Zero history

71. THE UGLY T-SHIRT

Where are you? Robert said you left with a woman.”

She was leaving the denim shop with Meredith and Clammy. “Soho. I did. Meredith. On my way back now.”

“Should have given you the sort of safe-word I gave your employer.”

“No. It’s okay.”

“Better if you’re not out.”

“Necessary, though.”

“But you’re coming back now?”

“Yes. See you soon.”

She looked from the phone in her hand to the faintly candlelit window. Shadows of people. Two more arriving now, to be admitted by Bo. Meredith thought she’d seen an associate editor from French Vogue. Clammy had ignored several other musicians, slightly older than he was, whom Hollis vaguely recognized. Otherwise, not what she thought of as a fashion crowd. Something else, though she didn’t know what. But she could tell that the secret Bigend had been chasing had already been starting to emerge when he’d given her the assignment. Already Hounds wasn’t a secret in the same way. He was too late. What did that mean? Was he losing his touch? Had he been too focused on his project with Chombo? Had Sleight somehow been skewing the flow of information?

Clammy’s little gray wagon arrived, driven by a very Clammy-looking boy Clammy didn’t bother to introduce. He popped out, handed Clammy the keys, nodded, and walked away.

“Who was that?” Hollis asked.

“Assistant,” said Clammy absently, opening the door on the passenger side. He had an unmarked manila shopping bag the size of a small suitcase. “You’ll have to hold this for me.”

“What did you get?”

“Two of the black, two of the chino, two shirts, and the black of your jacket.”

“And something for you,” said Meredith, to Hollis.

“It’s on top,” said Clammy impatiently. “Get in.”

Hollis folded herself, sideways, onto the rear bench, and accepted Clammy’s bag as best she could. A potent waft of indigo.

Clammy and Meredith got in, doors closing. “It was the first thing she ever did,” said Meredith, looking back. “Before she started Hounds.”

Hollis found something wrapped in unbleached tissue, atop Clammy’s thick, heavy pad of denim. Fumbled it out, pulling the tissue aside. Dark, smooth, heavy jersey. “What is it?”

“That’s for you to work out. A seamless tube. I’ve seen her wear it as a stole, an evening dress of any length, several different ways as skirts. Fabric’s amazing. Some ancient factory in France, this latest batch.”

“Thank her, please. And thank you. Both of you.”