Luisa nodded toward the dark garden beyond the terrace. “He was here a minute ago—heading out there.”
“I am going to join Ernst inside. See you later, Luisa.” Rickie looked over the terrace once more, then took the garden path which ended at a gate on the pavement. He strolled along the pavement where more cars than usual were parked tonight, then turned, intending to enter again by Jakob’s main door. Before he and Lulu got there, a car door slammed behind them and two young men in white trousers and shirts walked past Rickie and entered Jakob’s front terrace.
“. . . both . . . white!” one of the young men was saying in an annoyed tone, and gave a quick laugh.
Nice-looking boys, Rickie thought, especially one of them. By the time Rickie entered the main door, the two in white were standing at the far end of the bar, every stool of which was occupied.
The music was now a tango; several couples were trying it, some clowning, and laughter broke out in the main room. Rickie much wanted a beer, but Ursie and Andreas looked frantic behind the bar, and Tobi was nowhere to be seen, though Rickie had seen him a minute ago.
“You want to dance?” This was from a slightly tipsy but not bad-looking fellow in his mid-twenties, arms already extended.
“I am trying to get my first beer!” Rickie replied with a smile. “Maybe later—if my carnet de bal is not entirely filled.”
The younger man laughed. “I shall hope—”
“Andreas!” Rickie had his attention. He was after all tall, visible. “Ein Bier, bitte! Danke!”
“Jawohl, Rickie!”
Rickie drifted toward the bar and found a niche which he barely secured with an elbow. He was constantly mindful of Lulu’s safety. She danced out of the way of people’s feet quite well, but when Jakob’s got impossible, he took her home and returned.
Rickie vaguely knew half the clientele tonight, which was to say he had seen them before. Amazing how word of mouth advertised Jakob’s, and crammed it on Saturday nights. His beer arrived with a nice head, set before him by Ursie, who had a second to nod a greeting before whirling to fulfill more orders. He studied the two boys in white to the right of him. One looked about twenty-five, with crinkly blond hair, strong of build, a dark blue sweater’s arms tied round his neck. He drank beer, and kept talking to his friend whose back was to Rickie. His friend was more slender, with straight black hair. The blond one glanced often at the door, as if they were expecting someone.
Lulu could stay with Luisa, Rickie thought, for half an hour anyway. Relief for Lulu. Then maybe take her home?
Rickie had just lifted his beer, when the black-haired boy looked round at the door, past Rickie, with anxiety in his face. But what a handsome face!
Ernst Koelliker appeared at Rickie’s other elbow. “Can I borrow Lulu for five minutes or would you come—”
“What’re you going to do with Lulu?”
“Did you bring her dark glasses?”
Rickie shook his head. “No glasses tonight, no. Take her but—carry her across this.” He indicated the throbbing dance floor. “Lulu? You go with Ernst. Up!”
Lulu was up, caught by Ernst at his waist-level, and instantly cool, surveying the crowd from her better position.
“I’m going to get Luisa,” said Rickie, gesturing with the beer glass. “You’ll be in that corner?”
Ernst nodded, and carried Lulu off.
As he wove his way through people toward the back terrace, he saw Luisa moving in his direction, and she saw him. “This way,” Rickie gestured.
But Luisa wanted something from the bar, and Rickie waited. He saw Luisa trying to get the attention of Ursie, saw the young man Luisa had been with on the terrace pursuing her with a dampened but determined air, and saw the pair of boys in white look at Luisa. Rickie had a second glimpse of the handsomer one. This boy’s lips moved as he said something to his blond companion. Then their eyes once more turned toward the door. Luisa appeared with a glass of Coke.
“Would you come and join Ernst and me in the corner? And your friend?”
Luisa gave a shrug and a glance that implied she would like to lose her new friend. “I just met him!”
At that moment, Rickie’s eyes looked into the eyes of the handsomer boy, who had glanced over his shoulder. In the next second, his blond companion turned and walked quickly toward the dance floor, and vanished. Then two policemen entered from the front terrace, conspicuous in caps and blue uniforms. They surveyed the crowd.
Then one said, “Anyone with Zurich registration number four six one—one nine one?” This in a loud, clear voice.
A few patrons at the bar looked around for reaction, but there was none.
“Can’t remember!” called a tipsy male voice.
Chuckles among the assembled.
“Dark-blue Opel,” the officer said, looked around again and repeated the number.
No reaction, and the officers walked to the edge of the dance floor, where the music kept on but nearly everyone had stopped dancing.
“What happened?” a woman asked the officers.
One of the officers waved a hand to indicate that he was not going to reply.
Rickie saw the dark-haired boy in white moving toward the dance floor and onward, not hurrying, toward the back terrace.
“I’ll see you in a minute!” Rickie said to Luisa. “Go where Ernst is.”
Rickie entered the back terrace, where he supposed the boy had gone, if he hadn’t stepped into the toilet which was between dance floor and back terrace.
But neither the boy nor his blond friend was on the terrace, where every table was full. Rickie looked at the dark garden, which had only one light near the pavement gate. Was that a white-clad figure near the gate, or a trick of the streetlight? Try it, Rickie told himself, and set his beer down on the corner of a nearby table. He heard someone say as he stepped into the garden’s dark that he must be in a terrible hurry to pee.
Now Rickie could see the boy’s figure. Maybe at the sight of him, the boy went hurriedly through the gate and turned left. Rickie followed. Were both boys running from the police?
The white figure wasn’t running, just walking purposefully onward. Rickie walked faster.
“Hey, I’m not the police!” Rickie said, not too loudly.
The boy stood where he was, frowning.
Rickie glanced behind him: no one. “Hello. Good evening.”
The boy’s eyes were fixed on Jakob’s lighted corner, far away. “Abend,” the boy said automatically. “I’m getting out of here. Don’t bother me, OK?” He walked on.
Rickie hurried after him. “I’m not bothering you, I—” Rickie had to laugh, because he was bothering him. “My name’s Rickie and—and I’m sorry we can’t have a beer together.”
Now the boy stopped short, looked at Rickie as if he were amused. “Yes, sure—I understand.” Again he glanced back at Jakob’s lights. “I’ve got to move away from that place, so—” The boy walked.
So did Rickie. “What happened with the police?”
“Nothing. And I don’t want anything to happen.”
“And your friend? Do the police want him?”
“The hell with them all,” the boy said nervously. He was still walking at a brisk pace.
They were almost at Rickie’s apartment house. Give it a last try, Rickie thought. Plainly he hadn’t smitten the boy with his advances. Now Rickie spoke softly in the residential area. “I live here—couple of meters on.” He jingled his key ring. “No one home but me, if you want to come in—to be safe for a few minutes.”
By then they were at his front gate, and Rickie unlatched it, watched the boy hesitate, then follow Rickie on to the path, and relax visibly as the tall black hedge hid him from the street.
“I’m going back to the Small g in a few minute
s. My dog’s there with a friend.” Rickie paused, hesitated, because the boy was hesitating, shifting from foot to foot. “I have an idea,” he whispered. “I’ll call my friend Ernst from my house—he’s at Jakob’s—and we’ll find out if the police are still there.” He moved toward his door. “OK?”
The boy came with him.
There was a ceiling light in the front hall, usually on till about midnight, and it was on now. Rickie heard his front door click shut and thought: A dream is ended, the wonderland he had just left, beginning with Jakob’s Small g, with following the handsome boy, with persuading him into his apartment building. In a minute, Rickie’s apartment lights would go on, the boy would glance at his watch, Rickie would have a better look at him (and vice versa), reality’s curtain would fall. End of fun, end of hope. End of story.
Rickie opened his apartment door. He had left a small light on. “Come in!”
The boy came in. He was not quite as tall as Rickie. A wallet bulged his back pocket. He wore a black belt with his loose white trousers.
“Now—well—” Rickie saw that the boy was every bit as good-looking as he had thought at Jakob’s, shining dark eyes and an intelligent mouth. “Sit down, if you like, and—as I said—I’ll speak with Ernst. Sooner the better, don’t you think?” Rickie hated saying that, it sounded as if he wanted the boy out in a hurry. “What’s your name, by the way? If you don’t mind telling me.”
“Georg,” said the boy carelessly, and looked behind him at the darker dining area. “You live here by yourself?”
“Oh yes. No one else here.” Rickie headed for the telephone; Jakob’s number was written at the very top of his current directory. “Would you like to sit down with a beer?”
“N-no. Thank you.”
Rickie again turned back from the telephone. “The police were looking for your friend?”
The boy shifted a little, took a breath. “In a way, yes. He stole somebody’s car tonight.”
“He had the keys?”
“Jump-start.”
“And you?”
“I got in with him. I don’t know why.”
“You’re good friends,” Rickie said casually, curious but not wanting to push too much.
“No. He works in a men’s gym in my neighborhood. I just happen to know him.”
“Before Ernst—I’m going to open a beer. Not to mention a Chivas Regal, first of the evening.” Rickie proffered the bottle, but Georg shook his head. Rickie poured a small one, then went to his fridge for a Pilsner Urquell. He offered Georg a glass of it.
“All right. Thank you,” said the boy with a polite smile.
Rickie dialed Jakob’s, and hectic Ursie answered. “Hello, Ursula, Rickie speaking. Ernst, please?” He had to shout and talk clearly.
Ernst came on, surprised at Rickie’s voice. “You running from the cops?”
“Ja, natürlich! And I am calling to ask if they are still there.”
“No-o. They left five minutes ago!”
“What was it all about?”
“Somebody stole a car, parked it near here, so they were looking the place over. Didn’t find anybody. Where are you?”
Lulu was fine and they all wanted Rickie to come back.
Rickie hung up and conveyed the good news to Georg. “I’m going back. You’re coming or—? If you’re still afraid, you can stay here. I’ll be gone just an hour or so.”
Georg looked the least surprised at this; his brows went up. “No, well—if the police are gone—”
“You didn’t steal the car.”
“No.”
“Was the car damaged?”
“No. Hermie didn’t wipe his fingerprints off, I’m pretty sure. I did—tried. Hermie thought we were being followed. So we just parked the car somewhere and ran—went into the Biergarten.” The boy finished his beer and glanced at Rickie. “OK, I’ll go—to this place for a while. Then I’ll catch a taxi home—if it’s very late.”
He meant if it was after midnight and the trams had stopped, Rickie supposed. Rickie much wanted to—suddenly he blurted, “You are most welcome to stay the night, if you’re worried.” About what, Rickie wondered. He simply wanted to be with the boy and realized that he had zero reason to think the boy was gay, or that he himself had the slightest chance—except for the fact that Hermie worked in a men’s gym!
“No. I don’t think I will. But—thank you.”
Rickie went and got his best cardigan, a black cashmere, from his bedroom. “You’re going to get cold—in just a shirt tonight.”
“Thanks. I’ll borrow it. Nice one. I’ll be sure to return it. I promise you.”
9
Rickie entered the Small g so proud of having Georg with him that he hardly breathed. Head high, really looking at no one, Rickie walked into the lighted bar area, acknowledged a couple of “Hi, Rickie!” greetings, and managed to gesture and say to Georg, “The back corner!”
The place was busier; people shouted more loudly to make themselves heard. And there was old Renate, barely visible to Rickie through the crowd, drawing coolly on her long cigarette holder, wearing a shocking-pink blouse tonight, and at her usual table! She’d probably asked somebody to move, in her arrogant way. Rickie thought he had seen her little sketchpad on the table, ready to record what the weirdos were wearing.
“Georg!” Rickie said by way of introduction, when they had made it to the back-corner table, trying to appear cool at having such a handsome boy with him, merely another capture, like a rare butterfly.
“Georg,” a few at the table echoed, staring.
“Hello. G’d evening,” Georg replied.
“Luisa,” Rickie said, gesturing with upturned palm. “This is Georg.”
Luisa smiled and replied something inaudible.
There were no chairs, but if Rickie could keep out of people’s way, he preferred standing. Someone had ordered several beers, and here they came. Ernst was giving Georg a thorough visual examination, Rickie saw.
“Dance?” Georg said to Luisa, and when she got up, he set his beer down in a big ashtray.
Philip Egli, closer than Rickie, righted the beer glass at once. “Where’d you pick up Golden Boy?” he shouted at Rickie.
Rickie took a deep breath, looked at the ceiling and smiled, as if to say it was due simply to his usual luck. He watched Luisa and the boy dancing, Georg graceful and easy, Luisa looking happy. It was a French tune, rather fast. Georg had the arms of Rickie’s black cardigan tied round his neck now. Rickie was aware of his own heaviness, of the fact that he was too shy to make a trio with them, as people often did here. Rickie wasn’t a bad dancer.
Lulu, in the corner with Ernst, wriggled with expectation when Rickie looked at her.
“Let ’er go!” Rickie said to Ernst.
“Off the leash?”
“Ja! Up, Lulu!”
Lulu rose like a rocket from the bench seat over the table into Rickie’s arms. A fine catch!
“Bravo, Lulu!”
Rickie swung her round his neck, held her feet, and Lulu relaxed as if she were a limp scarf. “Dum-dum-dum—dum—dum-dum-dum—dum,” he sang, dancing, turning in a circle.
On his far left, he saw Renate staring at him and Lulu as if frozen. Hadn’t she as yet noticed that her darling was with a boy? Rickie was in the center of the dance floor, humming, swaying to the samba. He could feel that Lulu was in her element, with the crowd pointing her out, laughing.
“What the well-dressed homo is wearing this year!” Rickie said to a smiling couple. “His dog!”
Luisa surely knew that Renate had arrived. Rickie imagined an osmosis between them, an unhealthy symbiosis, if that was the word.
Seconds later, it was all over, that song, that dance. Rickie saw Georg shake his head at an offer from a gay man t
o dance. He was back at the table with a seat now, as was Georg, because a couple of people had left.
“Don’t you have to go sit with Renate?” Rickie asked Luisa. “But how nice if you don’t!”
“Oh, she’ll say something,” Luisa replied. “But I don’t know why after all day . . .” Some words were drowned out by noise. “. . . all evening too!”
“Who is this Renate?” Georg asked, frowning.
“She is—a couturiere,” Rickie said, “and Luisa is employed by her. Renate comes here to observe—and snoop and criticize people like you and me. Everybody!”
“Employs Luisa?”
“She employs four girls. They sew clothes—” Rickie suddenly burst out laughing. Renate seemed funny just then, though he couldn’t have explained why if his life depended on it.
At least Georg was smiling at him now.
The boy had stopped glancing behind him, perhaps stopped worrying. It was past midnight, and would Georg really take a taxi or— And here came Willi in his drab clothes and brimmed hat, like a dark cloud, edging his way round the dancers. He came from Renate’s direction. The messenger! Bringer of bad tidings!
“Willi!” Rickie still stood with the draped Lulu. “Some unpleasant news? You want Luisa? Right there! Ha-ha! We are feeling very merry tonight!”
Willi’s long face under the old hat did not change. He bent and said something to Luisa, then slunk away. The rest of the table might not have existed for Willi.
“What’s all that?” Rickie asked.
“Renate’s leaving. Wants me to come with her,” Luisa said to Rickie.
“You’ve got your own key, haven’t you?”
“Oh, she’ll double-lock it. Anything to—” Luisa looked embarrassed at having said this much. “It can be unpleasant,” she finished with a forced smile.
“You are welcome at my house,” Rickie said.
Then Luisa gave a lovely, amused smile that showed her pretty teeth, clear brow, and calm brown eyes. Georg was watching her. Luisa got up, holding her little bills, looking at them. “Nine forty.” She had a small handbag, but reached in a trouser pocket.