They sat in a far corner and had coffee.
"So who's F?" George's eyes gleamed.
"Francesca," Oliver said. "I don't know her, really. She's tall and married."
George shook his head. "Can't live with 'em; can't live without 'em."
He took a large bite of bagel to ease the pain.
"You do all right," Oliver said.
"Oh, you know . . ." George threw one arm in the air. "The artist thing. They're curious. They're all curious, Olive Oil."
"What happened to Marcia?"
"Oh, Marcia!" George rolled his eyes and deflated somewhat. "She had allergies, it turned out. Dust. What can I say?"
"She was good looking," Oliver said.
"Oh, yeah, Marcia!" George's voice trailed away. "Look," he said, "it's going to take a while to get the investment ready. Why don't you come back around seven? Then we'll cast."