The Things We Do For Love


Mayor Jenkins hammered his gavel on the podium.



“Come to order or I will have the council chambers cleared immediately.” The crowd settled down slowly and when they were quiet and had returned to their seats he continued. “To reiterate, the curator of the Museum of Modern Art is proposing…” he glanced at his notes, “a public art project on Filbert Street. It has been proposed to suspend no less than 137 pianos from ropes at varying heights above the street. The pianos will be hung at random, but close, intervals between Van Ness and The Filbert Street Steps.”

There was a huge round of applause and cheering from the standing room only crowd.
Mayor Jenkins pounded his gavel again and they quieted quickly.

He continued blathering, “It is the contention of this administration that public art projects of this ilk have become a cancer on this city and a stop must be put to them before members of the public are injured by falling pianos or other such nonsense, reminiscent of a Road Runner cartoon.”

Boos and cat calls resounded from the gallery. Clearly, The Arts Council was well supported here.

“Procedure dictates,” the mayor said loudly over the disagreement of the audience, “that both arguments must be heard at this meeting. You are aware that the official opinion of the administration is nothing but disdain for such a stupid and irresponsible proposal. I now have to allow time for the opposing position before I rule in favor of the city. So, Mr. Curator, please approach the podium; state your name, your title, and your position on this idiotic proposal.”

A lithe young lady stood in the back of the room and began moving towards the aisle. She wore her red hair in a shingle cut and sported a flattering summer outfit consisting of a bright green (not quite chartreuse) tight scoop neck top and purple shorts. She looked young, too young to be a museum curator. The mayor studied her as she moved gracefully down the aisle. His mouth hung open and a tiny drop of saliva clung tenaciously at the corner where his lips met. Councilwoman Malarky reached up and pushed the mayor’s chin upwards, closing it.

At the podium the young lady set a single sheet of paper on the surface in front of her and cleared her throat.

“Thanks Mayor Jenkins, for giving me my say. I would like to go on record and state that it is actually Ms. Curator, not Mr. Curator. My name is Lucky Lou and I am the Curator of Exhibits at our MOMA. I have had the pleasure of serving in this position for the last 10 years and hold a Doctorate in Fine Arts from City University. I believe City U is your Alma mater, is it not Mayor?”

The mayor swallowed and nodded his head. He was obviously smitten by this lovely lady. Lucky could see it and so could the rest of the room. The mayor was hopelessly in love. Lucky decided to use this opportunity to her advantage. She skipped to the end of her speech.

“And, in conclusion, Mr. Mayor that is why the city should approve the permits for this project.” She flashed her most enchanting smile. And the room erupted into thunderous applause.

The mayor blinked his eyes twice and shook his head as he awoke from his trance.

“I must say, Ms. Lou,” he said as his eyes moved around the room noting the obvious support that this vision of loveliness had garnered, “You’ve convinced me. I apologize for my earlier, somewhat negative, opinions of your proposal. I’ll push the paperwork through as my first order of business in the morning.”

Lucky stood tall and proud, holding her shoulders back, she said, “Thank you Mayor,” and turned back towards her seat.

“Ms. Lou?” The mayor stopped her in her tracks. “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe, coffee?”

Again she signaled in the negative.

Maybe we could share a Popsicle, after the meeting is adjourned.”

She smiled again, turned to face him, and this time she nodded her head.

He pounded his gavel on the podium again and announced, “Meeting adjourned.”