Wait for Me in Vienna by Lana N. May Page B

purchasing it.
    “Actually, I don’t have much experience, but I—”
    Paolo—whose name was actually Paul but who, for artistically advantageous reasons, wanted to be called Paolo—didn’t let Johanna answer the question. “Then why did they hire you? Doesn’t matter, we’ll see how it goes. Chef Geyer has a flair for finding talent—I mean, look at me!” Paolo brushed off an imaginary piece of lint from his pristine white chef’s outfit, which looked as it had been bleached within an inch of its life each time it was washed.
    He was African-American, lively, and lean, with a striking face that he embellished with a bit of blush, mascara, and foundation, as well as some light powder.
    How strange for a man , thought Johanna, captivated by the glossy powder. She’d never met a man who wore makeup, but she’d heard about it. Paolo definitely wasn’t a drag queen, though; he was too masculine. She couldn’t decide whether the makeup made him look more handsome, but his eyebrows were shaped to perfection and she wondered about his tweezing secrets. Paolo’s tailored uniform had his initials monogrammed above the left breast pocket. Johanna wondered whether she would ever get a uniform with her initials.
    “You can scrutinize me all you want and ask questions. It’s true, I’m a really great chef. I’ve been everywhere. I was the head chef at the Ritz when it was awarded five stars,” he said proudly.
    “So why are you working here now?” asked Johanna, but immediately realized that the question came out like, Why are you working in this dump, then? Who takes a job at a cooking school after working in an award-winning restaurant?
    “Well, I call it a happy coincidence,” he answered succinctly, and didn’t pursue the topic any further. “A happy coincidence”—what an odd description.
    “Let’s get started right away with a Stefanie meatloaf, a puree of leeks, and some creamed peas.” Paolo handed her the leeks before she could say a word.
    Maybe the cow’s name was Stefanie , thought Johanna, as she’d never heard of this kind of meatloaf before. But she didn’t want to say anything that might make her sound more ignorant than she already felt.
    “How do you want me to cut the leeks?” she asked, trying to be the model student. Paolo took the time to show her and explain everything carefully.
    “That’s why,” he said.
    “What?”
    “That’s why I gave up my restaurant! I love to teach,” he said as he sliced the leeks patiently, seeming very relaxed. They were, as Paolo declared, the “most perfectly cut leeks in the whole world,” fit to be displayed in a museum.
    “This is the dish we’ll be cooking tomorrow evening,” he said as he pulled the delicious-smelling ground beef concoction out of the oven.
    Tasting it, Johanna realized the dish was something Johanna’s grandmother often served for supper: minced beef with egg. As a child, Johanna had just called it “meat with an egg inside.”
    “You did okay for your first time,” said Paolo, smiling broadly.
    Johanna looked at the black rings the mascara was leaving around his eyes. Just in case, she rubbed her index finger under her own eyes to prevent the same thing from happening to her mascara.

    Thomas had to squeeze a lunch meeting with a client into his busy schedule. He usually delegated client meetings to talented employees who he knew had a good sense for these things, but this time, the client was Martin. The two agreed on the new software implementation within minutes and were able to use the rest of the time to discuss their upcoming plans.
    “That soccer game yesterday was a catastrophe.”
    “Yeah, it was so bad, I turned it off after halftime.”
    “They missed so many shots. Unbelievable!”
    The waitress came to their table and asked, “Do you want anything else?”
    “A cappuccino, please.” Thomas pushed his empty glass of cola away.
    “Yes, one for me, too . . . and another cola,” Martin