PICASSO
I talked my housemate into clearing out some space in a back room, so I could set up an office. He's an art dealer and has been here for 12 years. As I was moving one box of God knows what, he stood up very straight:

HIM: "Where's the Picasso?"
ME: (laughing), "Who knows..."
HIM: "No, really. Where's the Picasso?"
-- beat --

ME: "You really have a Picasso here? You don't know where it is?"
HIM: "I left it on the sofa, or the coffee table. It's a rolled up canvas. A charcoal study for a later painting."

I had been cleaning all day and was suddenly terrified. We looked in mailing tubes and under coffee table books. Under the sofa and behind the side tables.
Finally, he pulled back a seat cushion and lifted this crumpled, off-white something.

HIM: (smiling) "Here it is. No problem" He stretched it out, rolled it up and went back to cleaning.
ME: (I stood, silently thinking of the grilled cheese I'd just eaten atop a Picasso.)