Vienna
Summer rain in Vienna provides a kind of cosy loneliness that I enjoy. The droning breeze was a welcome relief from the normally suffocating late afternoon humidity. The cars whooshed past, spitting water from their tyres onto the curb, and the trams packed with people played a ringing melody with their cheerful bell sounds when they came to the crosswalks, their metal wheels singing on the rails.
The book I had in my hand was "Doctor Zhivago." I tried reading, but the soft pattering of the rain on the terrace canopy lent more towards people watching. The waiter brought my coffee. A mélange is a popular Viennese coffee, not unlike a cappuccino but with more foam and a different flavour.
Vienna was a fresh start for me. A year prior, I had gotten out of a messy marriage to another foreign service officer. His name was Nikolas. The State Department always tries its best to accommodate the careers of two married employees, but sometimes they simply can't. By the very nature of the job, when two married officers in the same cohort rise through the ranks together, they inevitably find themselves at a crossroads. Often, one must sacrifice their career for the other. Niko asked me to quit. He dreamed big. He imagined being a senior diplomat, maybe even an ambassador someday. I imagined the same for me. I didn't want to be the ambassador's wife. We fought venomously about it, and, in the end, we went our separate ways. He asked for Bangkok and got it. I asked for Europe and got Vienna Instead We both got something that we wanted in the end, but it was bittersweet
A woman came running out of the rain and sat opposite me. Her rain-soaked, bright yellow summer dress clung wet and tight to her body. She had most likely been out in the sun enjoying herself when the afternoon cloudburst caught her off guard, forcing her to seek shelter here.
She wrung the water out of her matted-up hair from the rain. She asked for an espresso when the waiter arrived. I buried my face back in my book once she saw that I was gazing at her. However, I couldn't help but sneak looks by staring over the tops of the pages. Her uniqueness caught my attention. Her lovely, sharp, and soft features simultaneously communicated playfulness, mystery, and importance. She had fading crimson lipstick on her lips, and she had subtle eyeliner on her eyelids. The most noticeable feature about her was her eyes: they were muted, hazel-green, inquiring, and awake to the world as if she were the only one who genuinely was. She lit up and pushed her hand into her purse in an unsuccessful attempt to find a lighter. When I saw this, I took mine out of my bag. I didn't smoke at all, but I was told to bring a lighter to Austria by someone. Offering them a light was a terrific way to strike up a conversation and meet new people. I've used it well so far.
I motioned to offer it to her. She considered me for a moment with cautious eyes, stood up, walked over, and leaned down with the cigarette in her mouth. Her green eyes watched mine as I sparked a light. I blushed. She puffed a long curl of smoke, smiled, and said, "Vielen Dank." Her voice was smooth, like my mélange. Immediately I recognised her accent as being from somewhere in the Eastern Bloc, but I couldn't place it any further, so I just smiled in response, and as I took a sip from my cup, I thought to myself, "What an intriguing woman. As if she could read my mind She gave a hearty laugh and said, "You know, you don't have to guess the answer; you just have to ask."
She pulled out her cigarette pack and offered me one. Her strange allure prevented me from refusing. I took one and lit it in my mouth. I sucked the sharp vapour into my lungs and coughed.
She grinned, then blew a smooth plume of smoke straight up into the wet air and sat back down in her seat. We sat like this for a few minutes, smoking in silence, the only two sitting at the quiet café, watching the street. She twirled her hair with a playful finger and looked out onto the street at the passing cars and pedestrians Halfway through her cigarette, she turned to me and said,
"I just love this café for watching people. "All sorts of interesting kinds come through here."
"It's not a bad place for it," I agreed. We watched in silence for a few moments before she spoke again.
"It's fun to guess about them. where they're heading. ""Where they're coming from."
A man walked by with a newspaper over his head and a grim look on his face.
"This man, for instance. I suppose he's heading home from work a bit earlier than usual. Most would find happiness in that. Not him. He dreads it. "There must be trouble with the wife."
"I see. That's quite an astute observation. I'm sure you're right."
"You're making fun of me, but that's alright."
"I'm not." I can understand why you might think I'm making fun of you, but honestly, I'm not
A young woman walked in the other direction. She had an umbrella, and she wore a cute, short skirt and a revealing blouse under a brown leather jacket.
"She's going on a date. ""A second date is likely."
"Hmm. I don't know. ""She could be meeting friends for dinner and a night out."
"Look at the hope in her eyes. the anxiousness in her hands. She's soon meeting a man she fancies very much."
The woman walked right by us and then smiled brightly as she saw the man in question. They hugged tightly, then walked off together in the same direction.
"I have to admit, that was good."
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Eve."
"And where are you from, Eve? America?"
I nodded. "That's right. "Recently, in New York."
Just as I said, a pang of fear struck my heart. I was warned at the embassy security in-briefing that I shouldn't volunteer information so eagerly. Vienna is a city of spies. I shouldn't show my hands so eagerly, and yet here I was, in a foreign country, disclosing so much of my background and affiliations in an attempt to impress my hosts. I began to feel as though I had made a mistake
"I have always wanted to visit America," she said. "Such a beautiful country."
I shrugged and answered more vaguely, "depends on where you go."
"I want to see it all," she replied with a sigh.
"I find it quite nice here," I countered. "So, what's your name?"
She took a drag, then said, "I'm Oksana," but the people I like call me Villanelle. Then, in a whisper, leaning over as if to share a secret, she said, "I like your book."
I looked down at the book. It was lying face down on the table. She must have noticed the title earlier, when I was reading it.
"I'll admit, I haven't gotten too far into the book yet. Any good?"
"I wouldn't know. It is banned where I'm from, and that’s why I liked it."
She glanced innocently up at the canopy.
"Oh?" ""And where's that?"
"I'm from Prague. It's in Czechoslovakia. ""Ever heard of it?"
"Of course I have. ""I hear Prague's a beautiful city."
"It was a lovely city. Not anymore. ""Now, it's dreadful. ""It's like living in a coal mine."
She said her words in a bored way, as if she didn't care about her city, or at least didn't care about it emotionally.
"And you're the canary?" I quipped.
"One who has escaped from her cage."
I couldn't help but smile at her quick wit.
"What are you in Vienna for, Oksana?"
"I’m Villanelle for you, Eve."
The waiter came with Villanelle's espresso and a glass of water. She thanked him, took some time to pour a bit of sugar into it, stirred it with her spoon, and took a sip before she replied.
"Studying art, I suppose."
"And languages?"
"That's right," Villanelle said with a faint smile
Her eyes now studied me with a curious gaze. The unsolicited interest in conversation with little me, I knew, was a red flag. A possible Soviet operative looking for an American contact An instinct told me I was riding on the edge of danger, and somehow, I enjoyed it, as if this conversation were a thrill ride at a carnival. I settled into my seat and tried to appear cool as I studied her more intently for any more signs of danger. I found it difficult to conceal the pounding exhibition that electrified me. It came out in the timbre of my voice.
"Lovely, what kind of art do you do?" I questioned. She shrugged. "Photography. Street photography. also portraits I've developed a love for portraits. Your beauty would make a great photo subject. Your face is lovely. a stunning physique, too." You are incredibly attractive. I timidly stroked my trousers. Oh, no way. I snorted. Why do you think that would be? "You're very photogenic."
I nervously took a drink of my coffee and said, "I'm extremely flattered." I am aware that I should decline the obnoxious offer formally. Here, friendship should not be taken or offered carelessly. not in the era of the Cold War. "You're really attractive yourself."
A gorgeous woman walked by. The bare skin of her long legs revealed itself with each step in her slitted dress. We watched her. Oksana asked,
"What about her? She's pretty too, isn't she?"
"Quite pretty."
"Quite pretty? I would make passionate love to her without question if she asked me. "Whoever she meets tonight is one lucky man... or woman." That's an understatement
My face reddened. I finished the mélange quickly, grabbed the book, and said, "Sorry, I should be getting home now."
She looked at me, clearly pleased by my discomfort at the abrupt turn toward the provocative in the conversation.
I left a few coins for the mélange. Quickly, she took out a pen and scribbled on a slip of paper. Her name and a phone number "This might be a bit forward, but I'm having a party at my place next Friday. ""Why don't you give me a call for details?"
"Um, sure, why not?" I said. I put her phone number in my bag. "It was nice to meet you, Villanelle."
She took the cigarette out of her mouth, exhaled a long string of cigarette smoke, and said, "Likewise, Eve." We both laughed and exchanged a knowing glance before saying our goodbyes and parting ways
The hair on the back of my neck rose from the way she said my name with her creamy accent. When I approached the corner of the street, I stopped and looked back at the café. She sat thoughtfully, her vision muddled by the murky sound of the rain, continuing to observe people and speculate about their days.