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Rickie recognized a street name and postal code of a residential section of Zurich. “Not that I mean to phone you. But it’s somehow nice to know where you are.”

“You could telephone me,” Teddie said in a frank tone. “Why not?”

Just then, past Teddie’s shoulder, Rickie saw Willi Biber crossing the street, apparently heading for Jakob’s main entrance, Willi in his broad-brimmed gray hat, and looking downward, as if afraid of stepping into dog excrement. When Willi reached the pavement, he glanced in their direction. Impossible to know what the dimwit’s brain had registered, and depressing to realize that if Willi reported sighting him with Teddie, if would be in Rickie’s favor: Renate would warn Luisa, maybe with redoubled strength, that she’d be consorting with a homosexual, if she made a date with Teddie.

Teddie turned to see what interested Rickie. Willi fixed his gaze on Teddie for a couple of seconds, then disappeared into the greenery that enveloped Jakob’s entrance.

“That guy again,” said Teddie. “Wasn’t he here Saturday night? Sure. At Renate’s table—funny-looking guy.”

Rickie strolled toward his office, and Teddie came with him. “Every village has its idiot, I suppose.”

When Rickie was almost at his apartment house, he made a decision. “Teddie, come in for a minute. There’s something I want to tell you and I can’t tell you out here.”

“What?” asked Teddie, unwilling.

“It’ll take two minutes and it’s important.” Rickie pulled his keys out as if he meant business.

The boy followed him. Rickie entered his flat and closed the door. He had fourteen minutes before Star-Brite.

“Look—this—it’s Renate,” Rickie began. “I told you she was possessive about Luisa. I had a young boyfriend—Peter Ritter. His pictures are all around here. He was killed in January this year. He—”

“Killed?”

“Stabbed one night as he left a cinema. In Zurich. Stabbed and robbed, you know? Bled to death before he got to a hospital. I wasn’t with him, he was by himself.”

“That’s terrible, Rickie. I’m sorry.” Teddie’s eyes flickered toward the big picture of Petey with his motorcycle, then away.

“The
reason
I tell you this is that Luisa was very fond of Petey, in love with him even. For several weeks. Renate was most upset. Petey was gay. Oh, I know it’s a different situation. But Renate told Luisa that Petey was stabbed by a pickup of Petey who came in through the balcony window or some such when I was out—that he was stabbed right here in my apartment.”

Teddie began to frown. “But wasn’t there anything in the papers about the stabbing?”

Rickie nodded. “The time and place and the hospital he was taken to. Not a big item. Not everybody read it, of course. And people believe what they want to believe.
Some
people. Like Willi who’s practically a moron. Renate has a lot of control over him.”

“And the people around here? In Jakob’s?”

“Oh, Ursie and the help at Jakob’s, they know the truth. But—people who just come in for a beer—any stranger, they’re going to believe a story like the stabbing in my apartment, because it’s interesting—dramatic. I feel sure Renate can tell it as if she believes it. She convinced Luisa. I had to set Luisa right.”

Teddie said with utmost seriousness, “It’s hard to imagine Renate’s that cracked.”

Rickie hesitated a moment. “She’s not cracked, she’s shrewd. Greedy, maybe. Now she’s concentrating on Luisa. Renate wants to make her a very good dress designer.”

“She’s gay, Renate? A lesbian?”

“Ha! Maybe a repressed one. I don’t know what she is, because it’s all sort of distorted—I heard she was married once, for years. No children, I think.”

Teddie nodded. “I’ve heard of a hundred percent repressed gay people. Men
and
women.”

“I warn you about Willi Biber too. A real snoop—and full of lies. It seems Renate convinced him he was once in the French Foreign Legion—years ago. Ursie told me that one!” Rickie could not repress a smile. “I hadn’t heard it but it seems Willi tells it to a lot of people.”

Teddie stepped back and gave a laugh. “The Foreign Legion. That scarecrow!”

Rickie moved toward the door, keys still in hand. They went out and descended the front stone steps.

“I don’t know how this Renate can look you in the face.”

“She doesn’t look at me—usually. You haven’t noticed yet. I don’t exist for her. Here I am at the factory. Phone me some time—if you feel like it.” Rickie felt noble with his casualness, his easy smile.

“Right. I’m sure I’ll feel like it.”

They were standing beside Rickie’s studio railing, where the steps went down to work, discipline, the telephone, and Mathilde.

“And I’d love to see one of your efforts with ‘Georg’s Adventures.’ If you send me a carbon copy, I’ll return it if you want me to.”

A vague gesture, a murmured word and a smile, and Rickie’s vision of perfection—health, good looks, and sex appeal—turned and hurried off toward Jakob’s again.

12

T
wo days later, Luisa Zimmermann prepared cautiously for her first date with Teddie—sometimes Georg—Stevenson. She was to meet him one street away and around the corner of the street in which she lived. His car was an Audi four-door, brown, and if she didn’t see it parked, she would see him strolling along, wearing a light-colored jacket.

Can you invent a reason to stay out long enough for dinner, etc? A sick friend? A film you want to see? Whether you can make it or not, I’ll be there by seven-fifteen and I’ll wait—how long? A long time anyway!

Till then XX
G.

It was hard for Luisa to invent something to tell Renate, because Luisa’s circle of friends was small, and because Renate suspected anything that was out of the ordinary.
Why
did she feel like taking a walk just now? Because she hadn’t stretched her legs all day, Luisa might reply, which was the truth, but Renate’s eyes would stare like knives cutting her brain open.

For this occasion Luisa had said, taking a big chance, that it was too hot to eat anything, at least at 7
P.M.
, and she wanted to stroll along the Sihl for a while. She would probably be back by ten, she said.
Daring
, that had been, but here she was out,
out
, at one minute to seven, freshly showered, wearing a full blue cotton skirt she had made, and a white, long-sleeved cotton blouse, carrying a small handbag that held her keys, a little money, paper tissues, a comb, and over her arm a black sweater for later when it became chilly. Luisa wondered, was Renate baiting her, letting her line run out quite a lot, so she could haul it in with a big catch? Renate had attacked every boy or young man Luisa had made acquaintance with in the last—well, all the time she had lived in Renate’s house, nearly a year. Renate would make a devastating remark: “Shabby clothes,” or “Looks like a farm worker,” or “Common as mud! Just because he smiles and invites you to a Coke, you intend to make a
date
with him?”

Luisa strolled away from home and Jakob’s, and past the place where she was to meet Georg-Teddie. She was thinking of her “circle of friends”: Elsie, one of the apprentices who lived in the neighborhood, would certainly help her out. Luisa could still ring her up (she lived with her parents) and say, “I was with you this evening for dinner, in case Renate questions me. All right, Elsie?” Vera would be cooperative too. Impossible that Luisa could have arranged such an alibi during working hours, when Renate was present in the big apartment. Luisa wouldn’t have dared try. It was as if the walls had ears, as the saying went, or that, despite her audible gait, Renate could sneak up and hear every word before Luisa was aware of her presence. Luisa had captured Teddie’s letter safely, only because she’d fetched the post herself from the box.

Seven past seven. Maybe Georg was already at the meeting place? At the next corner, she turned right, into the appointed block, and still slowly walked along the pavement overhung with birch and plane trees. There were a couple of dark figures ahead, but she saw a pale blur which became a jacket, she thought.

“Hello, Luisa!” Georg-Teddie said softly. “You made it!”

“Yes!”

“Car’s this way.” He still spoke softly. “Round the corner. No, at the corner. I’m so glad you’re here!”

He smiled, and opened the door of a large and shining car that had appeared black to Luisa. “Please.”

Luisa stepped in and sat on a broad beige passenger seat, and Teddie came round and got behind the wheel. Luisa had a glimpse of a complex-looking dashboard, red arcs, dials, then Teddie closed the door and the engine purred.

“What a big car!”

“You think so? No-o. Well, I’m used to it, I suppose. What kind has your—well—your friend got?”

“Renate?” Luisa didn’t like saying her name. A VW Golf. With special brake and patrol pedals. She has a handicap—a
Klumpfuss
.” Luisa used the common term for it instead of talipes, which Renate preferred. Were people supposed to puzzle over what talipes meant, Luisa wondered, since Renate’s foot was hidden beneath a long skirt? “Maybe you noticed that she limps,” Luisa added, hoping that finished the subject.

“If I did, I forgot,” Teddie said, as if he couldn’t care less. “Do you like shish kebab?”

“Oh yes.”

“Because I know a good place. That’s where we’re going. Ten—no, eight kilometers away. You don’t mind?”

The summer air blew against her face, her arms, and the car rolled as smoothly as if they were flying. “No. I don’t mind. An Arab place?”

“I think it’s French but they do a good shish kebab. Chez Henri, it’s called. Has a terrace, so it’s cool. Also a little orchestra.” Teddie laughed. “You like to dance, I know.”

The breeze was louder in her ears than Teddie’s voice. He wore a red vest under his white jacket, which he had now unbuttoned, and Luisa thought of the girl named Dorrie with her red vest last Saturday night. This coming Saturday was the first of August, Switzerland’s National Holiday, which meant a big event at Jakob’s. Would Renate invite all her girls for an evening at Jakob’s? Bratwurst, cervelat, and bread, wine and beer. Luisa rather hoped not, but Vera had said Renate had made a party of it last year.

“You’re very quiet. What did you do today?”

“You want the truth?” Luisa asked.

“Of course I do!”

“I phoned Rickie—while I was out buying something for
la fabrique
. Renate calls it
la fabrique
, the workplace. I wanted to tell him I was seeing you tonight.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Teddie flicked his lights and overtook a car on an upward stretch. “And the rest of the time?”

“I worked. But I spent some time wondering how to make it this evening, what to say. To escape.”

“To escape! Can’t you see someone for dinner? Why do you take it?”

Luisa foresaw two awkward statements, like confessions, ahead—if she made them. She began, “Maybe I didn’t tell you. It’s not all that important, but—Renate thinks you’re
schwul
because she’s seen you with Rickie—or Willi has. He reports to her.”

“Ha! Ho-ho. You can tell her I find her stuffy. Add
creepy
. I like Rickie, queer or not. Or don’t tell her anything!”

Luisa was silent. She also liked Rickie. He would be a friend in case she needed one—she sensed that. Now she tensed herself for the next confession. “The other reason”—Luisa closed the window to make herself more audible—“I’m not so independent is that Renate gave me a job and a place to live last year when I ran away from Brig. I wasn’t twenty but I had to say I was—to some people, so I wouldn’t be sent back home. And Renate had to speak for me to the
Schneiderin
I’d been apprenticed to in Brig. My parents—mother and stepfather—well, they don’t know my address and I’m glad. I wrote to them that I’m in Zurich and OK, and I don’t think they want to ask questions. Anyway they’ve got my younger half-brother to bring up. So that’s the end of it, Teddie. Or are you Georg tonight?”

“I’m Teddie tonight. Did you sign a contract with Renate?”

“Not yet. She assumed I’ll sign. We have to get a legal release from the woman I was apprenticed to in Brig, you see. Renate wrote to her. Renate’s not satisfied. It’s not straightened out yet.”

“Don’t sign it, don’t sign anything with her. She’s an oddball, you know? Liar too. Rickie told me a few things, and I believe Rickie.”

So did Luisa believe Rickie. “Do you mean about Rickie’s friend Petey?”

“I do. Well—I went to the newspaper archives in town yesterday. Looked it up. Peter Ritter—stabbed in a Zurich street in January, dead on arrival in hospital. The idea of a presumably sane person like Renate telling a lie about a death! Now I have to be careful so I don’t overshoot. This place is on the other side of the road.” Teddie concentrated.

Teddie was right, Rickie was right, Luisa knew.

He swung across the road to a small white sign that there was no time to read, and they climbed a narrow road with a couple of bends in it, and came on to a level. The lights of a long, one-story restaurant showed a terrace with tables and a parking area. Teddie parked in a row of fifteen cars or so.

Luisa wished she was in her new pink dress, but how would she have escaped for the evening in it?

A headwaiter came onto the terrace to greet them.

Teddie had made a reservation for two under Stevenson, and the maître d’ seemed to know Teddie. “Is the terrace all right?”

Teddie asked Luisa.

Of course.

“To drink?” Teddie asked when they were seated. “Please have something—to celebrate!” He said it as if one or the other of them had a birthday. “I had such a good day today. And now you’re—I’m with you!”

“What I would like is a gin and tonic,” Luisa said, feeling daring.

“Good. And I’ll join you in the tonic.” Teddie gave the order.

“No drinking when you drive, I suppose.” Luisa meant it as a compliment.

“Sure, I could, you know. One, anyway. But I promised my mother.” Teddie set his jaw and scowled at the menu. “Well, I know the kebab’s good, but we’ll wait. Maybe you’ll have two gin and tonics. I wrote another column,” Teddie said. “My third or fourth. ‘Georg’s Adventures,’ I call my efforts—for now. I admit the
Tages-Anzeiger
turned the first two down. Well, three.”

“What kind of column?”

“About—someone like me. Just an incident. What happens—what we’re thinking about. Even just a date like tonight. Who knows?”

Just a date. Luisa was thinking that Teddie Stevenson looked elegant, like a young millionaire, in his fine off-white jacket and black bow tie. And she was dressed as if she had stepped out to buy a liter of milk! Her nails clean now, but devoid of polish. Yet Teddie was looking at her as if he liked her, and liked being with her.

“As I said to Rickie Monday, I’ll give it a good try for a couple of months, this journalism. My mother thinks what I wrote—might have a chance somewhere, anyway. Or so she said. Here we go.”

The drinks had come.

“To you. To us,” Teddie said, lifting his glass of tonic with lemon slice.

“To us,” Luisa said, and drank some. She imagined that she felt the gin at once. “Have you—”

“You make—” Teddie interrupted, and smiled. “You make me think of a chestnut,” he said with determination. “All shining—somehow.”

“A chestnut?” Luisa ducked her head, embarrassed, not knowing why. “Have you been to America? I suppose so.”

“Tw—no, three times. New York. And once to California. I said chestnut, because your hair shines like a—”

The waiter was back, politely inquiring about their order. Teddie thought it a good idea to order, as the shish kebab took a time. With rice. No garlic? All right, a little. A green salad. A half-bottle of good red wine for Mademoiselle. Teddie looked at the list.

“A glass,” Luisa said.

“No-no! A half-bottle.” Teddie was firm. “And caviar maybe?”

Caviar. Yes. Renate—Luisa could not stop herself now from thinking of Renate indulging Luisa and herself in caviar at near Christmas time last year, and making it clear that caviar was a rare luxury.

“Now we could dance,” Teddie said, “
if
you’d like.”

Luisa wore pumps: she had had to tell Renate she meant to walk. Again, she felt the embarrassing contrast between Teddie’s garb and her own, but once he touched her waist, held her right hand, her confidence returned.

“With a waltz,” Teddie began, “what can you do but waltz?”

It was old-fashioned, elegant, beautiful. Teddie danced very straight, his head high. Luisa was aware that some of the people at the tables watched them. It was a dream, she felt, and just as in a dream, she had worn the wrong clothes and was ugly in contrast to Teddie. Yet people smiled at both of them.

Then they were back at their table, Teddie holding her chair until she was seated.

The waiter arrived with the caviar.

“One more gin and tonic, please,” Teddie said, “and one plain tonic. Thank you.”

“No, Teddie, I can’t! This one is enough.” She was not even finished with the first.

Teddie yielded, and dropped the order.

Caviar. Symbol of luxury.

Teddie was now talking of scuba diving when he’d been fifteen. Luisa suddenly saw herself at fifteen and sixteen, as clearly as if she gazed at a film in black and white, wearing an ugly gray coverall suit like a mechanic’s, hair short and jagged, yanking her motorbike into upright position, throwing her head back as she guffawed with the local boys. They were assembling in the square, waiting for a last pal—maybe Franz, always late—before they tore off, making as much noise as possible in the small streets, rushing past private houses, scaring cats, causing drivers to blink their lights in silent fury. Luisa recalled her sense of “success” when strangers looked at her twice, as if asking themselves, “Is that a boy or a girl?” She had affected a tough gait, a rough toss of her head, an aggressive way of mounting her motorbike. Her nails—uneven and dirty! Of course! But she’d got free of her stepfather by these maneuvers—or at least they had helped. He had tried to laugh at her toughness at first, but he hadn’t been able to shake her from her intent. Freedom! Out of the house!

Now she was dancing with Teddie to a really good song, Teddie with jacket unbuttoned and its whiteness flying, like his patent leather slippers.

A raspberry ice each for dessert, Teddie insisted.

Then Luisa was saying, “I must be going soon. I
must
.”

Ten to eleven. The tension had returned. Not another dance tonight, she knew. She didn’t dare. The last dance had been a dare.

“I know, I know.” Teddie said it with patience, but with annoyance too.

There’s just so much I can get away with, Luisa thought of saying, but checked herself.

In no time, it seemed, because the atmosphere had hardened into reality, they were back in the car, racing toward town and Aussersihl. Luisa tried to rehearse her answers, in case Renate quizzed her. She’d grown tired and had to wait an extra long time for a tram? No. Renate knew when she was trying to lie.