Page B

fingers through Thomas’s hair.
    “No, I didn’t know that. Wait, really?”
    “Yes. Really.”
    “But they haven’t been together for that long, have they?”
    “No, exactly as long as we’ve been together—about two years.”
    He let his hand wander tenderly under her panties and grabbed her butt. She moved away from him and threw back the black satin duvet.
    “I like it when your hair is kind of messy, it’s just so sexy,” he noted, skillfully changing the subject as he leaned over to kiss Clarissa’s smooth skin, which had an almost imperceptible, fine, light-blue undertone, particularly on the untanned parts of her torso.
    He enjoyed the sight of her lying next to him so provocatively, coiled up like a noble snake, her head resting on his arm. No longer satisfied with just looking, Thomas kissed her hard like men do when they want more than just a kiss. Clarissa knew this game and went along with it. She was a man’s dream come true—always up for a sexual adventure—and she played her role to the hilt on this cool autumn morning. This was their daily morning routine, at least most of the time. Sex defined their relationship. Great sex.

    Johanna unpacked her suitcases. She hadn’t brought much, mainly clothes, but her wardrobe was pretty minimal: two pairs of black pants, two pairs of jeans, a few tops, a blouse, and a few thick sweaters, an absolute necessity for bitter-cold winters in the country. It had been a relief not to feel pressure to run around in silk stockings for the sake of beauty. In a small town, there was no shame in pulling on old, grandmotherly woolen legwarmers or wearing bulky sweaters instead of sexy, glittery purple tops—at least according to Johanna. For footwear she had a pair of black sneakers, brown boots, and classic low-heeled black shoes that she’d worn most recently to the funeral and, before that, to accompany her grandmother to a theater performance for her senior group two years ago. She carefully hung her clothes in the closet and put the shoes on the already overflowing shoe rack in the hall. Martin didn’t know the meaning of the words “order” and “system” in regard to his apartment. Johanna was determined to convince him to buy a proper shoe storage unit; a white one would fit perfectly in an empty corner of the hall. She began to stack her shoes on top of each other to make them fit.
    Though Martin’s apartment was warm and inviting, the catch was that it was also ordinarily messy. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a large order from the Ikea catalog. The apartment had dark parquet floors, white curtains in every room, a wooden chest of drawers in the hall—an heirloom from their parents—and nice carpet in the bedrooms. But magazines cluttered the chest of drawers, dirty socks were strewn on the nice parquet floors, and there were stains on the carpet—probably small burn holes. The white curtains draped aside sloppily. Johanna felt the strange sensation of being comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time, and she couldn’t decide which feeling prevailed.
    Martin had cleared out a few drawers in the bathroom, in which she stowed her hairbrush, toothbrush, makeup, and her favorite perfume, J’adore. She closed the drawer carefully. She really didn’t need all that space; one drawer would have been enough. Then she inspected Martin’s stuff: hair gel, an electric toothbrush, dental floss, and a tongue scrubber—or whatever it was called. She also found hairspray, a small cosmetics bag, a manual toothbrush, some women’s perfume, and other assorted items that, since Martin wasn’t gay or especially metrosexual, led her to conclude that he didn’t always sleep alone at night.
    Funny, she thought, Martin didn’t say anything about a girlfriend.
    On the other hand, they didn’t talk much about anything, so when would he have told her?She left the bathroom and opened Martin’s bedroom door. Because Martin was at work, she was able to