Free From the Memoirs of a Non-Enemy Combatant: A Novel by Alex Gilvarry Page A

Ahmed, the foreign king, bowing down to Olya, the Polack princess.
    “Enchanté, my dear,” he said. “Allow me, if you would, to get a look at you in this most appealing gown.”
    “It’s a dress,” I said.
    “Same difference,” he said.
    Olya did a 360, putting on a pouty face. She liked the attention.
    “Careful, my dear. At this age my heart can’t take such stimuli from a beautiful gel.”
    “Oy, you’re big talker,” she said.
    This made him laugh. “Boy, this dress looks familiar.” He snapped his fingers in rapid succession. “This is the one from the other night. I remember the open back. I see you took my advice and gave it a little more
umpff
in the chest. Pardon me, Olya. I don’t mean to speak as if you weren’t in the room.”
    “It’s okay. I’m a professional.”
    “My dear, you’re too much for me. May I borrow this man for one minute.”
    Ahmed and I stepped out into the hallway.
    “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you,” I said, “but I really don’t have time right now. I have Olya here—”
    “Two seconds,” he said, nonchalantly.
    “Okay.”
    “She is your gel?”
    “My what?”
    “Your
gel
. She’s not your gelfriend?”
    “Oh, my
girlfriend
. No, no, she’s just a friend.”
    “She’s beautiful. You should think about it. For you. Anyway, I’m not here to breathe down your back. The artist must work.” Ahmed was always remarking on how great an artist I was, whenreally he didn’t know a thing about me. He’d seen one dress. “I only have a small favor to ask. I have an engagement approaching. It requires my vital presence. Meaning to say, I’m expected to show my mug, and I have to RSVP by tomorrow and decide if I want the chicken or salmon plate. You know how these things go. The fish at these functions, what can you do? Anyway, it’s a business-casual affair, tie optional, but I’d very much like to show up in one of your anticipated designs. It would mean a lot to me, Boy. And it would certainly make an impression on a few others in attendance. Some very important people will be in the room. So, what I mean to say is, I need a suit by Friday. Can you produce?”
    It didn’t seem possible with Friday only three days away. Although back at FIM I had squeezed out an entire thesis collection in three days’ time. I pulled all-nighters dyeing fabric and sewing two looks a night. But this was a suit we were talking about. Suits took time. They had more layers, more structure, lining, pockets, padding. Not to mention I hadn’t ever made one.
    “No, I can’t do it,” I told him.
    “I know what you’re feeling, Boy. This is not what you signed up for. I know. I didn’t intend to put you in such a position. But look, what is Friday? Friday is only a day. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Am I right?”
    “I’m just not sure you’ll get the quality you’d otherwise get if I had more time. For the money you’re paying me it should be perfect. Two weeks. I can commit to two weeks.”
    “Beby, look at you. You’re all flustered. Listen, two weeks from now is what? A Tuesday. I need a suit by Friday. This Friday. Something dressy. Yes? Friday would be essential. So how much?”
    “It doesn’t matter. It’s not about money.”
    “Name your price, eh? Friday delivery. How much? Two hundred?”
    I shook my head. “You’re not hearing me. It’s
time
I need.”
    “Three hundred? That’s twenty-eight total, Boy. That’s a fair price. Twenty-eight and I take a bath on the fabric. A twelve percent markup. You just have to deliver
one
by Friday, remember. Take your two weeks on the other. Hell, take more, what do I care?”
    “No.”
    “Okay. Let’s get creative. Three thousand for the whole caboodle. There. You just made five hundred, and I’m still considering it a favor to me.”
    He was a persuasive salesman. An extra five hundred dollars would basically cover another month’s expenses in Bushwick. And the rest could go toward a deposit on a