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“Yes, sir,” she said, tilting her head to the right, confusion written all over her face. “It’s next to the metal cabinets.”
A wail emerged from his office, presumably from Cindy’s first contraction, causing Lilith to pale.
Dashing to the corner, as his assistant clutched her pearls, he grabbed the handle of the dolly, maneuvering it to his office and positioning it under the eight-thousand-dollar chair that once belonged to Hiram Revels, circa 1870. The first black American to have served in the U.S. Senate.
The only piece of furniture he owned.
Silently he vowed to never spend another dime on, or become attached to, anything so extravagant.
Yet another example of the endowment effect: when you lent something far more value having owned it, than if you refrained from shelling out cash for the item in the first place. Making it your own.
Cherishing it.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Maynard commandeered the dolly, as Lucas assumed the role of master navigator. Despite the overly large doorway, Maynard managed to slam one priceless leg against the doorjamb. The other leg plowing into the side of the door that led to the hallway, a sliver of wood ricocheting off and across the room.
Cindy remained rattled, as she sat back in the plush seat, her shoulders high, and her fingers splayed and pushing down on the overstuffed arms.
Once in the elevator, Lucas crouched beside her. “You’re going to be fine. Wallis is on his way to the hospital and he told me to tell you he can’t wait to meet his son.”
“How nice for him,” Cindy said with more fear than anger. “I get to push a basketball out of my vagina, ripping through my lady bits, so his father can swaddle him, spoil him, and take him to college sporting events.”
Okay, now, maybe wasn’t the time for small talk.
The elevator doors opened and Maynard whisked her out the front doors. Parking the dolly and chair in the empty parking space, Maynard ran to pull his car closer.
When he drove the car perpendicular to the parking space, Lucas was ready with the dolly holding the chair, with Cindy leaning back and perched on top of it. He opened the passenger door, maneuvering the dolly and the chair toward the opening.
Cindy cried, “What do I do?”
“You don’t have to do a thing. I’m going to do all the work,” Lucas said, placing one foot at the back rung of the dolly and gently moving it forward as he easily transferred her from the chair to the luxury car seat of Maynard’s high-end Lexus.
Pushing the chair and dolly aside, in the empty parking space, he bent down and latched her seat belt for her.
Before pulling away, Cindy grabbed his arm, this time with something other than raw fear in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. City Manager.” Lucas leaned down giving Maynard a two-finger salute. “And to our next city manager, drive safe. You’re transporting precious cargo.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Mayor.”
Lucas shut the door and waved at a now-smiling Cindy. He stepped back onto the sidewalk and watched the Lexus turning onto Main Street.
Just as the car drove out of sight. He considered how and where to relocate the chair, as it would have to be, once again, refurbished.
He should have never put the damned thing in his office. It should have been in a museum where professionals touched it with white cotton gloves and placed it in a sterile environment under glass.
The decision was made for him when, out of nowhere, ninety-two-year-old Charlene Farnsworth swung her 1978 Oldsmobile Toronado into the parking space, easily smashing the priceless chair and dolly against a two-hundred-year-old oak tree.
