Small g by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online Page A

sir?”
    “Yes, and the Appenzeller soon,” said Rickie, opening the Tages-Anzeiger .
    A few meters distant and opposite Rickie, Luisa sat in her dark jacket, and Renate in something blue today, at least on top. He did not glance directly at them, and was sure Luisa was acting her part too, not even absently letting her eyes rest on him for two seconds, as she might have done any other morning. He felt that he shared a secret with Luisa, and he liked the feeling.
    Rickie had to devote much of that morning to improving a design—a running female figure in short Grecian gown. He had done a better design for this company, but it was unpleasant to argue, and a couple of times he had lost clients because he did argue. By just after twelve, Rickie was tired of drawing in pencil, erasing a bit, taking another piece of paper to do nearly the same thing. The client was coming at 4 P.M. , one Beat Scherz, an amusing name to Rickie, as Scherz meant joke. Having bollocksed one sketch beyond repair, Rickie amused himself by adding an enlarged penis to the long-haired, long-limbed figure.
    This made him laugh with a single “Hah!” which caused Mathilde in the corner to look round at him.
    “Spoilt something. Excuse me,” he said, ripping up the small page.
    “I’m glad when you laugh!” replied Mathilde.
    Rickie smiled back at her. The pregnancy scare had eased two days ago, when something had happened: had Mathilde said she’d actually had a urine test? Because Rickie disliked thinking about personal, feminine things, he had forgotten exactly what she said. No matter, the great news was that she was not pregnant.
    In mid-afternoon, Mathilde informed him that a woman was on the telephone, and had said her name was Luisa.
    “Hello,” Rickie said.
    “Hello. I am out to buy a newspaper with a certain blouse advertisement,” Luisa said, laughing a little. “ True . But—”
    “Would you like to come to my studio now?”
    “No, I can’t. I was thinking—quarter to six at your apartment?”
    “But of course! I’ll be there, Luisa.” Rickie noticed that Mathilde went on pecking at the keys. She wasn’t interested in his female acquaintances.
    Mr. Scherz by nearly five had chosen three sketches to take back to his office, with a preference for the one Rickie thought was best, which was a bit unusual. And Mathilde did a good job of her letter-writing, and invoices, and Rickie told her so.
    “Thank you, Rickie. You’re a nice man to work for.”
    “Am I now? Not a dirty old man?”
    “Oh no-o!” She gave a long, lazy shriek. “You? Never! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
    Maybe that was a compliment. For an instant, though, it had made Rickie feel as if he were a castrato.
    H OW MUCH TIME would Luisa have? Rickie fussed with a bottle of Dubonnet and glasses on his shining table. Of course, he had Coca-Cola too. Or orange juice. He stepped out on his little balcony to get some air and to see, maybe, Luisa walking toward his building.
    At last she came, from his right, under the tree leaves that overhung the pavement, head up and with quick steps. She looked for his house number, then noticed him on the balcony and raised an arm. He did the same. She came in the iron gate, looked up again, and at the steps up to the balcony.
    “This way?” she asked.
    “Well—you could,” said Rickie, smiling.
    She climbed the cement steps that were partially covered with ivy. “Funny way to enter an apartment!”
    “Welcome!” Rickie opened his french windows, and let her precede him. She had not been here, Rickie was sure. “Yes, and this doesn’t even close. Well, it closes but it doesn’t lock.” He pushed the two sections together, without the bar across, and they parted slightly.
    Luisa was staring at a nearly life-size photo of Petey from waist up, suntanned, in a white shirt, blue-sky background, his eyes nearly closed as he gazed at the photographer—Rickie.
    “Of course I have quite a lot of Petey,” Rickie said on an apologetic