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The Taxi

 

I may not be considered much of an artist. Sadly, the complexities of creating a fierce unicorn that remains majestic without appearing too proud is lost to most of the artistic community. Still, I love art. And God added a bonus blessing to this trip I would never have thought up on my own. My favorite artist in all the world would be at the Nimb Hotel today—the very day my Grandmother arranged for my brunch.

Axel Rasmussen was famous for his candid sketches of everyday people on a bad day. How he thought up his subjects’ misadventures and coaxed his models to accurately portray every indignant pose was a mystery. They were unequivocally hilarious, especially the one of a businessman whose briefcase got hooked by a passing trolley. By the time he retrieved the tooled leather case, it had been run over by five cars, a garbage truck, and a mounted policeman.

I owned ten of his coffee table books. I’d heard rumors, in a few online chat rooms, that Axel Rasmussen would finally reveal his process. And I, Morgan Nicole Ravn, would witness his genius first hand.

I dragged my luggage to the ladies’ room where I changed out of my damaged attire. I donned a slim navy dress with a wiggle skirt, cap sleeves, and matching heels. I hid the pink purse at the very bottom of my suitcase underneath my ragged jeans and orange “Live Long and Thrive” T-shirt featuring Snarvich The Reticent and his intergalactic space craft. It was the only classic Morgan outfit I had condescended to bring—just for emergencies. I pulled out a small leather backpack that Bret had given me and stuffed my wallet inside.

The navy heels were even higher than the pink ones, but they made such satisfying clicks on the shiny airport floors that it almost made up for how I lived in fear for my ankles. What if I hit a puddle and my ankle bent and my leg snapped right off? No, I had to focus. This was what normal women dealt with every day.

I could sculpt six different styles of the same movie hero in two weeks (one Somalian, one Japanese, one Swedish, one Peloponnesian, one French, and my favorite, the Chilean hero). I was going to this fancy schmancy brunch as a woman. Heels and a slick floor would not thwart my plans.

I flagged down a taxi, tossed my carry-on into the seat, and stashed my larger bag in the trunk.

Someone behind me gasped.

I turned.

Several travelers ran toward me waving their arms and shouting in Danish.

Oh, no, this was my taxi. The frantic travelers would just have to wait their turn. I leapt inside and slammed the door, shouting out the address for Tivoli Gardens where the Nimb Hotel and Restaurant was located. Sensing my urgency, the driver zipped out into traffic. I sighed and looked across the seat to make sure that my carry-on and purse had made it.

I screamed and scrambled back against the door.

A massive black dog looked back at me. I covered my eyes and peeked through my fingers. Leroy was still there. I could see neither my carry-on nor my purse, for the giant animal lounged across most of the seat in a great, floppy mess of fur and slobber.

How had I missed him? My mind flew back to the shouting travelers who had charged my taxi at the airport. Perhaps they weren’t trying to pirate my ride. Chivalrous knights, the strangers had hoped to save me the horror of a giant canine sharing my seat.

I looked back.

Leroy had not disappeared. In fact, he panted and oozed closer to me across the seat. This could not be happening. I couldn’t take this massive beast on my tour of Rosenborg Castle to see the crown jewels. He would not blend in during Sunday Luxury Brunch at Nimb. And I would not tolerate another hair on my newly-acquired girly clothes.

The dog had to go.

I informed my driver that we had an unwelcome guest. He almost crashed the taxi when he glanced in the mirror to see if I was joking. Fortunately, there were no cars in the opposite lane and he managed to swerve us back to safety.

Soon I was back at the airport, paying him to wait for me.

I yanked on Leroy’s leash trying to coax him out of the taxi. Leroy would not budge. I called August on my cell, but it went right to voice mail. How could I move Leroy without obtaining a whole new coating of hair? I pulled on his front paws, which didn’t help any, and then tugged at his tail from a distance. The meter continued to tick, ringing up a larger and larger fare. Finally I lowered my shoulder and shoved Leroy’s hairy rear across the slick seat until the beast yawned and stepped out of the car. OK, now all I had to do was find his person.

August was nowhere. I called his number twelve times. I searched baggage claim and every taxi out front. I even stood in line at the help desk and asked if they could hold Leroy with the other lost suitcases until August came to get him.

No, they could not. They couldn’t even find the flight that August and Leroy had taken to Denmark. However, the smiling lady behind the counter did suggest that I would feel much better if I got a nice, strong coffee and had some cake. Cake?

I wanted August Bruun. I mean, really, how hard could it be to locate his flight? It had to have arrived today. August had gotten his suitcase the same time he’d brought mine. But the tall, thin woman who guarded the counter simply shook her head. I was stuck with my new best friend.

Leroy and I trudged back to the taxi. I grimaced as a text from my cousin Freja popped up on my phone. Did your plane land? Can’t wait to meet you! This is so exciting!! Be sure to wear your scarf!!!

I stared down at Leroy and could feel the color drain from my face. I texted her back, trying to stay upbeat. Just got here. Found a taxi. I’ll see you at 4:00 at the elephant table. Can’t wait!

I’d dreamed about this moment for years. I mean, Bret was awesome, but I still needed to know where I had come from. I wanted to see where my mom had grown up and meet someone who knew my history, knew a thing or two about my past.

This was not the way I wanted to meet my biological family. My navy dress was now a hair-infested monstrosity and my shoes had a smear of slobber across the toe.

What if Leroy had to go potty?

We were in the middle of the city without a pooper scooper.

I didn’t know a thing about dogs. I looked through my purse hoping for inspiration. Nail clippers, lip gloss that matched my first pair of shoes, and a brochure for the Rosenborg Castle featuring Denmark’s crown jewels. Hmmm…August’s grandpa was obsessed with that jewel thief. Hadn’t August said he was taking the tour and would search around the castle for more clues?

I yanked Leroy back toward the taxi, where I was forced to pay extra to squeeze him into the seat next to me. At least I had a direction. To the jewels! August might not find his famous villain, but by the pointy ears of Snarvich The Reticent, I was going to make sure he found his dog.