by Marc Levy
“Could you tell us why in the world we are being summoned by the police on a Saturday morning?” protested Mr. Clerc.
“Would you all rather have come to the station?” demanded Detective Pilguez.
Widespread murmuring made the answer clear.
“I’ve had investigations over the course of my career where, after several months, I still had no suspects, and here I have multiple guilty parties! If I believe the confessions that were made to me this morning, everyone here, or almost everyone, stole this necklace. This building is a regular jewelry store! Mrs. Zeldoff came forward first. I asked her how she managed it, and she revealed that she got into Mrs. Collins’s apartment by distracting her with a far-fetched tale of vandalism. Then I got a call from Mr. Morrison, who explained that, because of a slight overindulgence in liquor, he went to the wrong floor and confused the necklace with one of his ties. Mrs. Clerc also called to tell me that she was ready to turn herself in, on the condition that she wouldn’t have to reveal the motive that had pushed her to commit such a crime. What a lack of imagination! Mr. Bronstein had a financial motive; apparently they’re pinching their pennies up on the ninth floor. But the prize goes to Mrs. Williams, who was evidently wild with jealousy since her husband had never given her such a valuable jewel. Since I’m sure that none of you can show me this damn necklace that you all allegedly stole, I’d like to know what made you think I was a complete idiot?”
The owners all frantically exchanged glances.
“Deepak is innocent,” Mr. Bronstein proclaimed. “But since he turned himself in, we have no other choice but to block the investigation. Whether you believe us or not changes nothing—with so many confessions, you can no longer hold him responsible.”
“I could charge all of you with obstructing a police investigation, making false statements, conspiracy, and—why the hell not?—possession of stolen goods.”
“I convinced everyone to do it. I’m the only one responsible,” replied the professor.
“That’s not true!” Chloe objected. “It was my idea, and I’m ready to suffer the consequences.”
“I told you it was irresponsible and stupid!” hissed Mr. Williams. “I admit I had a moment of weakness. My wife complains about everything already, so imagine what my nights will be like if we can’t use the elevator again.”
“I’m still convinced his nephew did it,” Mrs. Williams interjected to save face.
“You’re a petty person, Mrs. Williams—bitter, frustrated, manipulative, and mean,” Mrs. Zeldoff blurted out, to everyone’s surprise.
“I forbid you to speak to my wife that way!”
“I don’t need your permission to say out loud what everyone already thinks,” she continued, for nothing could stop her now. “You’re a fine pair, a racist wife and a husband who reports for a vicious propaganda network, selling hatred. Poisonous snakes, the two of you!”
And the meeting had more surprises in store.
“Deepak’s nephew isn’t your thief!” Mr. Groomlat cut in, restoring order.
“What do you know about it?” asked the detective.
“Do you really think I would have let the co-op hire someone without first doing my homework? Who do you take me for? I conducted an investigation, too, especially since everyone was accusing me of negligence on account of this damn mechanism.”
“What mechanism?”
“Don’t worry about it, we ordered another one. What matters is what I found out. The young man that Mrs. Williams is wrongfully accusing had no reason to go and swipe Mrs. Collins’s little trinket!”
“Oh, yes, it’s only worth half a million dollars—a trinket indeed!” scoffed Mrs. Williams.
“Granted, but Deepak’s nephew is worth around fifty million. He’s richer than all of us put together, and I should know—I do your taxes. Why such a wealthy man chose to live such a bizarre double life, I have no idea, but since it was convenient for all of you …”
The Williamses, the Clercs, Mrs. Collins, Mr. Morrison, the Zeldoffs, and Detective Pilguez were all speechless. Chloe most of all. Their faces turned toward the desk, and they all realized that Deepak had slipped out.
The detective left, promising that he wasn’t finished with them. Mr. Williams asked if they needed to help Chloe up to the ninth floor. The professor turned around sheepishly, only to discover that his daughter had also disappeared.
“What a relief!” exclaimed Mr. Morrison. “I’m going to go enjoy the rest of my day. Don’t wake me up unless it starts raining whiskey!”
Sanji’s cell phone vibrated, and a text appeared on his screen.
Where are you?
Sleeping.
Not anymore.
I need to talk to you.
You can call me.
But I need to see you! Meet me
at our pastry shop.
We agreed on dinner!
I can meet you in Spanish Harlem.
I haven’t been staying there
since Deepak got back.
So where are you?
At the Plaza.
What are you doing at the Plaza?
Making up for a pretty significant
sleep deficit.
Room number?
722.
Mrs. Collins knocked on the door to Mr. Rivera’s room. She came in and sat down on the bed. Mr. Rivera put his book down on the nightstand and stroked her cheek.
“Why do you look so upset? Did the doctors tell you I only have a few hours left to live?”
“The doctors didn’t tell me anything because I’m not your wife.”
Rivera gazed at Mrs. Collins sadly.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, this time it wasn’t the nurse,” she replied.
“But why?”
“Because all this is my fault. Your accident, your wife being alone while we were together, her care that you can’t pay for anymore. I feel so guilty.”
“For showing me the affection I so desperately needed, or for making my life worth living again? I’m seventy-one years old—do you think, at my age, I don’t know what I’m doing? My wife has forgotten I exist. Every time I visit her, she thinks I’m the painter or the plumber, or sometimes her doctor if she’s in a good mood. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to stand it. It’s about time I tell you a big secret. I’ve loved you since the day I first entered that building. If you only knew how many nights I came back down to the lobby furious that I wasn’t the husband I had just taken up to the sixth floor. And when he died, I waited for a long time before I dared—”
“It was March 21,” she interrupted him. “You told me, ‘Mrs. Collins, you look beautiful.’ I had just turned sixty-five, so you better believe I remember that! If you only knew how many nights I wished you were the one coming home from the office and saying, ‘Hi, honey.’ Sometimes love isn’t right on schedule. But the important thing is that it gets there eventually, right? I’m such a coward—when I found out they had arrested that young man, I froze, I didn’t say anything. But after Deepak’s confession, which was brave but ridiculous, I was determined to tell the police everything. And then my neighbors confessed, so I thought this madness that came over me would finally solve our problems. But the detective isn’t finished, and I’ve done enough harm as it is. I came to tell you goodbye. It’s high time that I turn myself in.”
“You know what Deepak told me recently? That it would be a good idea for a detective novel to end without the guilty party getting caught. At the time, I said it was stupid, but maybe he’s right—it’s not such a bad idea after all.”
Sanji was waiting for Chloe in front of the Plaza.
“You gave up on Spanish Harlem?”
“Not exactly. When they let Deepak go, I took Lali home. When he called to tell her he was on his way, I wanted to give them some time together.”
Chloe looked up at the opulent façade of the Plaza.
“Why did you pretend to be an elevator operator?”
<
br /> “To be near you at night, without bothering you. You’re convinced that people only see your wheelchair—but I’m also afraid of how people see me.”
“Afraid of what?”
“I didn’t lie about anything. You’re the one who didn’t believe me.”
“Were you afraid I’d judge you?”
“I was afraid a woman like you couldn’t love a man like me.”
“What does that mean, a man like you?”
“A foreigner who lives on the other side of the world, a man who’s always late for everything, especially when it comes to love, and who’s never felt this before meeting you.”
“Felt what?”
“How are you going to get back to your apartment? Do you want me to go with you? I can pretend to be an elevator operator at least one more time.”
“I have no desire whatsoever to go back home.”
The Day I Slept in a Palace
Sanji took me into his arms and kissed me. He lay down next to me and undressed me on the bed. It was the first time I felt his desire. I felt his lips on my skin, my breasts, my stomach. He’s wonderfully strong, and gentle, and skilled. He kissed my thighs, and we made love.
We stayed in the room until the next morning. I called my father and said that while Deepak was gone, I had decided to stay with a friend. He didn’t ask for any more details, which was good, since I could never lie to him.
We had breakfast in bed. The bathtub in the suite was so big that we were able to take a bath together.
I didn’t have a change of clothes, and Sanji wanted to take care of that. It’s funny that a man who pays so little attention to his appearance has such good taste. We walked along Madison Avenue, and he picked out a dress, a long skirt, a top, and even a set of lingerie. I let him do it.
I always used to make fun of scenes in movies where a young couple experiences the first thrills of love. Big mistake, to paraphrase Julia Roberts. Big. Huge! We went boating on the lake. Sanji was absolutely determined to feed the swans—it was impossible to hold him back. As soon as he saw one, he steered us right up to it. He pulled his arms toward his chest as he rowed, tensing his legs, his arm muscles flexing. I confess it was irresistibly exciting, and the boat sped across the water as if we were racing. On the grass, we ate what remained of our lunch—sandwiches without bread, since it had all gone to feeding the swans. We snuggled under my pashmina, but the heat became unbearable, so we basked in the rays of the spring sun instead.
We had tea at the Blue Box Cafe at Tiffany’s. I would have loved to wear a little black dress in that blue room, to hum everyday words in a convertible, to pretend for a moment that I was Audrey Hepburn, even if I wouldn’t have traded Sanji for George Peppard, not for anything in the world.
Sanji insisted on seeing New York from the top of the Empire State Building. It was just what we needed to make our day together as perfect as a postcard, and we got to cut the entire line. It’s only fair that my life has its advantages from time to time.
We went to South Street Seaport to take a water taxi at sunset. On the river, you can see all of downtown Manhattan’s marvelous architecture. Sanji got a cramp in his neck from looking up as we passed under the Brooklyn Bridge, and when we came close to the Statue of Liberty, he was giddy with excitement. He promised to show me the wonders of Mumbai one day. I looked down and didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to think about tomorrow.
We had dinner at Mimi’s, a French restaurant in Soho. The food was wonderful. I insisted on paying. Sanji objected that it was against his principles, but in the end, he agreed for fear of seeming old fashioned.
We came back to the Plaza at midnight. Sanji told me he would go back to work in the building the next day. I couldn’t remain a prisoner in my city forever because of an elevator. And because my father was leaving to give a lecture in Texas, I suggested to Sanji that he join me once all the owners were back in their apartments.
We cuddled up to each other, and before sleep carried me away, I realized that I had missed such tenderness perhaps even more than my legs.
25
On Monday morning, everything seemed to go back to normal. Deepak entered 12 5th Avenue through the service door at 6:15 a.m. He smoothed his hair, dusted off his uniform, and adjusted his cap before glancing at himself in the little mirror on the door. Then he went up to the ground floor to clean the inside of the elevator. First the woodwork with a soft cloth and polish, and then, with a different cloth, the copper handle.
Rush hour was quieter than it had ever been in thirty-nine years. On each trip, all that could be heard was the hum of the motor, the whistling of the counterweight, and the slight squeaking of the gate, even though he’d just oiled it.
That Monday would be full of big decisions, and Deepak was the first to declare his.
Shortly before ten, he rang the bell at Mr. Groomlat’s door and tendered his resignation.
“I’ll stay on duty until the equipment is received and installed,” he said without betraying the slightest emotion.
The accountant looked over the letter Deepak had given him.
“What about your goal?” he asked.
“You know about that?”
“Everyone knows about it.”
“My wife is what gives my life meaning. All the rest is just pride,” Deepak replied as he left. “I only ask one thing: if they happen to suggest a goodbye party, please dissuade them. I don’t want one.”
When Chloe appeared in the lobby a little after ten, wearing a pretty dress that he had never seen before, Deepak complimented her and told her that he would leave his job in six weeks’ time at the most. This time, he was the one to take her hand.
“We’ll always have wonderful memories, Miss Chloe. You’ve meant a lot to me. I’ll never forget what you did.”
Seeing her eyes brimming with tears, Deepak left it at that.
Sanji shared his big decision with Sam, who listened without interrupting.
“Are you finished?” he finally asked.
“I think I’ve explained it all to you.”
“One little question has been nagging at me ever since the day you made me eat that disgusting hamburger. Are you on drugs?”
“That’s not funny.”
“What’s funny—hilarious, even—is that you want me to go manage your company in India while you become the head of the American branch.”
“The idea makes a lot of sense. Here, everything still needs to be developed. Over there—”
“In other words, I would be your boss?”
“In other words, yes!”
“It’s tempting. And since I speak Hindi fluently, managing a company with over a hundred employees will be the easiest thing in the world. I can already see myself in the sales meetings!”
“Everyone is bilingual in Mumbai.”
“Sure, but understanding your English is another story. And let me guess: this girl you met has nothing whatsoever to do with your decision.”
“She has a lot to do with it. Lali, too.”
“How is your aunt involved in all this?”
“It’s a long story. So, do you agree?”
“My first instruction as your boss is to ask you to leave me alone—go take a walk, or, no, actually … ,” Sam said, scribbling something on a piece of paper. “Go visit these offices. They’re for rent, and the price seems reasonable. I need to think. Before you leave, just sign these contracts with Mr. Mokimoto. Gerald will give them to you.”
“Gerald?”
“My future assistant. His office is at the end of the hallway, you can’t miss it.”
Sam stationed himself at the window and waited for Sanji to get into a cab. Sam had sent him to IKEA in New Jersey, and until his friend figured out that he had been had, Sam would have the morning to himself.
At eleven a.m., Sam entered the lobby of 12 5th Avenue and asked to be taken to the ninth floor.
“Is she expecting you?” Deepak asked warily.
&nb
sp; “I’m a friend of Sanji’s,” Sam answered.
On his way back from New Jersey, Sanji left Sam a very angry voice mail. If he wasn’t even capable of giving him the right address in a New York suburb, he would have serious problems in Mumbai! Despite heavy traffic, he arrived just in time for the meeting he had set up with Mr. Woolward, his lawyer.
At seven p.m., Sanji went to take over for his uncle, who told him that he had resigned that morning.
“You’re under no obligation to keep working here,” Deepak said, “and it’s up to you to choose when to stop. To do things properly, I’d prefer to give the owners forty-eight hours’ notice. I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for us. Especially for me. I don’t know if I can ever repay you.”
“I know how,” Sanji replied. “Maybe you could teach me your perfect cricket throw.”
Deepak looked at him with evident pride.
“You’re serious?”
“I realize it’s a lot to ask, but you know what they say, never let the fear of striking out keep you from learning cricket from your uncle—”
“Sunday at two thirty on the field, and come dressed like a true cricketer—otherwise, no lesson, understood?”
“Does Lali know that you quit?”
“She knew I would make this decision before I did.”
“And climbing Nanda Devi?”
“In the end, I think that having dreamed about it for so many years makes letting go of it more meaningful.”
Deepak patted Sanji on the shoulder and, overcome by a sudden wave of emotion, hugged him.
He left his nephew and dashed off to the hospital.
“You did what you had to do,” insisted Mr. Rivera.
“You’re saying that because I didn’t give you any choice. I should have talked to you first, but it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“Given how stubborn you are, I’m sure you’re right, and besides, I’m relieved. Last night, I decided to retire, too. Now that my wife’s care is covered, I can afford to stop working.”
“If you have the means, you might as well,” Deepak said absently, picking up the newspaper that was lying on the floor near the bed.
His nonchalance exasperated Mr. Rivera so much that he sat up and snatched the paper out of Deepak’s hands.
