I just stared at him. “Sorry,” he said. “That probably sounded dickish.”
“Probably?” “Right, yeah,” he said. “I just mean... he’ll get away with it. He always gets away with it.”
I was starting to respond when I heard Daisy return. She had a guy with her —tall, broad-shouldered,
wearing matching khaki shorts and a polo shirt. “We are going to meet a tuatara,” Daisy said excitedly.
Davis got up and said, “Aza, this is Malik Moore, our zoologist.”
He said “our zoologist” as if they were normal words to say in the course of everyday conversation,
as if most people who reached a certain standing in life acquired a zoologist.
I stood up and shook Malik’s hand. “I take care of the tuatara,” he explained.
Everyone seemed to assume I knew what the hell a tuatara was.
Malik walked over to the edge of the pool, knelt down, lifted a door hidden in the patio’s tile, and pressed a button.
A reticulated chrome walkway emerged from the pool’s edge and arched over the water to reach the island.
Daisy grabbed my arm and whispered, “Is this real life?” and then the zoologist waved his hand dramatically,
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