The Italian boy and another waiter were arranging screens, to the west of the narwhale rack. She’d seen these deployed here before, for the heightened privacy of business breakfasts. The screens were made of what she’d assumed to be extremely old tapestries, faded to no particular color, a sort of variegated khaki, but now she noticed that they depicted scenes from Disney’s Snow White . At least they didn’t appear to be pornographic. She was about to take her accustomed seat, beneath the spiral tusks, when the Italian boy noticed her. "You’ll be here, Miss Henry," indicating the newly screened table.