“Hello,” she says back with a polite smile. Where the hell do I know her from?
“I’m not famous,” I say. “Are you?”
“A little,” she replies, “but no one here paid anything just to see me, and no one is wearing a T-shirt with my name on it. I’m thinking of changing my name to Abercrombie Andfitch just to make me feel more popular.”
She is attractive, but not in a Sindee kind of way. She has a face that demands attention. It will be momentarily unconventionally pretty and then very quickly mesmerising. I’m in danger of staring.
“You are unfamiliarly familiar,” I tell her. “That is, I’m sure I’ve seen your face before but I haven’t a buggering clue where.”
She grins, so when I get my drink I don’t feel I need to rush away.
“I knew a woman once,” she says, “who claimed that it was be
