Page 30 of Darling Beasts

“Looks like monkey shit,” Mindy observed.

Talia looped the leash around Ivan’s neck. “You’d better hang on to that,” she said. “Jindos are runners.” She pivoted and walked out into the late afternoon sun.

The bell tower rang, which was weird, because it was not on the hour. Talia stopped and gazed in the direction of the art studio, not that she could see it from here. She’d need to deal with it at some point, despite not fully comprehending what “deal with it” meant. At the end of the day, it was a barn, and Talia had to prepare herself for the possibility she wasn’t going to find any answers inside.

Sighing, Talia turned toward the house. She’d taken two, maybe three steps when the sound of growling erupted overhead. She quickened her pace, but the growls intensified, sounding strangely like Gregorian chants. Going against every instinct and all better judgment, Talia looked up and locked eyes with a monkey perched in a tree. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” she said, laughing, even crying a tiny bit.

The monkey howled again.

“Fine, fine, I hear you,” she said, more annoyed than scared. She hustled back to the barn to let Mindy know the culprit had been found. Yes, ma’am, it was a monkey. The property manager literally knew her shit.

Chapter Eighteen

Ozzie

Spencer shook Ozzie’s hand. “Hey, brother, how’s it going?” he said. “Thanks for inviting me. I brought my coworker, Paul. The pad looks great.”

“Thanks, man.” Ozzie shut the door behind them. He wasn’t sure about the presence of this Paul character but since he hadn’t expected Spencer to show up at all, he’d take the win.Art show at my place Fri nite, he’d written.Lets hang w/o the ladies.Freja was in Milan. Or Rome, maybe. It was hard to keep up.

Ozzie invited other people, too, and was optimistic about the prospect of making some bank. The money situation was tighter than he’d thought, and boy oh boy was Barclay throwing a fit over the back taxes, which Ozzie forgot to mention the first few times they met. Yes, half a million was a lot to owe, but an election year was coming up, so Ozzie was kind of counting on getting his slate wiped clean?

“That’s not how it works,” Barclay said, sighing with his whole body. “Tax breaks are not retroactive.” Also, Ozzie probably didn’t make enough to benefit from any tax cuts for the truly wealthy, which, like,ouch. Barclay then warned him that unless he came up with the money in the next ninety days, he might find himself playing handball with Uncle Doug at Otisville.

Dad didn’t have the money to lend him anymore, and he wasn’t about to sell the crib, and thus Ozzie would focus onselling art. There were tax implications for this, too, depending on cost basis and whatnot, but it sounded like a problem for future Ozzie. Step one was getting people in the door.

“Let me show you the goods,” Ozzie said, leading the way. When they stepped inside the gallery, Ballsack approached carrying a tray of champagne.

“Veuve, anyone?” he said, and Paul gave him a sideways look—probably on account of the shorts and tank top—but accepted a glass nonetheless. The men began to peruse the collection.

“That’s Sharon Tate’s face steamer,” Ozzie said, trailing behind them. “Burt Reynolds’s Rolodex.” An AMA award Kenny Rogers received for “The Gambler.” A Ted Williams game used bat. Part of the Eiffel Tower’s spiral staircase. And so on.

Finally, Paul stopped at the Hundred Acre Wood map fromWinnie the Pooh, the most famous map in all of children’s literature. It was the last thing Ozzie wanted to give up. He’d only left it in the gallery because it elevated everything else.

“BigPoohfan?” Ozzie said. “Fun fact, Winnie’s government name was Edward.”

“That’s right, I forgot about yourWinnie the Poohdeal,” Spencer said, and Ozzie wondered what the hell he meant. “Isn’t that why you painted your front door green?”

“No. The green door represents money,” Ozzie said, glowering, even though yes, of course Christopher Robinlived behind a green door in another part of the forest. How had Spencer known? It wasn’t the sort of thing Ozzie would admit to Talia. Maybe Gabby said something. She was quite the sneak.

“Huh,” Paul said, moving closer, inspecting each place on the map, from Kanga’s House to the Sandy Pit Where Roo Plays. “My wife would love this. Pooh Bear is my nickname for her.”

“Gross,” Ozzie muttered.

“And she’s expecting. It’d be perfect for the nursery.”

Ozzie pulled a face. The guy had long cleared sixty. It must’ve been a second or third wife.

Spencer squinted at the map. “I don’t get it,” he said. “‘Nice for Piknicks’? ‘Big Stones and Rox’?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Why are so many things spelled wrong?”

“It’s meant to becheeky,” Ozzie said. “It’s supposed to have been drawn by achild.”

“Okay, but ‘Eeyore’s Gloomy Place, Rather Boggy and Sad’? Seems kind of depressing for a nursery.”

“We all need a gloomy place, Spencer,” Ozzie said. Little did the guy know that “rather boggy and sad” was how he thought of Spencer and Talia’s relationship. “If you’re in the market for something cheerier, I have several Bob Ross paintings. Who wouldn’t want to look at happy little trees all day?”

Paul wasn’t listening. Instead, he took a picture of the map, probably to show his wife. “How much?” he asked and flipped around.

“Seven hundred fifty thousand,” Ozzie said, shooting for the moon. It’d last been appraised for $500K but Paul nodded, unfazed.

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