Fiona’s dress was a seamless tube, lustrous black jersey. She was wearing it with the top rolled down, forming a sort of band across her breasts, her shoulders bare. A gift from her mother, she said, who’d gotten it from an associate editor at French Vogue . Milgrim knew almost nothing about her mother, other than that she’d once been involved with Bigend, but he’d always found the idea of girlfriends having parents intimidating.