A/N I know what you are asking. “Why is she starting another story when the other is still incomplete?” Um, my answer? I, ahem, have no sense of priority. It is a problem. Besides, someone told me Austria after the monarchy, except during World War II, is a big bore, and that is hard to believe. Any country which has a casino can not be boring, so I have decided to write a casino fic. You know, with croupiers and French roulette and bets and stakes and attractive gamblers who get on your nervs?

Chapter One:

"How would you like to go to Austria?" asked Patrick Schrieves, one of America's diplomats to Europe. "I've just got wind of a new assignment and was wondering if I should accept." He poured himself a cup of coffee and glanced at the toaster oven, eying his English muffins turn a golden-brown in the heated box.

"Austria?" his wife, Zelda, echoed. "Of course I'd like to go. I haven't been there since finishing my under grad." She buttered her toast and smiled at her husband over his paper.

"Oh, that's right. You went to school in Graz," Patrick remembered.

"Yes" she continued, excitedly. "I got some classmates whom I'd love to see again. Instant messaging and talking on the phone is not the same as having the person right in front of you. We absolutely must go."

"It's settled then," he announced. "We'll go. I'm thinking eight days, give or take. However, I'm going to have to be in Vienna for the summit and will probably not get any time to come down to Graz."

"That's fine," she responded, sipping her orange juice. "I'm sure Lilo, Vivique, and I'll find plenty of stuff to do. Vienna is so big and metropolitan. I prefer Graz anyways." She beamed.

Rising to retrieve his english muffins, he said with a hurt expression, "You mean you won't miss me?"

"Well," she replied in a low voice, "maybe a little. But Graz has parks and castle ruins and biking trails and shops and all those cute cafes. I wont get bored at least." She shrugged as she bit into her toast.

He laughed. "No, you'll just reek havoc with my credit."

"Perhaps. Graz does have some very nice boutiques," she remarked, checking the time. "You should hurry, otherwise you'll be late for work." He glanced over at the microwave clock and, in a rush, extracted his muffins, buttered them, and bustled about in the dinette.

After finishing his breakfast, he retired into their master bedroom and emerged wearing a sharp blazer and tie. Zelda, by this time, had put all the dishes away, and sat on a stool near their island sipping the last of her tangy orange juice. He picked up his briefcase and, bending over her, gave her a kiss, and said, "I'll talk to Marc about going. Hopefully, I'll have a pair of tickets by this afternoon and all the passport jazz all figured out."

"That quickly?" she returned, setting her glass down.

"Yes," he replied, grabbing the keys to his Mercedes, "the American contingent should have been in Vienna yesterday, so we'll probably be leaving either tomorrow or the day after."

Her blue eyes widened with anticipation as she giggled at the government's tardy pace. "Hahaha. Try to get United Airlines. Luftansa serves awful food, and I can't stand the uniform of the hostesses on Austrian."

"What?" he replied, rolling his eyes. "I'll try to see what I can do. But no promises. We just get the cheapest airline we can. I swear, if you ran the government, we'd be in a far deeper deficit then we are now."

At that, she playfully punched his arm. "Hey! That's not fair. If you're going to go bankrupt, go bankrupt in style. We're at least traveling business, aren't we?" she asked, dumping her glass into the sink.

"Economy more likely," he responded, opening the door to the garage and shutting it behind him. "Have a good day, honey."

"Bye," she called out as she smiled at the golden-beige car backing out of their driveway. She then turned to the window above the sink, opened the shutters, and gazed at their green lawn. In the back, beyond the summerhouse and bed of roses, was a row of low shrubs and a stately oak tree planted next to a linden. Her thoughts wandered to the verdant scenery of Styria and lighted on daydreams of wine-tasting and riding Lipizzans across the fields with hair whipping behind her and her friends laughing in the breeze; if they could, they would probably ride all the way to Hungary ...

She still had an hour before reporting to the curator at the National Gallery of Art where she worked parttime, so she walked into her living room and picked up the phone. Nearby, was her plather-bound address book through which she leafed until she located the number she wanted with its appropriate country code. She dialed it and, lying back in her white leather sofa, waited for an answer.

"Hello?" she said upon hearing a click on the other side. "Hello, Lilo? ... Hey, it's Zelda."

Silence.

She smirked and laughed. "Listen," she stated, "Patrick has a summit in Austria, and I'm coming along this time. ... Yeah." She laughed again. "I'm going to be in Graz by Friday evening I bet and will stay for about a week. ... Exactly. I was hoping we could meet up at a cafe or something."

She paused to listen to her friend who was bouncing with excitement on the other side of the world and smiled at her rapid English mixed with some good-humored German exclamations. "No," she responded to Lilo's question, "Vivique does not know. I only just found out this morning, and I called you first since your number is listed first in my directory. ... Yes, I know I'm horribly lazy. Blame it on my metro life in DC." She shook her head, even though she knew Lilo could not see her. "So anyways, call Vive and let her know, okay? I don't think I'll have enough time now. Got to get to the gallery soon."

"Uh-ah. I don't know the airline, hopefully not Luftansa," her friend chuckled, "or Austrian. And no to the hotel as well."

More silence.

"Of course I'm excited," she affirmed. "It's been such a long time. '' Yes, but what? You want what from America? Lilo! You get those in Austria, too. Come on. ... Okay, okay. I didn't know you were such a Calvin Klein groupy. Ask Vive what she wants as well."

She remained on the phone for another twenty minutes, catching up on Vivique and Lilo's lives. Vivique had since gotten engaged to a musician for the Vienna Philharmonic and enjoyed free shows at the Staatsoper.. She herself continued her work in restoring pianos and selling antique instruments. She had made a great deal of money, a tiny fortune in fact, when a rich client, whose identity she was hiding, bought a genuine Stratavari violin.

"I must see her engagement ring. It's gotta be a huge rock! ... Diamond, right? I'm sure you've seen it," Zelda exclaimed, nodding her head.

A little later into their conversation, Zelda inquired, using her friend's familiar nickname, "And how are you, Little Lilo?" She sunk deeper in the white leather, carefully listening and twirling a strand of dirty blonde hair around her slender index finger.

Lilo was still single though she was dating a doctor, a fact which heartened Zelda to her friend's, hither to now, less than active social situation. Ever since her disastrous breakup with a dashing lieutenant in the navy, Lilo had been reluctant to see other men. Zelda felt it had something to do with the fact that her friend was a chemical engineer instead of some generic white collar worker. Men probably got turned off by such a profession held by a woman. Lilo did not think so but battled between her fierce independence and a desire for a meaningful relationship.

The three of them had met in the middle of their sophomore year of college while pursuing their under grads at Graz. Zelda, needing help in calculus II, sought tutoring from a fast-speaking and bubbly Lilo Metzbach who, at the time, was spectacularly failing English, a subject which came naturally to Zelda. Vivique Altavson, the daughter of a French mother and a naturalized Austrian-Swede father, was good at physics and history and therefore appealed to both the art student and engineering pupil. Together, they had helped each other and made the best of their lives in Graz which was named the cultural capital of Europe in 2003. By day, they were studious under grads; by night, they were frivolous social butterflies. Till they graduated, the three of them were very close, and then Zelda returned to the States while the others remained in Austria. However, they kept in touch by thre-way conversations online or on the phone which, although more expensive, was still animated enough to warrant ignoring the cost for a short while.

"Okay ... Yeah, definitely. We'll connect at a cafe or the old city square. I'll need you to help me get around. I'm sure my German has gone down the drains since our days at university, so ..." Zelda trailed off. "Right ... Okay, Little Lilo, I need to be going. My boss will kill me otherwise. What? ... Yeah, you do the same. All right then. See you in a few. ... Uh-huh. Bye." She returned the phone to its cradle with a contented sigh before getting to her feet and heading to her walk-in closet.

After a warm shower in her garden bath, she stood in front of the mirror in a white blouse and black slacks combing out her long hair as she hummed a tuneless melody that was drowned out by the blast of the hair dryer. Once she had applied a modest amount of makeup--mainly foundation, blush, and lipstick--and a hint of her lavender perfume from L'Occitane-en-Provence, she stepped out of the bath, dumped her clothes in the hamper, and caught up her purse on her way out of the master bedroom. On the entertainment stand near the television set and music system was a shelf of CDS stacked in two neat columns on either side of the stereo. Running her eyes down the list of record labels and music artists, she selected, in honor of her up-coming vacation, a compilation of Viennese waltzes, polkas, and marches from the Strauss family. CD in hand, Zelda stepped into the garage and put on a pair of black pumps before sliding into her silver Lexus.

The drive was short. Thankfully, she had no need to go on the Washington beltway which was in a perpetual deadlock. She arrived in the gallery a few minutes later and hung up her coat in the cloak room near her work station, humming disjointedly to the Blue Danube.

"You're in a good mood today," said Peige, a colleague of hers.

"Yes," she smiled. "I'm going to Austria very soon to see some old college classmates of mine."

"Really!" Peige exclaimed. "That's great. Oh, I'd die to go to Austria. I love classical music. When do you leave?"

"That's the funny thing," Zelda replied, flipping through her schedule. "This is a business trip for Patrick—“

"He's a diplomat, right?" Peige inquired, leaning over Zelda's shoulder to get her schedule.

"Yeah. There's some kind of summit in Vienna right now, and he has decided to go after all. I don't think he was originally. But he figured I might like to go, so ..." she trailed off, checking the time. "Whatever. I'm excited."

"Uh-huh," Peige nodded.

As they started on their way out, Zelda continued. "He's thinking either tomorrow or the next day."

"Wow," Peige returned.

"So I got to check in with the boss."

"John would have to be a real spoil sport if he doesn't let you go," Peige announced. "Good luck to you. There's that exhibition of Russian icons coming up, so I bet we'll be busy."

"Yeah, but you'll be fine without me," Zelda replied, opening the door to the gallery proper and smiling radiantly to greet the patrons that would be arriving soon. Peige laughed.

"Hey, you wouldn't be stopping at the Albertina, would you?" John questioned, jumping into their conversation after turning to face his docents.

"Oh, no," Zelda responded ruefully. "I plan on staying in Graz. It's Patrick, if anyone, who'd be seeing the Albertina. But why?" Zelda positioned herself on one side of the desk and idly began to rearrange the visitor's pamphlets.

"Nothing ... Was hoping you could just get those cartoons of Michelangelo's. Only on lone, you know? No matter," the curator answered.

With donning comprehension, Zelda said, "Maybe not Michelangelo, but how about those Nazi paintings." Peige shook her head wryly.

"I think," John remarked with the first group of patrons coming in, "that would give the gallery a little too much of a leftist edge. Remember, we're supposed to be politically neutral."

"Oh right," Zelda returned in a dry tone.

"Relax, kid," John urged, "you can go, even if you don't arrange any great curatorial deal. I'll do that."

Zelda laughed in appreciation as Peige winked at her colleague.