Zero History

seen him. He smiled ruefully, white teeth seemingly the size and thickness of dominoes.
“Sorry about this. I had no idea. I actually chose the place so we could talk, and not be
distracted by the food.” He sat back down as the maître d’ held her chair for her.
When he’d gone, leaving thickly bound menus, Meredith said, “We could have been
across the street, at Comptoir. That would have distracted us thoroughly.”
“Sorry,” said George. “The food here is rather good. Unfortunately, it looks like poor
Bram’s the main course.”
“You know him?”
“To speak to. He’s talented. There but for fortune, I suppose.”
“Studio time with Reg not looking quite so dire?”
“Not since our conversation this afternoon, really.” Big solid teeth appearing again. She
could certainly see why Meredith liked him. Indeed, she could see that Meredith very
definitely did. They gave off that contact-pleasantness she expected from couples who
liked one another in some genuine but nonmanic way. She wondered if she’d ever been
half of one of those. “Your friend is with Fridrika Brandsdottir,” she said, the name
coming back.
“Evidently,” George agreed.
“Not in any biblical sense, I hope,” said Meredith, peering over her open menu at the
Bram/Brandsdottir table.
“None whatever,” said George. “He’s gay.”
“That must make it even more embarrassing,” said Hollis, opening her menu.
“He’ll do what he has to,” said George. “He’s looking for a way out of the vampire
thing. Tricky.”
Milgrim appeared, his hair looking damp, the maître d’ fussing officiously behind him.
“Hello, Milgrim,” Hollis said, “have a seat.”
Assured that Milgrim was meant to be there, though clearly none too pleased to have
him there, the maître d’ retreated. Milgrim unslung his shoulder bag, lowered it to the
floor by its strap, beside the remaining chair, and seated himself.
“This is my colleague, Milgrim,” Hollis said. “Milgrim, Meredith Overton and George.
Like you, George has only the one name.”
“Hello,” said Milgrim. “I saw you at the clothing show.”
“Hello,” said George. Meredith looked at Hollis.
“Milgrim and I,” Hollis said to Meredith, “are both interested in Gabriel Hounds.”
“Unidentified flying objects,” Milgrim said, to George. “Do you believe in them?”
George’s eyes narrowed beneath his unibrow. “I believe that what appear to be objects,
flying, sometimes appear to be seen. And may be unknown.”
“You haven’t seen one?” Milgrim leaned sideways and down, to scoot his bag farther
under his chair. He looked up, from very close to the tablecloth, at George. “Yourself?”
“No,” said George, with careful neutrality. “Have you?”
Milgrim straightened up. Nodded in the affirmative.