15. Lucy
15
LUCY
I expect Court to take me back to his office, but instead we pull up to a stone building with a canopy in front of big wood doors.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“My apartment building.” He waits for a man in a maroon uniform to approach from the door.
“Oh, wait, I forgot about the goat.” He guns the motor and takes off, leaving the uniformed man confused, his arms out.
“What just happened?”
“Normally, I leave my car with Jerry, the valet for the building. But we’re not allowed pets without an addendum to our lease.”
“How long will that take?”
“For a goat? A day past never.”
We whip into a garage, and I clutch the door with one hand and Matilda with the other. We’re plunged into near-dark until my eyes adjust.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
The side of Court’s face that I can see is grim. “Apparently, we’re going to sneak a goat up the stairs.”
“This sounds fun!”
“A real lark.” His tone is ominous, all joking gone. This is the Court I know.
“What happens if you get caught?”
“They’ll probably throw me out.”
“They can do that?”
“For a goat? Maybe. A dog, they’d fine me. But livestock is another matter entirely.”
“Matilda isn’t livestock!”
He grunts at that. We make a tight turn as we go higher in the garage.
We keep going up. The cars are shiny and new. They look unused. And do they all leave them with Jerry? I can’t imagine handing over the keys to my car. What if you wanted to take off in the middle of the night? Would Jerry be there waiting?
But I don’t ask. I hold on to Matilda as we make our way up.
We must be near the top. The ramp continues into open sky, but Court doesn’t go up there. He parks the SUV near a door in the corner.
“I should probably bring the goat up the stairs. You can take the elevator.”
That’ll never work. “Matilda won’t go with you.”
“Why not?”
How to put this kindly? “She likes to butt you with her head.”
“Right. But it’s a lot of stairs. Ten floors, easily.”
“Really? We drove forever.”
“And the garage is much shorter than the tower.”
Oh. I sit up tall. “I can do it. We can go slow.”
“I’d feel better if you took the elevator.” He pulls out his wallet and passes me a plastic card. “This is the key card for it.”
I take it, but I’m skeptical. “She won’t do it.”
“I can handle a goat.”
I’m not sure which one of them is more stubborn. “All right,” I say. “Give it a go.”
I open my door and tug Matilda out of the car. The moment her hooves are on solid ground, she poops everywhere. “Sorry,” I tell Court.
“Better here than the car. We’ll take care of it later.”
“It’s great for plants. Do you have any plants?”
“We’re not putting goat poop in my plants.”
“But you have some?” That sounds promising. Maybe there’s a rooftop garden like I’ve seen in movies.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll come back for your bags once we’ve made it up.” He closes the door softly, like we’re trying not to wake the neighbors.
I do the same with mine. “Should we whisper?”
“No. Of course not.”
A car approaches from below, and Court jumps into action. He grabs the leash from me and drags Matilda to the front of the car.
She doesn’t want to go and stiffens her legs.
Oh, no.
I turn and spread my skirt so the driver can’t see her. The man behind the wheel passes by without a glance our way. He takes the ramp up to the roof.
When I lower my skirt, I realize I’ve stepped in the goat poop.
“Oh, dear.” I reach down and remove the shoes. I’m barefoot again.
“Just leave them there,” Court hisses. “I’ll take care of it when I come back down.”
“But they’re my new ones!”
“I’ll take care of it!” His usually perfect hair falls in his eyes as he pulls on Matilda.
She won’t budge.
“How to you get her to move?”
I set my soiled shoes by the front tire. “You catch more flies with honey.”
“What are you talking about?”
I circle Matilda so I’m near her face. “You have to be nice, not mean.” I croon in a sing-song. “Let’s go, sweet pea. Mama wants to go inside.”
The goat stares at Court, but I manage to rub her cheeks until she relaxes. “Let’s go, Matilda.”
She takes a step forward.
“Finally,” Court says, yanking on the lead.
Matilda digs in again.
“I told you this wouldn’t work,” I tell Court.
“I’ll pick her up. How much can she weigh?”
“I wouldn’t—” But it’s too late. Court has leaned down and shoved his arms under Matilda’s belly.
Now, full grown Nigerian Dwarves tend to weigh around seventy-five pounds. Matilda is a little under that, around sixty-five last time I could get her on a scale.
But that is sixty-five pounds of pure ornery.
The minute her hooves are off the ground, she’s bleating and squirming and kicking.
Court takes it on the thighs, then turns white in the face and lets go.
His knees fold together in a pose I’m not sure I’ve ever seen on a man.
I think she got him in the groin.
“Court? You okay?”
He leans against the car. “You’re right. We’ll all have to go.” His voice is high and tight.
“You think we can make it to the elevator? Or is there someone always inside like in the movies?”
He shakes his head. “There’s nobody in the elevator, but there is a camera.”
“Oh, that won’t do. They’ll see her on security. What if we throw a blanket over her?”
He lifts his head at that. “That could work.”
“I have the pickle one you got for me at your office.” I open the driver’s side and lean in to lift the flap of my knapsack. There’s a lot of room since Matilda ate all the grain. I didn’t restock at the farm because there was so much to eat there.
I’ll have to get more again.
It might be a good thing Court doesn’t have plants. Matilda would have them for snacks.
I tug out the Pickle blanket. “At least then they won’t know she’s a goat. If you get fined for a dog, I can save up and pay you back.”
He lifts his hand. “It’s okay.”
I kneel in front of Matilda. “Okay, Matty, I’m going to cover you. You be a good girl, okay?”
I murmur at her as I unfold the blanket and lay it over her back. It’s not bad. She looks more like a miniature pony now than anything.
“Let’s give this a try,” Court says, passing the leash to me. “God help us.”
If we’re looking for divine intervention, I’d rather divert it to the poor goats at the farm. I understand that people eat goats, just like they eat pigs and cows and chickens. But I don’t want anything to do with it.
Court takes the plastic card from me and runs it across the lock on the door to the building. It pops open. “Let me scout,” he says.
Matilda and I wait. The garage is warm with no breeze. “Be a good girl,” I tell her.
She answers with a meh eh eh .
When Court returns, he tries to smooth his wild hair and tugs on his suit jacket to make it more presentable. I don’t point out that it’s covered in goat hair.
He holds the door open. “It’s a long hall to the elevators, but this time of day should be quiet. Let’s go.”
He opens the door wide for me and Matilda to pass.
The halls are carpeted, like a hotel. Everything smells like fresh linen. “How do they get it to smell so good?” I ask.
“Fragrance in the air vents,” he says. “Now come on.”
He leads us past a door marked “Staff Only,” and we turn right down a long hall. Each door is elegant, with a gold knocker and matching lever. Lamps on the wall give off a soft glow.
We creep along the hall with no trouble until we get to the elevator bank. Court presses the button, but when the doors slide open, there’s a lady in a tall straw hat.
She stares at me, Court, and Matilda in the blanket, her mouth open, until the doors close again.
“Oh no,” I say. “Are you busted?”
Court’s eyes are wild. With his disheveled hair and rumpled, hairy suit jacket, he looks less corporate and more human. “I don’t know.”
He punches the up button again. It’s an eternal wait, but the second elevator finally stops. This time, I’m careful to be out of view when it opens.
“It’s empty,” Court says.
We try to lead Matilda inside, but she doesn’t like going into such a small enclosed space. She stiffens her legs.
“Good God,” Court says. He picks up her hind legs, and before she can get a good kick in, he swings her around so she’s half inside.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I tell her, then shove her the rest of the way in.
The doors close.
Court punches the button for eighteen. It’s not the top. There are twenty-six levels in the building. “Is there a penthouse?” I ask.
“Probably.”
“But you don’t live there.”
“I’m not a billionaire in a romance novel,” he says.
“I don’t read romance novels.”
“Why not?” He watches Matilda warily as the elevator rises.
“Books don’t last very long in the yurt.”
His gaze shifts to me. “The humidity?”
“Oh, no. Matilda loves to eat paper. It’s just wood pulp.”
“So Matilda might love romance novels.”
Another joke! “Court, you are positively hilarious when you want to be.”
The elevator slows to a stop. “Let me scout,” Court says. “Hold the door open.”
I can’t quite reach the button with Matilda in the way and my belly so huge, so I stand in the door. Court steps out, looking each way.
“We’re good. Let’s go.”
I pull on Matilda’s lead, but she’s dug in again. Apparently, she likes the elevator now.
The doors try to close, and I have to push on them to keep them apart. “Come on, Matilda,” I cajole. “Follow Mommy.”
She won’t go. I tug and rub and talk to her. The elevator makes a terrible buzzing noise.
“It’s been open too long,” Court says. His face and neck have gone dark red.
“Should I go back in?”
“We have to get her out!”
“I have an idea,” I say. “You won’t like it.”
“I don’t exactly like this!”
I drop the lead. “Butt her head with your head, then run.”
“What?”
“Butt her head. Be aggressive. She’ll chase you then.”
“Shit.”
“She won’t do it with me.”
Court closes his eyes for a second. The elevator continues its horrible buzzing.
Then he bends over, head down, and rams Matilda in the nose.
“Run!” I say.
Court whips around and takes off down the hall.
Matilda gives chase, taking off like her life depends on it. The blanket falls to the floor.
I bend down with great difficulty to pick it up, then move out of the elevator. The doors close, and the terrible noise finally stops.
Matilda chases Court down the hall, and they disappear around a corner.
I guess I better try to catch up.