8. Court
8
COURT
D espite quite a number of threats, Devin insists that he has an unmovable appointment after work. I’ll need to be the one to take Lucy out to the goat farm he booked.
I don’t believe him for a minute, but my tyranny over him only legally extends to his work hours.
He’s already gone above and beyond today, even if he appears to have sided with Lucy and the goat.
I don’t drive my Ferrari to the office, and I don’t want that damn goat in it, anyway. So I call an Uber to take us out. I completely forget to mention the goat, so as I lead a barefoot Lucy and her livestock out to the silver Altima who took the ride, the driver honks at me.
He rolls down the passenger seat window, and in a heavy Brooklyn accent, says, “You think I’m letting that goat in my car?”
I bend down. “Yes.”
“Hell, no. I’m not having that creature make a mess in here.”
Lucy leans in. “Matilda is lovely. And she wears a diaper. There’s no risk.”
But the man takes off in a squeal of tires.
We jump back on the curb, Lucy pulling the goat close to her. “What a horrible man!” she cries.
I pull up the app and give him a one-star before canceling the ride. He could have said no without nearly running us over. “I’ll try again.”
She peers over my phone. “You probably want to use Uber Pet to get someone animal friendly.”
I look up at her. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve used Uber.”
“From your yurt with no cell phone?”
“No, when I went out drinking with friends. You’re making assumptions about me.”
“You showed up with a bag of hay and a goat.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m ignorant.” She lifts her chin in defiance, and for one strange flash of a second, I think about kissing her.
Hell no to that. That’s what got me into this mess.
I find the Uber Pet options. These have to be reserved in advance. I find one for an hour from now.
“We’ll have to wait,” I tell her, glancing down at her feet. “Why don’t we get you some shoes?”
She shrugs. “I just need to fix mine. I haven’t had a chance.”
“Maybe you should have more than one pair.”
She looks around at the buildings. “I have a feeling there isn’t a pair of shoes anywhere near here that I could afford. I got these from a Buy Nothing group.”
“What is that?”
“A neighborhood group where they trade items they no longer need instead of selling them.”
“I’m buying you shoes.”
She shrugs, and we take off down the street. We’re an odd-looking bunch. Lucy with no shoes, a goat, and a leather knapsack with hay sticking out. Me, with no less than four green “Dill with it” soft-sided lunch coolers slung over my shoulder like I’m hawking stadium souvenirs at a game.
“You’re sure the place doesn’t have leather sofas?” Lucy asks as we pass store windows. “I couldn’t sleep knowing there were skinned cows that close.”
“No leather,” I say, although I don’t really know. It seems unlikely. I’ll hedge my bets.
She unfolds the printout Devin gave her. “You’re right. The pictures look like fabric. I don’t know why I’m so worried. Ouch!” She pauses to pick up a metal pop-top lid to a can. “I’m lucky this didn’t cut me.”
Visions of tetanus shots dance in my head. “You’re not hurt?”
She lifts her dirty, blackened foot. “Nope.”
“It’s not safe for you to walk around. Come over here.”
She holds the lid in her hand as we move close to the wall. There aren’t any trash bins on this block.
We’re stuck. No shop in this area will let her try on shoes like this. I can’t let her walk any farther. What a mess.
I lean my head against the wall, trying to think.
“Can’t we take the subway out to the goat farm?” Lucy asks. “I was able to ride it fine.”
“You got lucky.” I check my watch. “Besides, it’s rush hour, and it’s more likely someone will take issue with your goat.”
“Her name’s Matilda.”
I pull up a map app to see what’s nearby. There has to be something we can do to pass the time, even with the goat. An outdoor cafe, maybe.
But I spot something a hundred times better. It’s a wellness spa, offering holistic healing, meditation yoga, and earth friendly manicures and pedicures. It’s only two blocks away.
Now we’re getting somewhere. I punch the link to call them. I don’t wait for a hello. “Can you do a pedicure right now? I’ll triple the fee.”
There’s a breathy laugh on the line. “Welcome to Wenova’s Wellness. I’m Kaliyah. Let me see if we can work you in.”
Lucy feeds Matilda a handful of grain while I wait. Passersby in New York walk past us briskly, only a few glancing our way. This aspect of the city is coming in very handy at the moment. I can’t stand being the subject of curiosity.
“All right, sir. Yes, we can see you. Are you nearby?”
“Two blocks. We’ll head that way.”
“Can I get a name?”
“Sure. Lucy. Lucy…” I realize I don’t know Lucy’s last name. She’s kneeling in front of her goat, not paying me any mind. “Lucy Armstrong.”
She hears that, though, and glances up, eyebrows raised.
“Is the number you called on a good one?” Kaliyah asks.
“Yes.”
“We’ll see you in a few minutes, then.”
I pocket my phone. I’ll send Lucy into the spa, get her cleaned up, find a shoe store. Then we’ll get on the Uber Pet ride and… oh, damn.
The goat. What will I do with the goat?
“What was that all about?” Lucy asks.
“I got you an appointment at a spa while we wait.”
“A spa? Like for facials?”
Now that’s a word. If we’d done that instead of a condom, we wouldn’t be here.
“A pedicure.”
“But if they use chemicals…”
“No, it’s all earth friendly. Right up your alley. We can pass time while we wait for the ride.” I steer her back onto the sidewalk. “Are your feet feeling okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I walk barefoot in the woods all the time. I’ve built up good callouses.”
This isn’t a picture I want in my head.
We pass by a trash can, but Lucy hesitates to relinquish the tin lid. “It should be recycled.”
“Just apologize to Mother Earth and move on.”
Lucy frowns. “That’s not how it works.”
I snatch the tin lid from her and toss it.
Her frown deepens, and for a second, I think she might dig it out. She better not, because I can see at least three aluminum cans as well.
“That is how it works in New York. There are people who make money by collecting the metals in the trash cans and turning it in.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. It’ll be handled and help someone, too.”
“Oh.” She presses a hand to her cheek, her eyes misting. Seriously, more waterworks? “I like that.”
“It’s your good deed for the day.” I take her arm and steer her toward the spa.
The moment we enter Wenova’s Wellness, I know we’re going to be fine. There are three cats, two dogs, and incredibly, a goat in the expansive front room, sitting in the window for passersby to admire.
The woman behind the desk stands. “Look at your Nigerian Dwarf!”
I recognize the voice from the phone. Kaliyah comes around to greet our goat. She’s tall and picturesque with glowing black skin against a shiny gold dress and jewelry. “What’s her name?”
Lucy beams. “Matilda. She’s two years old.”
“Has she been pregnant? Does she produce?” Kaliyah kneels to pet the goat’s head.
“She does! I have several quarts bottled in those bags. I make cheese and soap.”
“Oh, you’ll have to give us your card. We’re always looking for local goat milk providers. Are you Lucy?”
“I am.”
Kaliyah returns to the counter. “Put your baby next to Simone. If they get along, it’ll do Matilda good to have goat company while you get your pedicure.”
I can’t even keep up with this conversation. Goat company? And did Lucy find herself a buyer for her products?
“Oh… I don’t know.” But even as Lucy says it, Matilda spots the other goat and trots over. Lucy drops the leash. The two goats size each other up, then butt heads good naturedly.
“Oh, look at them,” Kaliyah says. “Simone is going to have such a wonderful time with her.”
A diminutive woman in a blue smock arrives through a beaded curtain. “Lucy? You ready?”
She turns to me. “I guess I’ll see you in a little while?”
I realize I’ll be free of the goat. “Hey, what’s your shoe size?”
“Seven, why?”
“Since there is goat bonding happening, I can run out and buy shoes.”
Lucy frowns. “That’s not necessary.”
“It is. Now go get your pampering.”
She hesitates but seems to realize she’s holding up the woman waiting for her. “Be good, Matilda,” she says and disappears through the curtain.
“You can leave the bags here if you like,” Kaliyah says. “Would you like me to store them in a refrigerator?”
“Sure,” I say, then inexplicably add, “She milked the goat a few hours ago. I’ve kept them in my office fridge.”
“Oooh, nice and fresh. Simone doesn’t produce anymore. They dry up if they go too long between pregnancies.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She takes the bags from me. “You can wait on the sofa with the animals, if you like.”
“No, no. I’m going to look for Lucy some new shoes. Do you have a recommendation? No leather. Natural stuff.”
She smiles. “Of course. There’s a Naturalist Outfitter three blocks down and around the corner to the right. You might want to hurry, though. They close at six.”
“Got it. Should I settle this out? I was serious about paying triple.”
She waves me off. “We can discuss it when she’s done.”
I head for the door, sidestepping the curious menagerie. I had no idea businesses like this existed.
Naturalist Outfitters is a small, bright store nestled between a deli and a pizzeria. I’m relieved to see an entire table of Birkenstocks.
“Can I help you?” A tall, ladle-thin man approaches in cargo shorts and a pale-yellow top with mesh sides.
“Those look like leather,” I say, pointing to the table of shoes.
“They are. Birkenstocks are made of thick, all-natural leather.”
“Are all Birkenstocks leather? My friend is opposed to animal textiles.”
“They have vegan microfiber versions as well.” He lifts a gray pair.
“I need that kind.”
“We have the traditional style with the double strap, a thong, as well as a crisscross design.” He holds out each one.
The crisscross one is the most appealing, but probably Lucy is more practical.
Although she did say she went out drinking with friends.
“Do you have the crisscross ones in size seven?”
“Let me go look.” He takes off for the back of the store.
I walk around. The store is highly eclectic, selling everything from clothes to jewelry to hammocks.
Lucy only has one knapsack with her. Given how much feed is in it, she may not have even packed any other clothes.
There’s a yellow dress that I think would appeal to her. It’s a tank style and is flowing and loose. It should accommodate her belly. I pull one off the rack and check the fabric tag. Cotton. That will work.
Then there’s a T-shirt that reads, “My other dog is a goat,” and I can’t pass that up. I get a large one. Maybe she can wear it to sleep in. Then pink fuzzy socks with goats on them.
“We have them in both black and brown,” the man says, setting two boxes on the counter.
“Which do you think goes better with this dress?” I ask, holding it up.
“Brown, I’d say.”
I’d buy both colors, but I get the sense that Lucy has a limit to what she’ll accept. “Let’s go with brown, then. And these.” I set my pile by the register.
“I’ll ring them up.” He opens a sturdy paper bag and tucks the shoebox inside, then folds up the dress and shirt and socks to set inside.
“Did you see this?” He turns to the glass counter next to the register and opens the back. He pulls out a necklace that holds a locket shaped like a heart. A goat is etched into the front.
“I’ll take it, too,” I say, then wonder if I should have. It’s jewelry.
But I pay for all of it and head out.
As I walk back to the spa with my bag, I realize that everything I know about Lucy is in this bag. She’s pregnant. She likes goats. She’s all natural and vegetarian. Her shoe size is seven.
The necklace box sits on top. It suddenly seems too personal. Not cute and funny, but the wrong message. Like I’m reaching out to her.
And I’m not.
I remove the box from the bag and tuck it in my suit pocket.
The last thing I need is for that woman to think we’re anything but potential co-parents.
There were never two people more different than us.