I had been travelling throughout Europe, with my college roommate named Helen, for nearly four weeks. We had started in Greece, worked our way up through Italy, into France, and eventually into Switzerland, and on into southern Germany. Helen had to leave from Frankfurt to make the beginning of her first semester of graduate school. This left me with 3 days left to make it through Austria to Vienna's Schwechat airport to catch my return flight home to The States.
Vienna is beautiful city. I would guess it is even more beautiful if you have more than a few Euros left in your backpack when you arrive. Sadly this was how I showed up, by train, early one August day.
I suppose I should introduce myself first, before I proceed with my story. I am Melissa. I was almost 22 at the time I took my trip with Helen. I am not pretty; well, I am perhaps average on a good day. I have pale clear skin, dark hair, and a slight weight problem; however, I had lost a few pounds during this trip: more on that later. I am nearly 5 foot 6 and I can't recall the scale ever telling me I weighed less than 150 pounds...at least not since high school.
Helen and I had a great time in southern Europe. We drank too much, toured all the great museums, and we each even had a brief fling. She was seduced by an Italian boy with a Vespa, and I had an interesting night with a Scottish boy I met in a Paris hostile. I adored his accent and he adored that I swallowed come.
Anyway, Europe seemed to get more expensive as we travelled further north. By the time I dropped Helen off at the Frankfurt airport I was running low on money. Helen gave me the rest of hers, yet, even with that money, I knew I was going to be running out before I made it to Vienna. I knew, in a pinch, I could ask my parents to wire me some extra money, but I was determined to not have to stoop to having to be bailed out by my parents. If I had to starve, so be it. In fact I had already dropped ten pounds during the vacation. This was partial owing to thrift...and partially owing to having to walk everywhere.
After arriving in Vienna, I got a loaf of bread and a small can of coffee in a café. I then bought a seat on a tour bus and took a long touristy trip all around the charming city of Mozart. My flight was going to leave in two days. I decided I had enough money for one cheap hotel stay, so I stayed in a disreputable location that first night, and I visited some museums and Hapsburg monuments the following day. My plan that final night was to arrive at the airport and sleep in a lounge. My flight left at ten in the morning on the following day.
The idea of sleeping at Schwechat airport was made even less appealing when I realized I no longer had any clean clothes. When the public bus dropped me off at Schwechat I really wanted a beer badly, even though I am normally more of a wine drinker. I found my way to an airport bar and plopped my tired ass down onto a barstool. The bar was fairly full of traveling tourists and some businessmen in suits: two of which were having an amiable conversation in German as they sat on the stools next to me. I was rummaging through my coin purse, looking for coins with which to buy a beer, when the bartender came over. He looked coolly annoyed when I asked him how much a beer was. I thought he was joking when he quoted the price of a draft beer. If I purchased a beer I would not be able to eat for the 15 hours before my flight left. I was debating my purchase when the man in the suit seated next to me leaned over and spoke to the bartender in English.
"Hey, Frank. Put her beer on my tab, and make it a large one." He then returned to his conversation in German with his associate.
I was mildly annoyed that he had intervened without even asking, or talking to me, but I did want a beer. So, I decided I had to say thank you, even if I had not wanted any help. When his associate left to use the restroom, I said, "That wasn't necessary, but thanks all the same."
He smiled at me. "I'd say it damn well was necessary. I saw how much money was in your purse. Plus, I'm going to put it on my expense account anyway." His friend returned and they continued on in German. As I enjoyed my beer I made an appraisal of my fellow American. He was at least 40 and perhaps as old as my father who was 47. He wore a well-tailored suit and a crisp white shirt with a handsome, complementary tie. His clean appearance made me more aware of my grungy state of being. He was of medium height, and he was not heavy. Nor was he handsome. By the same token there was nothing unattractive about him either. He was the definition of average.
Eventually his partner stood up, the two men shook hands warmly, and I was left seated next to the American. My beer was almost done, and I prepared to leave.
"I'm having another beer. Want one?"
"I couldn't impose."
"Oh sure you could. Have you had a schnitzel here in Vienna yet?"
"No, not yet." The idea of a veal cutlet sounded delicious and it made my stomach gurgle out loud.
"Sounds like your stomach wants one."
I started to say I was not hungry, but he had already waived to the bartender. The two men had a quick conversation, this time in German. I understood enough know he had ordered two more beers and two meals. My stomach demanded that I ceased to argue against the idea.
As I enjoyed my meal I shared the tales of my European vacation (minus the few sexual exploits Helen and I experienced) with my generous host. His name was Keith. It turned out Keith was a west coast American who came to Vienna several times a year on business. He had therefor learned German, even though he explained that almost all German speakers spoke English fluently.
When I had finished narrating my vacation story, Keith asked, "So, is that the story you're gonna tell your parents?"
"Huh?"
"It's a nice recap, and it totally leaves out any tales of romance."
"What makes you think there was any romance?"
Keith smiled broadly. "Now now, Melissa, a young lady can only look at museums for so long."
I laughed out loud. "I don't think my parents would be interested in that other part. Not that there was much."
"But there was some. Good. So, what time does your flight leave?"
"Just before ten o'clock."
Keith looked at his watch. "Shouldn't you go check in soon?"
"Oh, it's leaving at ten tomorrow morning."
"Staying at the airport hotel tonight then?"
I felt flushed. I did not want to admit I planned to sleep in a chair in the concourse lounge, but I did not want to lie either. I clearly hesitated too long.
"You don't have a place to sleep, do you, Melissa?"
"It's fine. I've spelt in an airport before."
"Don't take this wrong, but I have a suite. It has a couch. If you want, you're welcome to it. In fact you can have the bed, and I'll take the couch. I have a meeting at 8 in the morning. I'll wake you in time for your flight."
I must have looked a bit scared, because he continued. "Melissa, I'm offering you a place to sleep. Nothing else. You can use the laundry service if you like, and they'll even bring up breakfast."
