“One pays for one’s fun, no? Make a check out to those people, please, Mathilde, and I’ll sign it.” He went back to his work.
A little later, he was consulting a much used address book for a number for Dorrie. He found three, and tried one in the Bahnhofstrasse. This place knew Dorrie and thought she might be at another store, whose name they gave. At least he was able to leave a message: please telephone.
Dorrie did, just before noon.
Rickie told her about Teddie’s article. “I’d love to let Luisa know, but I’m afraid to phone there.” That was the absurd truth, afraid.
“I’ll call her! Of course I want to read it first,” Dorrie said with a laugh. “What’s the old witch’s last name again?”
When Dorrie’s call rang in the Hagnauer house, Renate and Luisa were having their lunch in the sitting room. Renate answered the telephone, though one of the girls, Vera, happened to be in the hall and had been nearer.
“Dorrie?” said Renate.
Luisa was instantly on her feet.
“This is the lunch period,” Renate said, cold as a recorded message.
“. . . will take just a minute . . . message,” Dorrie’s voice said.
“I think you are a friend of Herr Markwalder? Then I’d be grateful if you would not call here again.” Renate put the telephone down. “Rude people—en plus!” she snorted to Luisa, and started to clump back.
“She said a short message,” Luisa began.
Renate resumed her place and her meal. “If that telephone rings again—”
It did, just then.
“You answer it!” Renate said, standing up, ready to come with Luisa. “You tell that person she’s not to telephone here again! Tell her!”
Luisa walked past the eerily silent kitchen, where Stefanie, Vera, and Elsie were having their lunch. She picked up the telephone. “Hello?”
“Hello, sweetie! Teddie has an article in the Tages-Anzeiger today! Under the name—”
“Tell her!” cried Renate.
“Dorrie—”
“Georg Stefan. Got that? About you and—”
“Dorrie, I have to say—not to phone here again. That’s from—”
“Don’t tell me! Tell her to get stuffed!” Dorrie said loudly. “I’ll write to you—or something. You know where to reach me.”
“Hang up!” Renate commanded.
Luisa hung up. She hoped Renate had heard Dorrie’s words. Luisa returned to the sitting room, not wanting any more to eat, but if she had excused herself, Renate would have complained.
“I hope that sank in?” said Renate. “The nerve! The gall!”
Why, Luisa wondered. To telephone someone during the lunch hour? She was curious about Teddie’s article, though in a way she dreaded facing it: about their date at the mountain restaurant; Teddie had mentioned working on the piece.
“Finish your lunch.”
Luisa made an effort, washed it down with tea whose ice had melted, swallowing hard. Teddie’s article, strangely, had become one more obstacle in the day. Renate watched her now. Luisa longed to talk with Rickie—or did she? What good could he do? He was a friend, and sympathetic, but what could he do?
A quarter of an hour later, Luisa was at her sewing machine, working on the skirt of a suit she had designed, on Renate’s orders. Renate had had a word of praise for the waist of the jacket, the small and unusual lapels. Every now and then, Renate asked Luisa to “create something,” even a nightdress, which Luisa had once done. Luisa rechecked her basting of the zip panel. She had glanced over the bench where the girls put their handbags and other items, and had spotted a Tages-Anzeiger. Luisa chose a moment when Renate was out of the room, and went to the newspaper.
“Can I borrow this for a couple of minutes? Whose is it?”
It belonged to Stefanie, who said of course she could borrow it.
With careful haste, Luisa carried it down a short hall with windows, to the toilet used by the girls. She found the page and stood reading, so rapidly that she had to go back after a couple of paragraphs and read it again to make sense of it. Here was the nervous excitement of the evening when she had met Teddie in the dark near the big car that belonged to his mother, and which Teddie couldn’t borrow unless he kept his promise not to drink any alcohol. Dancing under the summer sky, and Teddie feeling unreal and elegant in a light jacket, sharply pressed trousers, and patent leather shoes. And the girl! Luisa forced herself to read it. She had to smile. One would have thought she was a fairy-tale queen, all beauty and shining eyes. She even had a lovely voice and could dance well! (Surely Rickie had laughed, reading this, Luisa thought.) And the food which sounded ethereal, the wine for her, and all too soon the drive back to the city, to deliver her at the hour she had to be back. The brief kiss good night. The Audi which seemed to take flight with Georg, when he drove it alone back to its berth.
Would Renate guess the truth if she read it? Luisa thought not. And what if she did? What had been wrong?
Now, hardly thinking, Luisa pulled the toilet chain with its old black knob, for proper sound effect. Tucking the paper under her arm, she rinsed her hands at the undersized basin which had only cold water, icy in winter, but pleasant now. Luisa went out.
“Thanks,” she said to Stefanie, replacing the paper on the bench.
Renate was just coming into the big room.
“Looking for another job?” Vera said softly, leaning toward Luisa. Vera’s shoulders hunched with laughter.
Luisa smiled. Another job. Yes, that was starting to sound nice. She bent again to her work.
Renate was making her rounds, checking, commenting, giving a suggestion here, a criticism there, and rarely a word of praise. That morning, when Luisa had awakened in her room, she had lain for a few minutes, letting herself swirl down into what she felt were the depths of—discouragement.
There was Renate’s hostility toward Teddie, though she didn’t even know him. Then Luisa’s own sharp memory of Teddie’s fine apartment, of his mother who, though pleasant enough now, would probably never countenance Teddie’s taking seriously a girl like herself. Teddie had his Matura, he had been to America at least twice, he dined at fine houses—not that he had said this, but he would know just how to behave, while Renate was still, often, correcting Luisa about something she did at the table, especially when they went to a good restaurant, as they had on Renate’s birthday. One could not make up for all that just by trying, Luisa felt. Anyway, for how long would Teddie have any interest in her? Maybe not as long as the six months to come of her apprenticeship, maybe not half that.
“This is quite good,” Renate said, bending over Luisa’s zip panel which she was just finishing. “Very nice.” She moved on.
The other girls were working on beige or blue trouser suits, all the same model. Production number: four, in three sizes.
Teddie would be walking on air, and maybe he would dare to telephone her today. Luisa hoped not.
She had Dorrie’s telephone number, two of them. That was comforting. Someone to talk to! Like Rickie. In a way better, because Dorrie was a girl. And so cheerful! Luisa liked that. When could she try to reach Dorrie? And from where? L’Eclair was the closest public telephone.
Maybe this afternoon around three, when Renate sometimes sent her out to buy bread for dinner or a cake from L’Eclair as a treat for the girls. Luisa realized that it was possible she could see Dorrie this evening. Wonderful! In the next instant, the old question raised itself: how, meaning what excuse would she give Renate?
Might it be easier to meet Dorrie at Rickie’s place? Then she and Dorrie could go off to a café somewhere, drink something cold, talk for half an hour, anyway.
“Luisa—you’re dreaming today!” Stefanie was bending toward Luisa, offering a tray of variously colored thread.
“Oh! OK, I’ll take a black. Thanks, Stefanie.”
Luisa started at every phone call. Since Renate was more often on her feet than the others, she usually answered. The fourth call brought Renate back into the workroom after she had answered it.
“Luisa—someone for you,” Renate said.
Luisa went into the hall. Renate’s eyes were on her, and Renate followed until she was hardly two meters from the telephone.
“Luisa!” said Teddie. Then more softly, “Did you see my article?”
“Yes. You know—it’s hard to talk now, so—”
“Can we have dinner tonight? Something in town? If I come in a taxi around seven? Please!”
“It just isn’t so easy.”
“Tell him good-bye!” Renate said with a wave of a hand, turning her back. But she turned again, listening.
“It’s just—impossible,” Luisa finished with a gasp. “Try Rickie!” That was the best she could do now, as far as communication went. She hung up, and faced Renate with an eye as steady as Renate’s. Then Luisa looked straight ahead as she made her way past Renate to the workroom.
“Try Rickie indeed! He should live with him!” Renate said grimly but quietly, not wanting the workroom to hear.
Luisa ignored the comment. Rickie, yes. Luisa thought of Rickie as a fortress she could run to. Indeed, Luisa supposed, Renate probably wouldn’t enter Rickie’s apartment or studio under any circumstances, because Renate would consider his dwellings contaminated.
Renate had an appointment that afternoon. Frau Huttmann, a buyer for an expensive Zurich shop, was coming to look at the trouser suits. This would be at four. So Luisa was sent out to choose the best in the way of a torte—a whole cake, Renate said—that L’Eclair had to offer. During this time, Luisa rang Rickie at his atelier, whose number she knew by heart.
“You didn’t make a date with Teddie,” Rickie said.
“I couldn’t with Renate listening to every word! Rickie, can I see you later? Maybe—before dinner? I’ll try it.”
“But of course, dear Luisa. You mean at my studio?”
Luisa hesitated. “I want to see you alone.” It sounded so romantic, it was funny. And she’d said it in a passionate tone.
“Can you come to my apartment if it’s at six? It’s even closer to you.”
Luisa made the tea, and got the cups ready, enough for the girls too, plus plates and forks, and the large blue paper napkins.
The clock did not creep, it leapt to a quarter to six. Stefanie and Elsie had taken their leave, only Vera remained. Frau Huttmann was gathering herself. Luisa removed the empty teapot. Good-byes and it was a pleasure, and until soon—with the deliveries, that meant.
“I’m going out for a few minutes,” Luisa said, almost as soon as the door had closed on Frau Huttmann.
“Where?” asked Renate.
“Just to get some air,” said Luisa as if she meant it, and she went out, empty-handed, with no money.
“Luisa!”
She was racing down the stairs in her sneakers. Had Renate called her name? Was she dreaming, having a nightmare? Anyway, Renate couldn’t possibly catch up with her, and she wouldn’t try.
20
Rickie was home, Luisa saw from the slightly open french windows. She rang the bell.
Seconds later Rickie opened the door into the front hall. Luisa restrained herself: she felt like embracing him. Instead, she held his left hand, squeezed it as they walked toward his door.
“Luisa—what’s the matter?”
“Nothing!” She smiled at Lulu. “Hello, Lulu!”
“Arf!” Lulu wriggled a greeting, recognizing her.
“You’re all out of breath,” Rickie said.
“I was just running. We had a showing—sort of. Renate had an important buyer—tea. You know. I had to make the tea and serve the cake.”
Rickie looked at her. “And what else?”
“Nothing! I just felt like seeing you. So I ran out!”
“I—see. I am honored. Sit down—somewhere. A Coke?”
“No, thanks. Well—yes. Thank you.”
Luisa leaned back against the sofa pillows, and took a deep breath.
Rickie came with her Coke and what looked like a Scotch on the rocks for himself. “Your health!” He lifted his glass. “Did you talk with Teddie today?”
“He phoned. Wanted me to have dinner with him. I couldn’t just arrange that with Renate standing there, trying her best to hear! I had to say no, of course. He’d have picked me up in a taxi, he said. Maybe he’d have to lie to his mother, since she doesn’t want him in Aussersihl. Why is life so complicated?”
Rickie shrugged. “Other people,” he said calmly. “Six more months, you said—with Renate?”
Luisa nodded. “Yes. Sounds like years to me sometimes.”
Rickie lit a cigarette, and spoke with deliberate objectivity, as much as he could muster. “But you’re almost nineteen. You need to live somewhere else, Luisa.”
“And keep on working for Renate?” Luisa gave a laugh. “Not to mention that I can’t afford an apartment on my stipend from Renate.”
Rickie knew. Luisa was welcome to sleep on his sofa, he was thinking, but hell would break loose, Renate would call the police and invent weird stories! “Did you know I have a bedroom, a shower, a kitchen in my studio? Where I never sleep at night, and seldom take a nap in the day? You are most welcome, Luisa! Free of charge.”
“Thanks, Rickie.” Her voice sounded weak to her, although she meant the thanks. “That would be heaven—just not having to eat with her. But—it still belongs to you. It—” Luisa allowed herself a few seconds of dreaming: living in Rickie’s atelier, borrowing some of his novels and big art books which she saw here, not having to play chess with Renate in the evenings, being able to call the atelier her own in the evenings, Luisa was sure. Independence! And Rickie’s studio was so attractive with its white walls, its good lights, and his sketches and cartoons tacked up.
“But think about it,” Rickie said.
“She’d absolutely have a fit! She might throw me out, you know, because—she’d say I was associating with—maybe not criminals but homosexuals.”
“True. Renate would have a hard time catching me in bed with a girl.”
They both laughed. It was suddenly funny for Luisa to imagine.
Rickie was glad to see her laugh, but sorry his atelier idea had been rejected. Luisa would have been out of his studio at precisely the hours when he needed to work there.
Luisa had wanted to talk about Teddie, why trying to make dates with him seemed not worth it as long as she was apprenticed to Renate. But this, Luisa knew, would have led her to talk about Petey, and she didn’t want to remind Rickie of Petey now. It was not that she was still in love with Petey, but that Teddie came nowhere near inspiring in her what she had felt for Petey, that feeling that the world had totally changed, that the air she breathed, the space she walked in, had been different and special, and that everything small and large that she set her mind to she would succeed in, and with ease. That was being in love, and only with Petey had she felt this.
The doorbell rang.
Luisa thought at once: Renate has followed me here and there’s going to be a war! Then she remembered that Renate would consider the premises dirty, out of bounds.
“Forgot to tell you, Dorrie’s coming for a drink,” Rickie said, getting up. “So smile,” he added with a wink, and went to open the doors.
“Hey! Luisa!” Dorrie said on coming in. “What a nice surprise!”
“Surprise, yes,” Rickie said. “Luisa had a rough day, so I am the lucky one, she pays me a visit. What’ll you have, dear Dorrie?”
“First a glass of water, please, Rickie.” Dorrie said to Luisa, “Isn’t that nice news about Teddi
e’s article?”
“Nice—yes,” Luisa said.
Rickie was inspired to say, “It’s Renate cracking the whip today. Unburden yourself, dear Luisa.”
“My troubles, nothing but my troubles,” Luisa said, embarrassed. “I’ve said enough.”
“Luisa feels she must decline the offer of my studio as a cost-free dwelling place,” Rickie said in a precise manner, “because Renate doesn’t like queers. Luisa escaped this afternoon and came running to me. I am most flattered. But I hope you have your housekey, Luisa.”
Luisa knew her keys weren’t with her. “They’re in my handbag at home.”
“Good. You have a bed here and in my studio too,” said Rickie. “You have a choice.”
“And I’ve got a spare! Sort of a camp-bed, but still. That makes three beds. You mean the old bitch might not let you in? Why?” asked Dorrie.
Luisa took a breath. “Because I’m supposed to be there right now—helping to get dinner for us.”
“Call her. Tell her you’ve got a date for dinner tonight, eh, Rickie?”
The two of them exerted a force. Luisa went to the telephone at the end of the sofa. She dialed, said, “Hello, Renate,” and started to speak.
“Where’re you calling from?” Short and angry.
“I’d like to have dinner out tonight. I have a—”
“Who’re you with?”
“I’ll be home—before eleven.” Luisa felt a light sweat breaking out again.
“And just what brought this on?”
“Good-bye,” Luisa said in the middle of Renate’s question, and hung up.
“Wow! Good for you!” said Dorrie. “I could hear her! And she doesn’t know where you are?”
“No. Maybe suspects.”
“What do you say we phone Teddie and we all roll out to dinner somewhere air-conditioned? I’ve got my car with me. What’s Teddie’s number?”
Rickie knew the number, but protested that Dorrie and Luisa should go out together, as he had to do some accounting. They could phone Teddie from here, of course.
“I really don’t want to see Teddie—tonight,” Luisa said.
Small G: A Summer Idyll Page 19