Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 129, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 787 & 788, March/April 2007

A Viennese Romance by Stefan Slupetzky

Copyright © 2004 by Stefan Slupetzky; first published as “Eine Wiener Romanze” in Absurdes Gluck. Translation © 2007 by Mary Tannert.

Stefan Slupetzky was born in 1962 in Vienna and studied at the Vienna Academy of Arts. He worked as both a musician and drawing teacher before turning to writing, and has writ-ten and illustrated more than a dozen books for children. Mr. Slupetzky now writes dramas, short fiction, and novels for adults. His crime-fiction debut, The Case of the Lemming, was awarded the Friedrich Glauser prize for best first crime novel.

Translated from the German by Mary Tannert

Lizzy had almost everything. Everything but a place of her own. But because she had almost everything, she had Charlie, and he had a spare. A spare apartment, that is. Charlie would have moved in with Lizzy, but Lizzy said: “You know, living together’s best when I’m doin’ it alone. ’Cause of the vibes, you know? Then I can think about you more than when you’re always here. Know what I mean? Yeah, you know…”

Charlie didn’t know, not really, but Lizzy got the penthouse high above the park, with the rooftop terrace and everything. Charlie had more than just “everything”; that was from his days as a great center forward on the soccer field and because he had a star manager and all. But Charlie wasn’t the brightest guy, and, well, he could be a little impulsive. Once, for example, when Lizzy didn’t answer the phone or open the door for two whole days, Charlie got a little wound up. Luckily, Lizzy’s Fiat was still in the underground parking garage, and to make sure it stayed there, Charlie slit all four tires.

Lizzy was pretty shaken up. “My Chitty Bang,” she sobbed. “You broke my Chitty Bang!” All of a sudden, Charlie couldn’t be mad at her anymore; he was overcome by guilt instead. And soon Chitty Bang’s parking spot was occupied by a shiny new red Ferrari. To make up. Because basically Charlie was a good guy.

So Lizzy forgave him. “Oh, Charliesweetie,” she sighed, and blew gently in his ear. Charliesweetie liked that.

Even so, a week later the television took the brunt of it, on account of a letter on Lizzy’s nightstand. A letter that she hid from Charlie fast — but not fast enough.

“I can’t stand it, I just can’t stand it!” screamed Lizzy, and locked herself in the bathroom.

Charlie was seized with a terrible fear that Lizzy would slit her wrists. But she didn’t, and the next day, when Charlie apologized with a Super Reality Video Wall, he was happy, because Lizzy blew in his ear again.

And so, with time, Lizzy’s penthouse was no longer a run-of-the-mill penthouse with a view of the park and a rooftop terrace and all. The couch had been replaced with a queen-sized electrical massage lounge; where the bathtub had been there was a Jacuzzi; the extra-bright daylight lamp had become a whole solarium. And Charlie never broke anything twice. Lizzy made sure of that. The business with the sixty-piece dinner service, for example. Lizzy had found it when she was out shopping and had fallen in love with it. And the next time Charlie got all wound up, she ran into the kitchen, threw herself protectively in front of the china cabinet, arms flung wide, and begged him: “No, not Mama’s beautiful plates!” And before you knew it, Lizzy had her sixty-piece porcelain service. And a nice new mahogany cabinet to put it in.

It could have turned out to be a great long-term relationship, with consideration on both sides and genuine understanding and everything. But at some point Lizzy noticed that Charlie hadn’t been wound up for two whole weeks, and all of a sudden it was Lizzy who was nervous. She thought: I have this funny kind of feeling that my sweetie’s neglecting me. Yeah, just like Lucy and Tommy. It’s the beginning of the end, Lucy always says…

And that’s when Lizzy got the idea. The idea with Picasso’s beard, that is. There was this report on the television news about an art auction in New York, and Lizzy couldn’t change the channel right away to Rich and Famous because her fingernails weren’t quite dry. And when she heard what they were asking for the pictures, that was the beginning of Lizzy’s interest in art. Eyes wide, she scribbled the name “Picasso” on a scrap of paper. And afterward, she dug out the scrap of paper, learned the name by heart, and went out in search of a bookstore.

It didn’t take Lizzy long at all to draw one of the funny-looking naked women from the Great Book of Picasso. On the third try, she was satisfied. And once she had it in the big golden frame from the furniture store, it looked pretty good to her. Lizzy hung it over the bed between the cat portrait and the sunset.

Then she called Lucy. “Hi, it’s Lizzy… Hey, Lucy, you gotta do me a favor, okay? But it’s gotta be a secret, so don’t tell anyone, okay? See, Tommy shaves with an electric shaver, doesn’t he? Well, see, the thing is, I could really use some of the hairs from the shaver. No, it’s not a joke! What, you guys are splitting up? No, really? Hey, well, all I can say is: Men! You know? But hey, can you do it? The hairs from the shaver, I mean?… Hey, super, really! I’ll come over tomorrow and pick them up. Tomorrow afternoon. Hey, take care of yourself, okay? Bye!”

Two days later, Charlie turned up to see Lizzy. It took awhile until he went into the bathroom, and in the bathroom it took awhile until he noticed the sink. But when he did, Charlie showed he was the same guy he’d always been.

“Who is it?” he bellowed. “Who?… Shaving! There!” And when he tore into the bedroom, Charlie had that crazy look that Lizzy had been waiting for.

“Anything, sweetie!” she cried out. “Anything but my Picasso!”

“Picasso? Where is that pig? Where’s the damn pig?!” And then Charlie saw the picture on the wall, and that was the last straw. It bothered Lizzy a little when the beautiful picture frame got broken, but she didn’t say anything; she was a strong woman.

And Charlie was a man of his word. He was pale when he got back from New York, but he had it, he really had it with him, the genuine Picasso. And it was a really big one, an oil painting, just the way he’d promised Lizzy. But when she said, “Oh, Charliesweetie” and blew in his ear, it was different from before, because Charlie was still pale, and didn’t look happy at all.

Two weeks later, Charlie took the elevator to the top floor, went into the penthouse, and took care of Lizzy. Then he packed everything that was left of her into the deep freeze. And didn’t get wound up at all, the whole time.

Lizzy’s plan wasn’t a bad idea, but even so, she’d made a mistake: She’d told Lucy about it. And it was Lucy who told Charlie the whole story when he got back from New York.

Because Lucy had almost everything. Everything but a place of her own. But because she had almost everything, she had Charlie, and he had a spare.