Art Trade (1)

The sky was dull as light April rain showered the city. A black Bentley drove over the puddled asphalt road, followed by 2 cars of lesser price tag. Image of glass skyscrapers reflected within the vehicle’s glossy exterior, melted by the raindrops. Sol, sitting in the backseat, looked out of the window to the great cityscape. Towers upon towers next to each other in perfect glass unison. It was a scene completely different to where he came from.

“Yes, the CEO will arrive within ten minutes,” Sol’s secretary, sitting in the front seat, answered the telephone call. She sounded annoyed.

Less than ten minutes later, the luxury car parked in an outdoor parking lot. Overlooking the parking lot was a modernist tower with sleek striped paneling. A striking building among the nondescript glass-panelled ones. It’s the headquarters of Sol’s company. The driver of the car exited the vehicle first. He hastily made his way to the car trunk, reaching in for a black umbrella. Then, he opened the door for his boss, the opened umbrella in his hand. Sol stepped out.

“Thank you,” he told the driver with a nod. The pair walked together towards the headquarters building. Then came his entourage of assistants, led by the secretary, exiting their cars and following their boss into the building.

As Sol and his parade almost reached the front door, the Galatier noticed something on the ground – a magpie, laid still in a muddy puddle. He stopped walking to observe the bird. It seems injured, badly so. He took a brief moment to ponder what to do with it.

The secretary coughed, “ahem, boss, the meeting starts in-”

Sol ignored her. Instead, he went down on one knee to pick up the injured bird, dirtying his bespoke grey trousers in the process. The bird shivered in his hands, struggling to flap its wings. He grabbed his handkerchief from his shirt pocket to clean up the poor avian.

“Boss, the meeting,” the secretary reminded him again, this time with a sterner tone.

“Yes, what about it?” Sol turned to her. Dead serious look in his eyes. This is Sol’s don’t you dare look.

“I… just think we should get going.”

“Yes,” Sol looked at the bird in his hands again, before gently handing it over to his driver, “will you take care of this little guy for me?”

“Yes, sir,” the driver complied, taking the bird from his boss’ hands. Sol watched as the driver excuse himself off to the side while him and his other assistants paraded into the headquarter.

…

The sky was as clear as it could possibly be. The Galatier looked out of the window in his office, to the great horizon below. Perched on his shoulder was the little magpie, fixed-up and healthy. The vet bill was nothing for someone of Sol’s status anyway.

As he admired the view, someone knocked on the door. “Boss, it’s me, your assistant.”

“Yes, come on in,” Sol replied.

The assistant opened the door, and to her amusement she saw the little bird nipping on her boss’ earlobe. “Aw!” Sol yelped.

She giggled as Sol struggled with trying to remain professional with a curious bird on his shoulder.