In accordance with standing instructions, the
embassy staff and their spouses gathered at the
ambassador's residence fifteen minutes early so as to be
on hand to receive the invited and honored guests.
During these few minutes with just "family" present the
women gossiped, talked about their children, complained
about servants and the inadequacies of the commissary or
talked of their plans for home leave and R & R
vacations. The men talked about work, their golf scores
and, depending upon the time of year, the standings in
the American and National Leagues, the NFL or the NBA.
Sharon Jacobs was talking to the ambassador and
Maggie overheard him thank Sharon for all of her work in
preparation for the reception. Maggie felt a rush of
anger when Sharon accepted the praise without mentioning
the fact that Maggie and a lot of other wives had worked
like slaves to help get things ready. Maggie's first
impulse was to go to the ambassador and ask him if he
really thought that Sharon had done it all herself, but
instead she walked out of the house to the garden where
one of the white-uniformed waiters greeted her.
"Good evening, Missie Chandler. What you gonna drink?" he said in his defective English, and showing a broad smile under his red fez.
She wanted something strong to calm the rage which
had fired so quickly and she asked for a dry martini.
When the waiter returned with her drink, she took it
from the tray and walked back to the house. Standing
just inside the entry from the garden, Maggie looked
across the living room to the receiving line. People
were starting to arrive, and Greg and Stan Jacobs were
hovering near the ambassador and Congressmen to give
them the names of the local officials as they arrived.
Junior officers stayed just a bit beyond, inside the
house, ready to take the guests out of the line and
blend them into the party.
Sharon Jacobs slithered from a doorway leading out
of the kitchen, and Maggie assumed that she was still
giving iron-clad supervision to the staff in the
residence. If her husband doesn't get to be an
ambassador it won't be because Sharon didn't do
everything possible to get him there, Maggie thought.
When she saw that Sharon had spotted her, and was
walking toward her, Maggie took a long swallow of her
martini.
"Everything turned out beautifully, Maggie, thanks
to you and rest of the wives. The ambassador thanked me
for all of our help, and I told him that I could never have done it without all of the help from the others,
and especially you." Sharon was looking over Maggie's
shoulder, calculating her next move, and before Maggie
could reply said, "Oh, I see the Prime Minister has
arrived. I better go and look for his wife and
entertain her. Ciao, Maggie."
"Ciao, Sharon," Maggie replied, but thought Ciao,
you bitch. Maggie turned to walk back out to the garden
where she had spotted Pat Reynolds.
"Hi, Maggie," Pat said. "God, you look terrific
tonight, honey. What ever was bothering you the other
day must have passed."
"It did, Pat, thanks to your good advice. I got a
good night's sleep, and," Maggie leaned over and with an
uncommon rush of undefended affinity whispered in Pat's
ear, "I got layed for the first time in weeks."
"That'll do it, darlin', that'll do it ever' time,"
Pat replied with a knowing smile.
Their womanly exchange was interrupted, however,
when Greg approached them. "Hi, Pat," he said. "Can I steal
Maggie away from you. I need her to talk to the Foreign
Minister's wife."
"Sure, I'm just an ole country girl from the
Oklahoma oil fields, and Maggie's charm and diplomatic
skills are wasted on me," Pat replied.
"Oh brother!" Maggie laughed. "What false modesty!
I'll see you later, Pat, duty calls." Maggie walked
beside Greg back toward the house.
Greg took her by the arm and leaned down to speak
into her ear. "The ambassador wants to get the Foreign
and Prime Ministers together with the Congressmen to
talk about the base rights agreement, and I'd appreciate
it if you would take care of the Foreign Minister's
wife. He never leaves her alone."
"What shall I talk to her about? Shall I ask her
if she's read any good books lately, or can she read?"
"Okay, Maggie, calm down and don't behave that way
tonight. You may not believe it, but we do have some
important issues to deal with out here, and this is an
opportune time."
"Tell me what kind of important issues you have to
deal with in a country populated with semi-literate
nomads." She knew that she was acting like a bitch, but
it was as though she were possessed. She couldn't stop
herself from saying cruel, negative things that she knew
she didn't believe. Maggie did not handle alcohol well,
and the martini had loosened her tongue.
"I'm not going to stand here and argue with you,"
Greg said. "Just please do as I ask. I've got to get
back to the ambassador." He turned and walked away.
Maggie pressed her way through the crowd, nodding
occasionally and greeting people she knew. She was half
way across the living room when she heard Antonio's
voice from behind her. "Good evening, Mahgee."
She stopped, closed her eyes and caught her breath.
He was here and she hadn't seen him. The only person in
the place whom Maggie cared about in that moment, and
she had walked right past him. She turned to face him
and the anger and bitterness dissolved as he took her
hand in his to kiss it. She could barely resist the
temptation to embrace him, and she yearned to feel his
arms around her.
Dressed in a light khaki beige linen suit with a
pale blue shirt and a red tie, Maggie realized that
in the sea of paunchy, tired looking men Antonio absolutely
dazzled. She wondered if he wore blue shirts to make
his eyes seem more brilliant, but decided that he could
never be that vain.
"I've missed you on the beach the last few days. I
was hoping to be able to continue our conversation of
the other day," he said.
"I've been working twenty-four hours a day and all night, too for this party.
How about tomorrow?" Maggie said spontaneously, and then
wondered if he might not be frightened off, if she was
not letting her interest in him show too much.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mahgee, but I'm leaving tomorrow.
I've been away from my work too long as it is."
Her spirits plummeted. "Leaving!" she blurted. "I
thought you lived here."
"No, I have a farm over in the river country, and I
only come into town when I can't stand myself any
longer. I thought I told you that."
She touched her forehead with her fingers and shook
her head. "You did tell me," she said and was worried
that she had forgotten. It simply reinforced her idea
that she was going crazy.
"It's not much of a drive. You can make it over
there in an hour and a half. Perhaps someday you would
like to come and bring your children. We have a pet
cheetah, a couple of gazelles and several dik-dik, and
right now the river is just right for watching the
hippos."
"That would be wonderful for the children. They've
never seen anything like that in their lives, nor have I
for that matter." The thought of going where he lived
excited Maggie, and she was immediately back on a high
peak of elation.
"Why don't you come day after tomorrow. That will
give us an opportunity to clear some of the cobwebs out
of the house so we can receive guests. Or would that be too soon for you?"
"No, I don't think so," she replied. "I'll do
everything possible to make it." She was not sure what
Greg's reaction would be to the idea of her going. She
would have to make it appear innocent. Then she tricked
herself into thinking that it was innocent. After all,
she thought, I'm just taking the children out to see a
farm.
"But how do I get there? Can you draw me a map?"
"Yes, of course, it's really quite easy." He took
a card from his billfold and sketched a simple map,
explaining it to her as he drew. "Come early and have
lunch with us."
Maggie had completely forgotten that anyone else
was in the room, and that Greg was expecting her to take
care of the Minister's wife, until Pat Reynolds
approached them.
"What's going on between you two? Are you trying
to start rumors?" Pat said then looked directly at
Maggie. "You really do look a lot better tonight than
when I saw you on the beach the other day. That must
have been some rest that you had last night. You're
absolutely radiant." Pat winked at her.
"I do feel a lot better, Pat, but maybe it was just
the conversation I had with you." Maggie wondered if Pat thought that her off hand remark about getting layed
had referred to Antonio, and she regretted having said
it. Maggie hated being suspected or accused of anything
without having had the pleasure of the act; she did not
like to be hung for a sheep when she was really a lamb.
"Do you know Mr. di Paulo, Pat? Please take care
of him for a few moments. I have some diplomatic duties
to perform. I'll see you later." Antonio again took
her hand and kissed it before Maggie turned away to look
for the Foreign Minister's wife. Seeing the woman near
the veranda talking to another Somali woman, Maggie
slipped across the room, bubbling with a new wave of
good will and enthusiasm. She was ready to talk to the
Minister's wife about anything that interested her.
For the rest of the evening Maggie moved gracefully
through the party, and skillfully handled the guests by
using her charm as she had not used it in years. As she
moved from one conversation cluster to another she
frequently looked across the room to catch a glimpse of
Antonio as he mixed with the guests. It gave her a warm
secure feeling just to know that he was there, and when
she became bored with the small talk it was easy for her
to continue to smile while resting her eyes on him.
More than once Maggie was pleased to see that Antonio
was looking at her over the shoulder of the person to whom he was talking.
Maggie was on her second martini and standing alone
when, Pete Stuart, one of the few Foreign Service
Officer's whom she could truly say that she liked,
walked up to her.
Like Maggie, Pete was a Californian, and they had
served together in Madrid when both he and Greg were
junior officers. At that time Pete had been married,
and they had all hung out together in the Cafe Gijon
with a group of expatriate writers, painters and theater
people. Pete, Maggie knew, had fallen in love with an
exotic women in their "gang" named Thais, an interior
decorator, who was also married. They had a torrid
flaming romance that became the talk of the town and the
subject of a lot of cocktail party gossip, but in the
end, the affair, like all flaming romances, burned
itself out, but not before Pete's wife divorced him. He
had never remarried, and Maggie always sensed that he
had never quite recovered from Thais.
During that time in Madrid, when they were all a
lot younger, Pete had been a fun loving, full of life,
colorful and exciting young FSO. He drove a sports car,
loved bullfighting, and flamenco dancing and he gave
magnificent parties that were always a mixture of
interesting and interested people. Maggie recalled how one year the whole gang had gone to Pamplona and Pete
had run with the bulls, and later, after he was
transferred to Ecuador, she knew, he became a pretty
good amateur bullfighter himself. Now, ten years later,
he was still youthful and charming, but she sensed a
streak of melancholy in him. He was a loner and spent
most of his spare time in Mogadishu writing.
"Hola, Maggie, how's my favorite Foreign Service
wife?" he said and took her hand and kissed it.
"Pete! How good to see you. God, I haven't seen
you in weeks. What have you been up to?" She felt no
compunction about embracing him and kissing him on the
cheek.
"Just hanging out, Maggie. Putting one foot in
front of the other and trudging the road of happy
destiny," he replied and smiled at her.
"Road of happy destiny! This place! How do you
stand it, Pete? God, you were always so vital and into
everything. What in hell do you do to keep your mind
alive here?"
"Well, I spend most of my time over in the
Government compound at the AID Mission working. When
I'm not working I play tennis and work on my book," he
said. "How about your book? How's it coming?"
"Oh, Pete, I gave it up. I got to the point where I couldn't concentrate. Greg and I have a lot of social
obligations, and between giving and going to parties I'm
exhausted. And don't forget that I have two kids to
care for." She looked over Pete's shoulder at Antonio
and smiled.
Pete turned to see who she had smiled at, then
looked back at her. "That's an interesting looking guy.
Who is he?"
"He's an Italian. I met him at the German Embassy
the other night. He's a banana grower, and he was
actually born here in Somalia."
"You seem to know a lot about him," Pete said with
a wicked, impish grin. "You must be interested in him."
"Does it show?" she asked.
"You bet it shows, Maggie. Be careful," he
replied. "I see the party is about over, so I think
I'll be on my way home. I get up early every morning to
write so by ten o'clock I'm usually in bed.
She again kissed him on the cheek. "It was good
seeing you, Pete. I'll call you and have you over for
dinner one of these nights."
When Pete left Maggie joined a cluster of wives who
were just waiting for the party to end. Seeing Pete had
left Maggie feeling depressed, and she did not want to
be alone. It was almost as though she had absorbed some of his melancholy loneliness.
As the other guests began to depart she saw Antonio
go out onto the big V-shaped terrace which ran across
the front of the house. Excusing herself from the group
of wives she walked to the end of the living room and,
as though she were going to the ladies room, slipped
through a doorway that opened on to a hall leading to
the bedrooms. Half way down the corridor was a another
door that opened on to the other leg of the V. Opening
this door Maggie walked out to stand in the shadows
under the eves of the house. A few minutes later she
saw Antonio appear at the point of the V, where the two
segments joined. She walked quietly to where he was
standing.
"I'm sorry I had to run away from you so quickly
this evening, but you know we have certain
responsibilities at these affairs."
"No need to apologize, Mahgee. I understand
perfectly. I was quite impressed by your skills at," he
paused as though searching for a word, "circulating I
think you call it."
"Thank you, it comes from years of practice," she
said and looked out toward the sea.
The residence was built on a high dune on the far
end of the Lido that overlooked the lonely end of the beach where she had gone the day she met Antonio. A
full moon was suspended in the sky, and reflected in a
long shimmering wedge on the calm waters behind the
barrier reef. To the right, beyond the port area, it
played on a banana boat that rolled slowly in the long
inky swells that moved in from the Indian Ocean.
"It's lovely from up here. It almost looks like
someplace else," she said.
Antonio gave a small laugh. "Maybe to you, but to
me it looks like the same view I have seen all of my
life."
She turned to look at him. "That wasn't very
diplomatic, was it? I'm sorry. Sometimes I say very
dumb things, and lately it seems I'm constantly putting
my foot in my mouth."
"Foot in your mouth?" he asked, puzzled.
"Yes, that means saying dumb things, like I just
said, and I hope that I'm not putting my foot in my
mouth again when I tell you that I'm very glad you came
tonight. I was actually afraid that you might not come.
I would have been very disappointed." She hoped she was
not being too forward. "If you really meant it, about
my bringing the children to your farm, I will come on
Tuesday."
"Of course I meant it, Mahgee. I meant it very much and I will be looking forward to your visit. In
fact, I'll be very disappointed if you don't come, to
use your words." He took her hand in his and leaned
over and kissed her on the cheek. "I had better go back
in and say goodnight to the ambassador. I'll be getting
up with the sun in the morning in order to go back home.
I'll see you on Tuesday. He turned and walked away.
Maggie stood on the veranda for several minutes,
her pulse pounding so hard she could hear it beating in
her ears. She put her hand to the place where he had
kissed her, and the wave of lonely separation she had
experienced after talking to Pete Stuart was gone. She
could feel life throbbing in every cell of her body.
She returned to the house through the same door
through which she had come out to find that the officers
and wives were now moving through the few remaining
guests diplomatically suggesting that the time had come
to leave. A line had formed at the entrance where
people were bidding goodnight to the ambassador and his
visitors. When the last of the guests had departed, and
the party was once again just "family," Maggie walked
back out to the bar in the garden and ordered another
martini.
