Small G: A Summer Idyll

by Patricia Highsmith

  “I invited Ursie,” Teddie said to Rickie, “but she absolutely couldn’t come even for twenty minutes. Andy—please make these people take some drinks. You know how to do it!”

  “Teddie—for you.” Andy pulled a white envelope from a jacket pocket. “A card from us all. We all say happy birthday.”

  “Thank you, Andy.”

  They moved toward the drinks table. There was lots of Coca-Cola and tomato juice.

  “Fraulein Luisa,” said Andy, ducking his head an instant. “Ursie and I and Hugo—all of us are very sorry to hear about Madame.”

  “Thank you, Andy—for your sympathy. I think we are all shocked.”

  Long-stemmed dahlias stood in vases on both tables, and shorter tulips and white roses. Suddenly it wasn’t like “a funeral,” as Luisa had thought moments ago, but like a burst of pretty things, and special food and drink. A waiter was lighting the candelabra.

  “Mademoiselle?” A waiter offered a tray of stemmed glasses, all half full of bubbling champagne.

  Everyone took a glass, even two or three young-looking girls whose names Luisa didn’t know, and who looked so shy, Luisa felt herself a picture of poise by comparison.

  “Happy birthday, Teddie!”

  “And many more!”

  “To Teddie!”

  “Speech, Teddie!”

  “Ye-es-s! Some words from the great journalist!”

  Rickie exchanged a smile with Luisa. He had a Scotch on the rocks, thanks to Andy.

  “Thank you all—very much—for being here,” said Teddie.

  “More!”

  “Yes—OK. Finally I’m twenty-one.” Teddie looked at the floor, lifted a foot as if he were about to stomp on the carpet. “Can’t believe I’ve reached the age that Americans tell you to wait for. Wait till you’re twenty-one before you do this and that.” He cleared his throat. “At least tonight I have the right to gather my favorite people around me: a few school friends, military training pal—Eric—who may have saved my life and did save my self-respect, when he told me to lie flat. Otherwise I’d have got a live bullet—in the backside. Wrong side for a soldier.”

  “Hah-ho.” A murmur of laughter.

  “Tonight Franzi is here, my school friend with whom I shared almost everything, boxes from home, books, secondhand cars—a room, yes—girls, no. And tonight Luisa is here, the girl who says ‘I’m not sure, I have to think about it.’ Even about a date.”

  Whispers: “Who’s Luisa?”

  “Last but not least—my friend Rickie, who took me in one night, when I wasn’t the equal of a street attacker. My all-round pal, Rickie Markwalder. Now let’s eat, drink, and have a good time!”

  “Ye-eay, Rickie!” a male voice shouted. Whose voice?

  Luisa just then saw Dorrie’s black-clad figure in the doorway, raising a hand to acknowledge Luisa’s wave.

  A patter of applause. A little laughter.

  People became interested in the buffet tables.

  Teddie drifted toward Rickie. “I hadn’t counted on making a speech.” Teddie passed a hand across his forehead.

  “You did quite well!”

  “I thought later—you know—some of us might go to Jakob’s. Nightcap. OK, Rickie?”

  “Of course it’s OK,” Rickie replied, dubious about Luisa’s and his own energy level later. “Freddie’s on duty tonight at ten, I know.”

  Not far away from Rickie, Dorrie was saying to Luisa, “I brought this for Teddie. Is he collecting presents now?” She held a small rectangular box.

  “I suppose so. What did you get him?”

  “Joke pens. Well, they work. I happened to have them because I’d just bought them! Hah!”

  Now Luisa smiled. “I brought something I had too. No time today for shopping.”

  “Did you have to see—well—her lawyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  Luisa felt like ducking the question, and held herself straight. “I don’t want to talk about it just now. Sorry.”

  “Let’s get something to eat. Somebody said there was beef Stroganoff.”

  A couple of smaller tables had now been covered with white linen and chairs set round, for those who wished to sit. Luisa and Dorrie chose to sit, and were soon joined by Rickie. Beef Stroganoff and rice was the hot dish, and the cold offerings pâté, sliced ham, sausages, and salads.

  “Everything all right?” Teddie was on his feet, wine glass in hand, and with no intention of sitting, it seemed.

  Luisa was looking at Teddie, when her vision went gray, and sounds became blurred. She laid down the fork she had just picked up. “I can’t—” Then she was dropping to her right, the side where Dorrie wasn’t.

  Cold water on a napkin across Luisa’s forehead. She saw an unfocused cream-colored ceiling with panels.

  “. . . heavy day . . . tomato juice . . .”

  Luisa realized that she lay on her back on a couple of benches; that she must have been quite unconscious for a minute or two.

  “Feeling steadier now?” Dorrie was asking, pressing her hand.

  “Oh, sure.”

  “Don’t eat anything if you don’t want to,” someone said.

  “A little is good,” Rickie’s voice said.

  Luisa ate a bite, slowly.

  Rickie’s deep voice said, “A little beef, a sip of wine—”

  The morsel of beef brought the scene back. Tonight she would sleep in Rickie’s studio, as she had last night. She sipped some water. “I’m OK,” she said to Dorrie and Teddie, because he was seated opposite her now, looking at her. He stood up and bowed a little.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “A cake!” a girl shouted.

  A cake was arriving, inspiring applause. It was carried by two waiters and sat on a rather large tray, but the cake with twenty-one candles ablaze was not huge. This was deposited in the center of the buffet table, which had been partly cleared.

  “No more speeches!” yelled Teddie. “And I’m not going to blow all these out. It’s unsanitary! Come up and I’ll cut!”

  Luisa stayed where she was, so did Dorrie. Rickie came back with three plates of cake, held somewhat dangerously.

  “What kind? Looks homemade,” Dorrie said.

  “Coconut meringue.”

  Rickie wanted to see Luisa home early, he explained to Teddie, as she was tired. Teddie of course had to stay with his guests. Dorrie said her thanks and good night to Teddie, and she and Luisa and Rickie departed.

  In the taxi, Rickie kept silent. If Luisa wanted Dorrie to stay the night, he thought, she could as far as he was concerned, but he was not going to say anything about it. As it turned out, Dorrie asked to be dropped at a corner which she said wasn’t far from where she lived.

  Then Rickie and Luisa went on to the studio. Rickie unlocked with his own key.

  “It’s weird,” Luisa said when she was down in the big white room. She tossed her handbag onto the single bed that she had made neatly that morning. “I really feel weird now.”

  Rickie glanced at the floor. “It is weird—yes, that’s the word. A very strange two days. Sit down on Mathilde’s chair.” Rickie pulled out the swivel chair. “Mind if I look for a small beer?” He opened the fridge. There were two.

  “I must tell you something. I mean—I feel like telling you.”

  He thought of Mathilde’s confession of pregnancy, which hadn’t been true. “Yes. What, my dear?”

  “Renate made me co-inheritor in her will. The other is her sister in Zagreb.”

  “In a way, I am not surprised, you know?” But Rickie felt very surprised, and was sure he even looked surprised. “Everything?”

  “I suppose. The lawyer Rensch said half and half—with the sister. Of
course they have to find the sister. Then I’ve heard people always have to wait for months—proving things.”

  “Yes. Six months usually. Then you’ll have death duties, maybe eight percent.” Rickie sipped his Heineken from the cold bottle. “Didn’t Renate own that apartment too?”

  “Yes.” It hit Luisa again as a frightening responsibility: a big property tax (maybe) to pay before she could touch any of Renate’s money to cover the bills. Electricity and telephone bills. She’d have to talk to Gamper at UBS, certainly. Then a happier thought came. “You know, Rickie, Vera—one of the girls—she’s a ‘coworker,’ higher than apprentice. She’s got an idea. We’re going to visit the women’s technical school at Kreuzplatz, and look for a dressmaker who could take Renate’s place. There may be a person who’d be glad of an apartment to live in, Vera thinks.”

  The thought cheered Rickie too. “Of course! You could keep the same girls—the same clientele! But you ought to get the place repainted. I don’t mean it’s shabby now, but to pick yourself up. Pick the girls up too. Luisa, I’ll leave you. You’re OK? Will you get to bed? Soon?”

  Luisa nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’ve got to put in an appearance at Jakob’s, you know.” He tipped the little bottle and finished it. “’Bye, my dear. I’ll lock from the outside. Got your keys?”

  “Yes.”

  ON THE WAY TO JAKOB’S, Rickie undid his bow tie, stuck it in his pocket, and opened the top button of his shirt. He was thinking that Luisa had looked unusually pretty tonight with her brown hair shining as usual, her small gold circles of earrings, her wonderful mixture of shyness and good humor. Co-inheritor! What would Renate have left in stocks and bonds? More than a million francs, he’d guess, Renate being thrifty by nature and having had a long working life. Would that make any difference at all in regard to Teddie? No, why should it? Who did Luisa like better, Teddie or Dorrie?

  Lulu, he thought, as he neared his apartment house. Rickie unlocked his front door, then his apartment door, and heard Lulu scampering toward him. He felt for her lead in the dark: it hung from a row of coat hooks on the left in the hall. Out again, and Lulu went tidily into the gutter for a pee. He didn’t put her lead on till they were almost at the door of Jakob’s.

  Ursie was the first familiar figure he saw, Ursie behind the bar, drawing two beers. “Rickie! A good evening?”

  “Yes, and so elegant! Ursie, we missed you!”

  “I know, I know, thank you,” pouring wine now, eyes on the glass.

  “Teddie’s due here tonight.”

  “Ah, good!”

  The second figure to catch his eye was that of Willi Biber, hunched over white wine, his big hand concealing the stem of the glass and part of the bowl. He wore his old gray broad-brimmed hat, and was slow to look up at Rickie. Then Willi tensed, and his feet shifted as if he might leave.

  Rickie looked away. That had been a “hostile” glance from Willi. Rickie knew he was one of the “others,” the enemy, the wrong kind of people, the people that Renate Hagnauer had not cared for, and about whom she had been scathing. Rickie realized that he would be, therefore, among the curious few who might be glad of Renate’s death, whereas Willi Biber in losing Renate had lost a protectrice, a comforter, a friend. Small wonder that Willi looked dejected and melancholic tonight! He sat at the end of the table, where Rickie had often seen him when Renate had been at the table, seated at right angles to Willi. Willi might have been conjuring up memories of Renate, Rickie thought, seated close to him, drawing on her cigarette holder, eyeing the goings on with disapproval—though often making a sketch. Rickie stood at the bar.

  “What will you have, Rickie?” asked Ursie. “A small beer?”

  “No. I’ll wait a minute.” He reached for his cigarettes.

  “Andreas said the party was just grand! The Kronenhalle!”

  “It was—pretty. Teddie’s birthday, you know.”

  “I know! And Luisa was there?”

  “Ye-es.”

  After wiping the stems of two glasses, Ursie set two beers proudly on a tray on the counter. “Ah, poor girl! A shock, you know? What’s going to become of the apartment?”

  “I don’t know,” said Rickie.

  “Will all the girls look for other jobs?”

  Rickie took his time. “I dunno. There’s a helper there—Vera. Older, you know. She may take over. We’ll see.”

  “Ah Rickie, welcome back!” Andy laughed. He wore his familiar dark trousers, white shirt, and black vest unbuttoned. “Two reds and three beers, Ursie. Teddie coming tonight?”

  “Supposed to.”

  “And poor Willi,” Ursie went on, setting two glasses under the taps. “He’s a lost soul. He’s hardly eaten since he heard the news—so Frau Wenger told somebody. He did worship Frau Renate!” Ursie rolled her eyes, reached for another maroon-colored tray and slapped it down on the counter.

  Too damn bad if Willi lost his appetite, Rickie thought. Had Ursie forgotten the night Teddie got hit in the back; all the suspicions, the interviews later with Willi Biber? Rickie wasn’t going to jog her memory.

  “One small beer, Rickie,” said Ursie. “On the house. A big beer, if you want it.”

  “Small. Thank you.”

  “Teddie hasn’t been here in quite a while, has he? And here he is! Look!”

  Teddie, with a big smile for Rickie, entered with two young men from the party, Eric and another whose name Rickie didn’t know.

  “Hello again, Rick,” said Teddie. “By yourself?” He nodded to Ursie. “’Evening, Ursie!”

  “Except for Lulu. A beer, Teddie?” The boys seemed content to stay at the bar, where only two or three other customers stood.

  “This round is on the house!” Ursie said. “In honor of Teddie’s birthday.”

  Diplomacy rampant again, Rickie thought, watching the young fellows say their thanks. Beer all round. He also saw Teddie’s gaze move to Willi Biber at the table inside.

  “Yep, still around,” said Rickie, “and in his usual place.”

  Teddie shook his head. “Poor old son of a bitch,” he murmured.

  Rickie gave a laugh. “Teddie, you’re growing up!”

  Teddie frowned. “Wasn’t I always growing up?”

  Eric cleared his throat and said to Rickie, “Teddie says you make wonderful layouts—for advertisements. He showed me one in a magazine. I have a friend . . .”

  Rickie, a bit drunk, answered Eric’s questions politely. Eric had a friend finishing his apprenticeship as Grafiker, commercial artist. What kind of job should he aim for? “He should aim for the kind of stuff he likes to draw,” Rickie said, determined to go no further. Instantly, the Custom account invaded his brain, took over. Rickie much wanted to get that account. He liked the name, the people at Custom. He had to invent a trademark, a logo, and series of ads for men’s luxury goods. Was this a noble aspiration for a grown man? No.

  Then Teddie asked how Luisa was doing. How was she really doing? And when the other two fellows weren’t listening, was Dorrie in love with Luisa? What was Luisa’s attitude toward Dorrie?

  “Dorrie’s been very helpful. That’s all I know. Luisa needs a little help now, you know. Moral support.”

  “I’m here too. Tell her. Well, I did tell her.”

  The fellows wanted to walk Rickie home, because Teddie had said Rickie’s flat was in the neighborhood. Rickie had explained in Jakob’s that he couldn’t ask them in, because it was late and tomorrow was a working day. So Eric in Jakob’s had rung for a taxi to come to Rickie’s address.

  “Big deal,” Rickie said to Teddie. “You’re allowed to come to Jakob’s neighborhood again.”

  Teddie laughed. “I said to my mother, since I’m twenty-one—just this once—in a taxi. It won’t be just this once.” His smile was confident.

&nbs
p; “What did you do with your presents?”

  “I went to my house—and left them.”

  32

  Tuesday morning. Luisa’s first thought was: the cremation. The lawyer Rensch was supposed to telephone about that. Or was it the bank? No, the lawyer. Luisa leapt out of bed. Five past seven now. Coffee, a slice from a sweet bun in the fridge. Get dressed, make the bed. The studio should look neat when Mathilde came in at nine-thirty or so.

  Luisa was unlocking the apartment door by seven-thirty, unpleasantly aware of the closed door of Renate’s bedroom as she walked past it. For today, try not to see it, she told herself. She would go to the cremation, of course—there was some kind of ceremony, she thought.

  Vera was the first arrival, well before eight, when Luisa was making coffee in the kitchen. Again Vera mentioned the cremation, and said she would be glad to accompany Luisa if Luisa didn’t mind.

  “Mind? Of course not,” said Luisa. “Thank you, Vera.”

  Dr. Rensch rang before nine. He informed Luisa that the “ceremony” for Frau Hagnauer would take place at two-thirty that afternoon, and would last less than an hour.

  “The cremation itself will take about two hours, and it is not necessary to stay for that unless you wish to.” He then gave the address of the crematorium. “Do you want the ashes preserved?”

  “No,” said Luisa, not very firmly but firmly enough.

  “The bill will be taken care of out of the assets here. All right?”

  End of conversation.

  Luisa returned to her coffee cup, trying to draw courage from it. Vera’s dark eyes met hers, and Luisa beckoned to her. They spoke in the long hall. Luisa told Vera the time of the ceremony.

  “I know where that place is,” Vera said. “We can get a tram and then a taxi.”

  “OK. And I think we should let the girls off at lunch, don’t you? After lunch?”

  “Certainly, yes. We can manage.” Vera’s long dark hair moved emphatically with her nod. “I’ll tell them. And also—”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll come back and help you with Renate’s things.” She nodded toward the closed door. “I can imagine you don’t want to do it alone.”