Love,
L.
RENATE HAGNAUER’S HOUSEHOLD began to stir before seven, as usual. Renate and Luisa were on their feet, Luisa in the kitchen making coffee. Both had always liked to breakfast in their dressing gowns in the kitchen.
Now Renate came in with her eye patch in place, and said, “Would you bring my breakfast on a tray this morning, Luisa? I want to rest my eye as much as possible.”
Luisa prepared the usual, coffee with milk separate, sliced bread, butter, and strawberry jam this morning. After serving this, Luisa breakfasted alone in the kitchen.
It was almost a joy to ready the long worktable, definitely a joy to greet the smiling faces of Vera, dear Elsie, and Stefanie. Each asked Renate how she was faring, and had the doctor said what was the trouble?
Renate replied with an air of suffering. “I am sure I am better. No, no pain, thank you.”
Then came the nine-thirty break, always initiated by Renate and made definite by her departure from the house.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” said Renate coolly, when she and Luisa were in the apartment hall.
“Oh, but—well, I’d like to,” said Luisa. Up to now she had served as escort for Renate.
A first-floor tenant exclaimed at the sight of Renate. “Oh, Madame! What happened?”
“Nothing! Maybe a torn retina. Not—”
“Ach! Retina—”
Passersby on the street of course gave Renate a glance: here came the grim, one-eyed pirate Captain Kidd, and with a limp too, as if she had a wooden leg. Luisa repressed a smile.
Jakob’s, and Ursie at once spotted Renate from the bar. “Madame Renate! ’Morning! And what happened to your eye?”
“Nothing at all. A little strain,” replied Renate.
Luisa got a Tages-Anzeiger from the rack for Renate. They had just sat down, when Rickie and Lulu appeared in the doorway between the bar and the dining area.
Seeing them, Rickie bowed slightly, bowed again at the sight of Renate’s convex black patch. Renate wasn’t watching. There was no need for Renate and Luisa to order. Andy soon brought their espressos with cream. And Renate lit her cigarette.
“Something in the eye?” Andy asked with concern.
“No, just a little strain,” Renate replied with a tight smile.
Luisa’s right hand was in her pocket, her fingers on the folded note to Rickie. Couldn’t she just walk over and hand it to Rickie, maybe under pretense of a handshake? Or simply drop it on the table? Luisa nursed the last third of her cup. Renate was absorbed in the newspaper. Luisa eased herself along the bench.
“Back in a minute,” she said, though Renate had not lifted her eyes. She went slowly and directly toward Rickie, who at once looked at her.
“Sit down, sweetie,” he said.
“Brought you this.” Now with her back to Renate, she took her hand from her pocket and dropped the note by Rickie’s croissant plate.
“Ah, thank you. A love letter!” Rickie pocketed it. “Teddie phoned this morning. He would love to take you out Wednesday evening for dinner. He can pick you up at an exact time in a taxi.”
Luisa almost writhed. “I explained in my note—”
“Use my house as a meeting place!” he interrupted. “Think about it. I can arrange it.”
“Just tell him it’s tough. I don’t want to make a half-promise.” Luisa glanced over her shoulder, and found Renate’s eye fixed on her. Smoke curled from her mouth as if from the mouth of a dragon.
Renate was now busy counting out coins. She paid for Luisa as usual. They were silent, except for murmured good-byes to Andy and Ursie.
Slap, scrape, slap, scrape went Renate’s shoes. She did better with a cane, had an elegant black one at home, but detested carrying it, Luisa knew.
“I saw you passing a message to that Rickie this morning,” Renate said in a staccato monotone.
“Yes. I don’t think you like me phoning him from the house, otherwise I would.”
“You’ll make my eye worse if you keep up this nonsense!” She slowed and touched the eye patch delicately. “I can feel it throbbing.”
Luisa said with deliberate calmness, “I don’t know what you’re angry about.”
“The degenerates you seem to prefer lately! What do you think I’m angry about?”
A woman passing them in the opposite direction glanced at Renate with a surprised expression.
Luisa clenched her teeth, made herself stop. “Degenerate? Worse than that Dorftrottel Willi? You seem to like him all right and he lied about the French Foreign Legion. You must’ve heard it—that evening at the Wengers’. The police have his record.” Luisa had heard it from Rickie.
Since Renate couldn’t deny this, she chose to say nothing. By now they were climbing the front steps, Renate one at a time. She pulled from her handbag an impressive ring of keys, which she sometimes called a trousseau in the French manner.
Silence again.
Renate, after seeing that the work was going all right, took to her bed. This caused Luisa to have to rap on her door at noon, to ask if Renate wished her to bring a tray. Renate did: sardines on buttered toast with a piece of lemon, and a sliced tomato with oil and salt.
“And a small pot of tea, please.”
Luisa prepared this in the kitchen, where two girls were already at the table, eating the sandwiches they had brought from home. Stefanie’s school day was today, so she had not come to work.
“She’s really down, eh?” asked Vera.
“Something eating her?” Elsie whispered.
“I don’t know,” Luisa said, as if she were bored with Renate’s performance, which was true.
The next morning, Luisa jumped every time the telephone rang. The sitting room telephone had been moved into Renate’s bedroom, so she could handle business calls from her bed.
Elsie, just returning from the toilet, was close to the hall telephone when it rang around three that afternoon. “For you, Luisa. A fella,” she said with a wink.
Teddie, Luisa thought. “Hello?”
“Hi, Luisa! What about tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven?” Teddie spoke in a rush. “I’ll be in a taxi and ring the bell, or you can be—”
“Just a minute,” Renate’s voice interrupted on the other phone. “Luisa is not . . .”
“Teddie, I’m sorry,” said Luisa, embarrassed. “You see it’s—”
“Or tomorrow night,” Renate’s voice continued. “She is under contract with me, and until . . .”
“Get off the line, Madame!” Teddie shouted. “Chris’sake, what an old bitch!”
“Enough!” That word came like a squawk, and Renate hung up with a clatter.
Luisa could hear the girls in the workroom whispering and tittering. “It’s sort of a crisis, Teddie—Rickie knows.”
“I talked with Rickie half an hour ago,” said Teddie. “Can you come to his apartment?”
“Got to sign off, Teddie. I’ll be here, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Luisa hung up softly, hating to face the girls.
“Is he nice? He sounded nice,” Elsie whispered.
“Luisa!” That was from Renate.
Luisa went to Renate’s room.
Renate had a nosebleed, and Luisa had the feeling she had made the most of it by getting a stain on the top sheet. She wanted more paper tissues, though a goodly supply was within her reach.
“This absurd excitement!” said Renate with contempt.
Luisa was to make a pot of tea, bring a damp cloth—no, bring a clean top sheet for the bed, please. Meanwhile Renate muttered about rudeness. Luisa changed the top sheet while Renate lay with head back, though the bleeding seemed to have stopped.
It was another
evening when Renate dined by herself, served by Luisa, and had the TV set for company, while Luisa tried to eat something in the kitchen. Luisa wanted to run out, to escape, and forever.
When the phone rang, Luisa flew for it and lifted it before the first ring was finished. “Hello?”
“Hi, I’ll meet you in ten minutes downstairs, OK?” said Dorrie’s voice, and she hung up.
So did Luisa hang up, and smiled a little, thinking of Renate with fork in hand, not fast enough to catch any of that.
“What was that?” cried Renate.
“Wrong number.”
Luisa checked her watch, stuffed keys and some money in her trouser pocket, and spent what time she had tidying the kitchen. On the dot of her ten-minute command, Luisa opened the door and escaped, floated down the stairs and out.
25
The shiny black hatchback rolled into sight and stopped near a parked car. Luisa dashed for it, opened the door, and climbed in.
“Hi, Dorrie!”
“Good evening! You know—I was taking a chance and I won, didn’t I?” Dorrie laughed. “Where would you like to go? We can go anywhere.”
True. The black car offered concealment, at least partial, from outsiders, and Luisa imagined that it might be bulletproof too, though it probably wasn’t. “I have to think.”
“Rickie called me and asked me for a drink chez lui. Told me Teddie was turned down and was miserable. What happened?”
The car crept along in first.
“I didn’t turn him down. Renate picked up the second phone and yelled at Teddie. Then when you rang I said yes right away, I was so angry.”
“You said nothing. I said I’ll be here in ten minutes. Did you eat yet?”
“Not really.”
“Let’s try the Pavilion—if we can park and there’s a table. Two big ifs.”
Off they went, through the Langstrasse, under the tracks of the city’s railway station. Dorrie couldn’t find a legitimate parking place, and took a chance in a narrow street off Raemistrasse, saying she felt lucky tonight. There was no table at the Pavilion for the moment, so they bought beers at the bar with the aid of a waitress Dorrie knew—one Marcia who promised to do her best for a table. Dorrie introduced them.
“Luisa—pretty name, pretty girl.” Marcia went off with a heavy tray.
The place was loud with conversation. Music from somewhere was nearly drowned out. It was just what Luisa loved, at least tonight, lots of people and anonymity.
“A table!” said Dorrie.
Marcia had signaled.
Chili con carne caught Luisa’s eye on the menu. She had heard that it was very popular in New York pubs. Then she exclaimed softly, “Smoked salmon!” as if it were the greatest luxury in the world.
“That’s cool, have it,” said Dorrie.
Dorrie gave their order. She told Luisa about Bert stealing a naked male mannequin today from a store where they were working together.
“It’ll come back, of course, when he gets tired of it. One of the shopgirls asked him was he going to sleep with it and what would he do with it. ‘A hard man is good to find,’ Bert said.” Dorrie’s face grew pink with laughter.
They went to a basement bar-café near the Weinplatz, where Dorrie dared to park her car. “For an hour—maybe less. I like to think my black car can hide itself from cops.”
Luisa stole a glance at her watch: ten forty-three. The bar-café, rather small, was called the Shopping Center. The waitresses wore black overalls and white shirts. Dorrie knew a few people here, a gay bar for girls, Luisa supposed, though only two girls looked like people Luisa might have labeled gay. She ordered an espresso at the bar.
A rather large blonde girl asked Dorrie if she could “interrupt,” meaning dance with Luisa.
“No, thanks,” Luisa said. “We want to talk.”
“See? Easy,” said Dorrie.
It was all easy, and smooth, until she and Dorrie were rolling along in Dorrie’s car again, getting ever nearer the street where Luisa lived. Then everything shifted into a tight gear, as if in readiness for a war.
“I’ll say it again. If she locks you out tonight, you stay at my place. No problem. So I’ll wait—ten minutes? And if you don’t come down I’ll know you got in.”
Luisa, peering, saw no light at the sitting room window. She was poised to open the car door. “She can play a game for ten minutes, knowing I’m trying my key—keeping the door bolted.”
“Then I’ll wait fifteen minutes,” Dorrie said. “Or get a taxi to my place. Or—well, Rickie would let you sleep at his apartment, wouldn’t he?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“I’d hate that, but it’s closer,” said Dorrie. “Try it, sweetie, and I’ll be here fifteen minutes.”
Luisa climbed the front steps and used her front door key. It was half-past midnight, late for the people in this building. Luisa climbed the stairs softly, and inserted her key. The first bolt moved, but she couldn’t open the door. She took a breath, then knocked gently.
Silence, and she listened hard. She could hear her heart beating, but what she listened for was Renate’s step, which however soft she tried to make it would be audible where Luisa stood. She knocked again, more loudly. Unthinkable to ring the bell, it was loud and shrill.
Still nothing happened. Six, seven minutes had passed? She could still run down and rejoin Dorrie, go to Dorrie’s place, and Dorrie would bring her back before eight. Luisa started down the stairs, softly but still audibly in her sneakers, and a step creaked. She went down more steps, then paused.
She heard a bolt slide. The door opened a crack, a very small crack, and Luisa climbed the stairs again. The crack stayed the same, as if Renate were ascertaining that it was she and not some stranger. “Thanks,” Luisa whispered.
Renate took a few seconds to open the door wider. The apartment hall light was on.
Luisa slipped in.
Renate muttered, “You should be glad I let you in. Thankful!”
“I’m sorry you put the bolt on. I needn’t have woken you.”
“Needn’t have woken me, when you ran out this evening to God knows where? How do I know what you’ll come home with! I saw who you were with. You think I’m running a whorehouse—a place for call girls?”
Luisa kept a calm silence, her objective being to get to bed as soon as possible. She turned in the hall, because she intended to be polite. “Good night.” Then Luisa saw and recognized a couple of blouses, beige trousers, pajamas that had been tossed out onto the hall floor. Her clothes, from the basket in the big bathroom with the bath.
“I don’t want your filthy clothes with mine. Wash yours separately, I don’t care where! You understand?”
Luisa picked her clothes up. “Yes,” she said firmly. She took the clothes into her room.
“And,” yelled Renate, advancing with a slap, scrape, “you are not to use the big bathroom again, understand? Take your things and you can start using the shower bathroom only.”
Luisa hoped that was Renate’s last message for tonight. From the big bathroom, Luisa collected her spare toothbrush, towel, and a few items from the medicine cabinet. Now she’d have to use the washing machine separately in the basement on Tuesdays, Luisa supposed. Was Renate going to hand her her own dirty clothes in the basket and expect her to wash them as if she were a servant, Luisa wondered, and had to smile at the thought. She washed and put on pajamas. She longed for a glass of milk, but was afraid of another yell from Renate, whose door down the hall was still slightly open.
“Luisa!” The yell had come.
Renate wanted cold tea with ice, sugar, and lemon on the side. Luisa set about this, and managed to take a glass of milk to her room.
Renate claimed to feel pressure behind her eye, and a weight on her chest. In bed,
she kept her good eye mostly closed, and maintained a miserable expression. Luisa did all her biddings and said not a word.
AROUND TEN THAT EVENING, Freddie Schimmelmann had telephoned Rickie (not having found him in Jakob’s), and said he was in the neighborhood and could he come by? Rickie had hesitated, then said yes. Freddie might have news.
Freddie appeared in uniform, even long-sleeved shirt and jacket. “I have just talked with our mutual friend,” he announced to Rickie, removing his cap as he entered the apartment.
“Which one?”
“Willi—our Dorftrottel,” said Freddie with his wrinkled grin. “May I?” He removed his jacket, then loosened his tie. “Surprise visit, you know. I thought it would be better if I went alone and in uniform.”
“Did he say anything?”
Freddie chuckled. “No. Not at first and not at the end. He got such a shock at the sight of me, he nearly pissed in his pants. Had to let the poor guy go to the toilet.”
“You saw him alone?” asked Rickie, surprised.
“No—because those people—Frau Wenger, she followed close behind me. She heard me knock on his door. So I had to take the gentle tack. ‘Maybe you remember a little more now—about the boy who got hit in the back? With something hard?’” Freddie said “hard,” shoving his fist as if to jab someone at kidney height. “And he did maybe, but he kept saying ‘No, no’ and shaking his head. Same as last time. Pity. If I’d been alone with him—”
Rickie took a breath. “So Frau Wenger said you were being cruel tonight?”
“No. She couldn’t. No possibility. It’s unhealthy the way she takes care of that fellow. Very handsome doors there now, Rickie. Stained dark brown and varnished. Have you seen them?”
“Not in their finished state,” said Rickie primly. “But that was fun, Freddie. Worth it! The only punishment Willi’s ever going to get, it looks like, my intrusion with Ernst. The only thing that impressed him—his doors kicked in! Let’s have a beer—or something.”
They drank small beers out of the bottle. Freddie was still sweating, despite a faint breeze through Rickie’s window.