Chapter 30: The One Where Mr. Heckles Has a Monkey
They'd been searching for forty-five minutes when Ross got home.
This was the timeline nobody had wanted. The preferred timeline had involved finding Marcel, returning him to his designated shelf location, and having everything back to normal with approximately twenty minutes to spare before Ross walked through the door. The actual timeline involved Joey still checking the building's back stairwell,
Phoebe on the sidewalk out front making the specific kind of eye contact with passing strangers that communicated have you seen a monkey, and Rachel standing in Monica's apartment with the expression of a woman who had made several decisions in the last hour and was not at peace with any of them.
The other person in Monica's apartment was the reason for the last part.
Her name was Luisa. She was in her early thirties, wore a uniform from New York City Animal Control, and had the expression of someone who had shown up expecting a straightforward situation and had received something considerably more complicated.
Rachel had called Animal Control forty minutes ago, which had seemed like the responsible thing to do at the time, and which had become less clearly responsible with every passing minute.
Ross came through the door, looked at the room — Monica, Rachel, the woman in uniform, the specific quality of everyone's posture — and stopped.
"What's happening?" he said.
"Ross," Rachel said. "Okay. So. There are a few things."
"Where's Marcel?" Ross said.
"That's one of the things," Rachel said.
Luisa stepped forward with the professional composure of someone who had been in rooms like this before. "Sir, I'm Luisa Gianetti from New York City Animal Control. Are you the owner of a white-headed capuchin monkey?"
Ross looked at her. "He's not — I'm his designated caretaker. He came from a research reassignment situation—"
"So that's a yes," Luisa said.
"It's complicated," Ross said.
"It often is," Luisa said, in the tone of someone for whom it was, in fact, often complicated. "I should let you know that possession of a Class C exotic animal in New York City without the appropriate permits is subject to confiscation and a fine. Potentially more, depending on circumstances."
Ross turned to Rachel.
Rachel became very interested in the middle distance.
"You called Animal Control," Ross said.
"I was trying to find him," Rachel said. "I thought they could help."
"They can help," Ross said, with considerable control. "By taking him away permanently."
"I didn't know that part when I called," Rachel said.
Joey appeared in the doorway behind Ross, slightly out of breath, and took in the scene with the rapid assessment of someone who understood immediately that the situation had escalated. He looked at Ethan, who had come back through the other door thirty seconds earlier. Ethan gave him the small headshake that communicated don't say anything yet.
Luisa had her clipboard out and was writing something on it with the focused efficiency of a person doing a job.
Ethan looked at her. Something was familiar. He ran through the mental index of people he'd encountered through Monica and Rachel over the last seven months — neighbors, coworkers, college connections, people who had come to dinner or shown up in stories.
Then he had it.
"Luisa Gianetti," he said. "You went to Lincoln High, right? Class of '84?"
Luisa looked up from her clipboard.
"You were in Monica's year," Ethan said. "I remember — Monica mentioned you. The bake sale thing sophomore year. The one where someone's entry went missing."
Luisa looked at Monica.
Monica, who had not in fact mentioned Luisa recently and was now doing the rapid calculation of someone being offered a lifeline and assessing whether to take it, said: "Luisa. Of course. Hi."
"Hi, Monica," Luisa said, carefully.
"You look great," Monica said, with the specific warmth of someone who genuinely meant it as a social gesture rather than a factual claim, which was the right register.
Luisa looked between Monica and Ethan with the expression of someone deciding how to proceed. Her clipboard was still in her hand. The situation was still what it was. But the room had shifted slightly — from anonymous enforcement interaction to something with at least the memory of personal history in it.
"Where is the monkey currently?" Luisa said, which was the professional version of I'll hear you out but I still have a job to do.
"We're looking," Ethan said honestly. "We think he's still in the building."
"I need to see him," Luisa said. "Once I'm here on a call, I have to complete the inspection. That's not optional."
"I understand," Ethan said. "Give us twenty minutes."
Luisa looked at her watch. Then at the clipboard. Then at Monica with the expression of someone making a small human decision inside a professional framework. "Twenty minutes," she said. "Then I file whatever I have to file."
They went back out.
This time with purpose — Ethan had a theory, based on the earlier roof discovery having not panned out and Marcel's general preference for warmth and interesting things, and the theory involved the building's second floor.
Specifically: Mr. Heckles.
Mr. Heckles occupied the apartment directly below Monica and Rachel. He was somewhere in his sixties, had strong opinions about noise, and had appeared at their door on three separate occasions with complaints that ranged from the legitimate to the architectural to one memorable occasion when he had objected to the sound of Monica's thinking, which he claimed was audible from his bedroom. He was also, Ethan had observed, someone who kept his windows open at unusual times and had a balcony that caught the afternoon sun.
If Marcel had gone down a floor rather than up, Heckles' balcony was the logical destination.
They knocked.
Mr. Heckles opened the door with the expression he always wore — the specific expression of a man who had been interrupted from something important by people who were not worth the interruption.
Then Ethan looked past him.
Through the apartment, visible through the sliding glass door to the balcony, was Marcel. He was sitting on the balcony railing with the settled composure of a creature who had found an excellent afternoon spot and saw no reason to leave it. He appeared to have acquired a cracker from somewhere and was eating it with considerable satisfaction.
"Mr. Heckles," Ethan said. "That's Ross's monkey on your balcony."
Mr. Heckles looked at them. Then, with the unhurried deliberateness of a man making a considered choice, he began to close the door.
Joey put his hand on it. "Sir. We can see him from here."
"That monkey," Mr. Heckles said, "came to my balcony voluntarily. He wasn't invited, but he arrived. In my experience, voluntary arrival constitutes a kind of preference."
"He's a monkey," Chandler said. "He also voluntarily ate Ross's crossword puzzle this morning."
"Animals have instincts," Mr. Heckles said. "His instincts brought him here. I'm inclined to respect that."
Ross stepped forward with the controlled desperation of a man who needed something very specific to happen. "Mr. Heckles. That's Marcel. He's — he matters to me. A great deal. I understand we've had some noise issues and I want you to know I take that seriously, but right now I'm asking you, person to person, to please let me get my monkey off your balcony."
Mr. Heckles regarded Ross for a long moment.
"The 11 PM situation on the fourteenth," he said. "The stomping."
"That was a foosball celebration," Ross said. "It won't happen again."
"The singing on the third of this month," Mr. Heckles said.
"Phoebe's birthday," Ross said. "Also won't happen again."
"It'll happen again," Mr. Heckles said.
"The frequency will decrease," Ross said.
Mr. Heckles appeared to weigh this. He had the expression of a man who had been having this negotiation his entire adult life and had made a certain peace with it.
"The monkey," he said finally, "has been company. I'll say that."
"I appreciate that," Ross said, carefully.
"He ate my crackers," Mr. Heckles said.
"I'll replace the crackers," Ross said.
"He also," Mr. Heckles said, "appears to have reorganized my mail."
Everyone looked at Marcel, who had finished his cracker and was now sitting with a neat stack of envelopes in front of him, apparently sorted by size.
"I'll replace the crackers and apologize for the mail," Ross said.
Mr. Heckles was quiet for a moment. Then he stepped back from the door. "He's on the balcony," he said, as if this was new information rather than something they could all see clearly. "Go get him."
Marcel came to Ross without drama — he'd had his afternoon, he'd eaten his crackers, he'd done the mail sorting, and he appeared to have reached the natural conclusion of his adventure. He climbed from the railing to Ross's shoulder and sat there with the equanimity of a creature who had made a considered choice to come home.
Ross held very still for a moment with Marcel on his shoulder. Something moved in his face that he didn't say anything about.
"Okay," he said. "Okay."
They went back upstairs.
Luisa was in the hallway outside Monica's apartment when they came back, which suggested she had been waiting in the specific way of someone who intended to complete what she'd started. She saw Marcel and made a note on her clipboard.
"That's him," she said.
"That's him," Ethan confirmed.
Luisa looked at Marcel. Marcel looked at Luisa with the focused, non-threatening curiosity he brought to new people. Then, with the specific social initiative of a creature who had been around humans long enough to have opinions about them, he reached out and very gently touched her sleeve.
Luisa looked at the small hand on her sleeve. Something in her professional expression shifted by approximately one degree.
"He's healthy," she said, which was not a question.
"Regular vet care," Ross said. "Diet is managed, I have records—"
"Ross," Ethan said quietly.
Ross stopped.
Luisa finished writing something on her clipboard. She looked at Monica. "Lincoln High," she said. "The bake sale. Someone entered your seven-layer chocolate cake under a different name."
Monica went very still.
"I knew it was yours," Luisa said. "The ganache technique. Nobody else in the school could do that."
Monica looked at her for a long moment. "I've wondered about that for eleven years," she said.
"You should have won," Luisa said simply. She looked at her clipboard. Then she looked at the clipboard in the way of someone deciding something that the clipboard could not decide for her.
"The permit situation," she said, to Ross. "There's a Class C Exotic Animal registration process. It takes about six weeks, there's an inspection, there's a fee." She looked at Marcel. "I'm going to note that the animal appears healthy and well-cared for, and that the owner — caretaker — is in the process of getting the appropriate documentation."
Ross stared at her. "He is?"
Ethan looked at Ross. Ross looked at Ethan. Ethan gave him the small nod that communicated yes, he is, starting immediately.
"He is," Ross said. "Yes. I've been meaning to — the paperwork has been—"
"Six weeks," Luisa said. "Don't make me come back here." She said it in the specific tone of someone who didn't entirely want to mean it as a threat and was leaving a window open. She clicked her pen. "The crackers situation," she said. "What kind did he eat?"
"Ritz," Mr. Heckles said, from the doorway behind them, which startled everyone because nobody had noticed him follow them up. "The plain ones. Not the whole grain."
"He has a preference," Luisa said. "Good to know." She made another note.
Marcel made a small sound of apparent agreement.
"Monica," Luisa said, turning to leave. "I'll be at the alumni thing in May, if that's happening."
"I'll be there," Monica said.
Luisa nodded, made one final note, and went down the stairs without looking back.
The hallway stood in the specific quiet of a situation that had resolved in a way nobody had fully predicted.
"She knew about the bake sale," Monica said, to no one in particular.
"She knew about the bake sale," Rachel confirmed.
"For eleven years she knew about the bake sale and she never said anything," Monica said.
"She said it now," Ethan said.
Monica looked at the stairwell door that had closed behind Luisa. "I came in second," she said. "In my own school. For a cake that wasn't as good as mine."
"That's genuinely unjust," Chandler said.
"It is," Monica said. She stood there for another moment. Then: "I'm making dinner. Everybody in."
Later, after dinner, after Marcel had been returned to his designated shelf with his bottle cap from the roof and his new cracker from the box Ross had gone down to Mr. Heckles with, after the permit paperwork had been started on Ross's kitchen table with Ethan walking him through what was needed, the apartment settled back into its evening configuration.
Rachel was on the couch with her Madison folder, going through it with the focused attention she'd been bringing to it all week. Thursday was two days away.
Ross came and sat beside Ethan, who was on his second coffee of the evening and had his dissertation notes on the cushion next to him.
"Four days," Ross said.
"Four days," Ethan confirmed. The defense.
"Are you ready?" Ross said.
Ethan thought about it honestly. "I know the work," he said. "I've known the work for a year. The defense is just — saying out loud what I already know, to people who need to hear me say it."
"That sounds like it should be simple," Ross said.
"It sounds simple," Ethan agreed. "The knowing that it should be simple doesn't make standing up there feel simple."
"What does it feel like?" Ross said.
Ethan looked at his notes. "Like standing outside a room you've been in before," he said. "And knowing it's going to be fine, and also still feeling what you feel before you go in."
Ross was quiet for a moment. "The prenatal class," he said. "The breathing section."
"Yeah," Ethan said. "Exactly like that."
Marcel made a small sound from his shelf.
They both looked at him.
He had the bottle cap in one hand and was examining it with the same focused satisfaction he'd had on the roof, as if the afternoon's adventure had been, from his perspective, entirely successful.
"He's fine," Ross said. "He's completely fine."
"He had a good afternoon," Ethan said.
"He reorganized Heckles' mail," Ross said.
"He improved Heckles' mail system," Ethan said. "That's a service."
Ross looked at Marcel for another moment. Then he laughed — the real version, surprised out of him, the one that meant he'd stopped managing something and just felt it.
"Okay," he said. "Four days."
"Four days," Ethan said.
Outside, the March evening was doing what March evenings did when they were finally getting the season right — the city settling into its night mode, the lights coming on in the buildings across the street, the particular New York quality of a lot of separate lives running their parallel courses, each one its own whole world.
More than enough.
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