My pal, Kim, texts me. Hey, she knows someone who has a real eclectic, outlandish collection of stuff. It surrounds his sellf-dubbed Tiki-Bar that overlooks the river. Do you think Heiner would part with Mona Lisa? Mona could have a new life as the Tiki Tart.
Dunno, I text back. He might have disposed of the body by now. I am visualizing the legs sticking out of the trash can, with their shapely toes in the air. Delicate little fingers at the end of slender palms and long arms, reaching out from under the Hefty Cinch Sack at the top of the garbage can. Who knows where Mona is?
And so, we go about finding Mona, so to say (the studio tour was called Finding Mona). It seems, Kim says, after a few phonecalls, that Heiner has fallen for the girl. He won't be parting with Mona for the time being.
Kim texts back later that day. Why, she asks, are two men interested in a plastic woman with a smushed nose and missing eyeball, when she is still single?
Now, there's a good question. I am still amusing myself with all the possible answers and haven't texted her back with anything. Poor Mona! Men are still seeking you out, searching for something in that damaged smile of yours!