X - Chapter Twenty Seven "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution" 

Chapter Twenty Seven 

      Ten o’clock in the morning was early for Ermira and her three roommates. Most of the time they lived free and happy lives, except when they had to entertain consultants from Winshire Associates, and that was when they had to use their feminine wiles to wiggle out of encounters too close for comfort. 

      On this morning, it was not yet ten, and all of the roommates were in the kitchen of their Bed-Stuy apartment – except for Tereza, who recently started going out earlier and earlier to buy the newspapers. 

      A few minutes after 10 o’clock, Tereza rushed into the apartment, breathing hard, showing her roommates the front page of The New York Times. “Shikoni! Shikoni! Look! Look at the front page! That’s Gordy. Oh Zoti im! What could he do? It says he was arrested. Oh my God!”

      “Read it! Read it! Tell us!” Ermira shouted. 

      Tereza read part of the article to the other three young women: “It says here he is accused of murder in the second degree, accused of the murder of Theodore Merritt, the big boss of Winshire, the big boss of Gordy!”

      “But the date! The date!” Ermira insisted. “What was the date Mr. Merritt was killed?”

      “A second, please,” Tereza said. “Just a second. It says here . . . Just a second. Here it is, it says here ‘the murder occurred on Wednesday, May 13, sometime between nine o’clock and midnight,’ that’s what it says.”

      “That poor Gordy! I don’t believe it! He couldn’t have done it,” said Ariana. “Yes, I know, I know. He’s a man. They can’t help themselves. But not murder, no!”

      “But think about what it means for us,” cautioned Ermira. “He’s the one taking care of us. He worked it out with the other old men. They’re the ones paying for this, all of this.”

      Ermira didn’t have to explain the situation. They all understood: The rent payments, money for support, food, incidentals, the stipend for clothing. All of it. If something happened to Gordy, what would happen to their support?

      But Ariana, who was still in her white, silk nightdress, had another idea. “Per Vajza, per Vajza, girls, you’re not even thinking. What does it mean? It could mean that we’re free. If Gordy’s not there, who manages us? It could mean that now, now the choice is ours. But we have to decide what we do. Ermira has a lawyer, a special lawyer. So, who wants to stay here in America? And who wants to go home? And how do we live? How do we support ourselves?”

      “We become models, real models,” Tereza said. “That’s what we got. Or a singing group, and we take the sexy dresses our customers bought, got that?, our customers bought us, and we go on YouTube. This is America. Land of opportunity  . . .”

      For Ermira, the jabbering of her roommates was drifting away. Becoming a model, or the member of a women’s singing group, anything – all of that meant nothing to her. She was thinking of Gordy. Was he capable of murder? She asked herself. Oh no! He’s big and strong, but he’s a softy. And the date in the newspaper, What was I doing then? Where was I?

      May 13th, it wasn’t long ago, she told herself. I should remember. Why can’t I remember? And how could it be true? Not Gordy, it’s impossible. Then images and words started coming back to her. The bare walls, the bed, the condo, she hadn’t returned since that date. And she remembered Gordy, his white, hairy skin. We argued; Gordy talks so much, and never seems to listen. He wants more money, and he said he was going to become a big boss. He had a plan; he talked about that. He was working on it. And it was late. We talked, we argued at night. He didn’t come until nighttime. 

      Ermira bolted for the kitchen door.

      Ariana called after her. “Honey, we need your help. Where you going?”

      “Ari, please! Ladies have things they gotta do. I’ll be right back.”

      Ermira rushed to the bedroom, looked through her affairs and found her sketchbook. How can I prove it? I wrote it down, I know I wrote it down. I had an appointment during the day, and I wrote it down. They gave me a tour. She flipped through the pages and found a notation. During the day, the artists’ school, the Art Students League, on 57th Street, I had an appointment. I did write it down. There it was: “May 13, Art Students League, 11 am.” 

      Yes, it was the same day! Now, I know, he didn’t do it! And I can prove it!

      But if I say something, will I be investigated? Will the police arrest me? Will I be sent back to Albania, back to my country? Will I be sent to jail?

      I have to! Ermira thought. He’s in jail. No, it’s wrong. I have to tell someone. But who, who can I tell? There’s only one person. 

      Ermira went to the last page of her sketchbook and found the telephone number. She grabbed her phone and dialed the number.  

      A man’s voice answered, and Ermira spoke for five minutes. When she ended the conversation, she went to the bathroom, flushed the toilet and returned to her friends.

      The other girls were still talking. “But you girls aren’t even thinking,” said Ariana. “Who here knows the world of modeling? Sure, this is America. This is New York. Here, you say you’re a model, and what do they think? No thanks. We’d need contacts, maybe a manager.” 

      “I’m telling all of you something,” Ermira announced. “I made up my mind about something. I’m staying here, here in New York. Or at least, I’m going to try. I’m going to follow my soul, and my art. But you know something? Stay or leave, I bet we’re all going to need that lawyer, Avi Lipschitz. So, all of you, do you know what you want to do?”

      “Well, I might as well announce something, too,” Tereza said. “I think I’m going to be staying, if everything works out. And my everything? His name is Eric.”

      The other three girls showered Tereza with shouts: “Oh, Riza, wonderful.” “We all knew it had to happen. He has such beautiful eyes.” 

      “Frankly,” said Ariana, “I’m jealous. But I’m still happy for you.”

      “And you, Ari,” asked Tereza. “What about you?” 

      “Unless you’re willing to give up Eric, I’m going home,” Ariana said. “No, seriously, I have a big family, and I miss them, and they miss me. I know you understand.”

      There was the warm feeling of friendship, but also a bit of sadness. 

      “And me,” said Luli, “I never felt like a New Yorker. I really don’t know what I’m going to do, but I want to go back to Tirana.”

      “Hey,” said Ariana. “I’m telling you I got a big family, and they’re wonderful, welcoming people. We can always welcome one more. Come on over, and see what you think. And, just to let you know, I got a big brother.”