Florence of Arabia

by Christopher Buckley

  "I got a message for you from Uncle Sam. He's worried about you. He wants you out of here. I think he's right. Stuff's happenin' here, with more stuff about to happen."

  "I'm not about to leave. This is my operation."

  "I'm only the messenger. Ma'am."

  "What's going on? What did you find out in Paris?"

  "Since right around the lime of Maliq's miraculous escape in the car, seventy-eight bank accounts at the Banque de Cannes got opened up. The names on the accounts match the seventy-eight leadin' moolahs and were funded to a hundred thousand dollars each. Between what these guys are getting’ from the French, on top of the baksheesh their own government here pays 'em, I'm con-templalin' taking up the religious life myself."

  "So it's true—they're mounting a coup against Gazzy?"

  "That would be my guess," Bobby said. "They've been cultivatin' Maliq for some time now, givin’ him fast cars and pourin' enough Chateau Lafite in him to drown a cat. With Maliq in, they'd have what they've always wanted—shore-front. Naval bases, tanker terminals. Hell, by the time they're finished in Amo, it'll look like the Riviera. They'll probably even have film festivals. They'll say to King Tallulah and the Wasabis, 'Okay, we got rid of Emir Gazzir for you and installed the idiot brother. Naturellement, we'll be wantin' a discount on crude. But don't worry, you can make up for it chargin' the Americans double what they've been payin'.'" Bobby shook his head. "I really should ‘ve figured this out a lot sooner. If I had, I sure as heck wouldn'ta used Air France for my fake flight-out of here. That was truly stupid of me. That's why they knew it was me killed that guy in the garage. They blew me to the Mataris. On the other hand, that's what led me to them. So in a way, we're even. But not for long, 'cause I'm about to open a can of industrial-strength whup-ass on our French friends."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Flo—Florence, you really don't need to know that."

  "You're still working for me." Florence said. "Aren't you?"

  "I'm not sure this entire situation has a whole lot of coherence to it at this point. But listen, I think Uncle Sam's got a point about you gettin' out of here. TV Matar was a great idea, but instead of liberatin' women, it appears to be plungin' the region into considerable distress."

  "It'll be a nightmare here, especially for women, if Maliq takes over and the Wasabis are calling the shots. You know what they'll do."

  Bobby looked out the window. "Yeah." he said, "if I was a Matari, I'd definitely be inclined to invest in companies that manufacture abaayas and veils. Things could get quite ugly around here."

  "The French ambassador told Gazzy there's a rumor going around that Laila and I are lesbians."

  Bobby sighed. "Man, they are good. Gotta hand it to them. If word goes 'round here that you and the emir's wife are havin' a roll in the hammock, I'd better call that water taxi that just dropped me off and tell 'em to pick you up."

  "I'm not leaving, and that's that."

  "You're the boss." They rode in silence. "Uh..." Bobby said. "What?"

  "This rumor—that's all it is, just a rumor?"

  "I—where do you—how can you ask me such a thing?"

  "I'm only askin'. As the person in charge of security here. 1 might as well have all the information." "Well, now you do." "All right, then."

  "Just because I haven't made a pass al you—"

  "Flo"—Bobby sighed—"that has nothin' to do with it"

  "Would you mind not calling me that?"

  "All right. Ma'am."

  "Don't call me that, either. Why do I have to sound like a cleaning woman or an old lady?"

  "All right. Florence of Arabia. Is that what you want me to call you?"

  "Don't call me anything." Florence looked over at Bobby. He was smiling. "What's so funny? I don't see anything funny."

  "I was just thinkin'." Bobby said, "what great strides we're makin' toward peace 'n' Stability in the Middle East."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Florence decided for the time being not to tell George and Rick that Bobby was back in town. In the event of an interrogation, the less they knew, the belter.

  "May 1 say something. Firenze?" "Yes, George." "You look awful." "Thank you."

  "Maybe I don't look so hot myself. May I say something else?" "Yes, George."

  "I'm getting the distinct feeling that you're not telling me something. Renard also feels this way."

  "There's just, you know, lots going on." "Do you mind I’ll ask you something?" "What. George?"

  "It's really none of my business. Don't ask, don't tell, I say, but are you and the sheika ... There's this rumour going around."

  "No, George. I am not having a fling with the sheika." "Not that I'd mind—"

  "That's hardly the point. Really. I wouldn't expect my own staff to be gossiping about this. It's disinformation put out by the French, among others."

  "Ah. Rather clever of them. They tend to look down on those of the Sapphic persuasion around these parts."

  Renard walked in. "Hey, Florence, you know anything about this rumor going around about you and the emir's wife?"

  "We were just discussing it."

  "Oh." Rick nodded tentatively.

  "It's not true." Florence said.

  "Hey, you know, whatever."

  Florence sighed inwardly. Did she now have to explain to Rick that because she hadn't made a pass at him. that didn't mean she and the emir's wife were— how had Bobby put it—having a roll in the hammock'.''

  "Never mind." she said. "Why don't you put it out on the six o'clock broadcast that I'm not having an affair with the wife of the ruler."

  "We ought." George said, "to give some thought to this. You don't want something like that going around. They may be liberal in Matar, but they're still .Arabs."

  "I'm wide open to any ideas you have."

  "I have an idea." Rick said. "I think you and I should be seen in public pawing each other."

  Florence stared at Rick. "Thanks for the input."

  "I'm serious. If you want to show them you're hetero, what better way?" I le grinned. "We could sit at the Cafe Clementine and smooch."

  George said. "They're not crazy for public displays of affection, hetero or homo."

  "If it's a choice between having people think she's doing it with the emir's wife or with me ..." Rick shrugged.

  Florence's secure phone went off. It was Bobby, or Willie G. Underwood, or whatever he was calling himself these days. She heard the sound of slot machines in the background.

  "You alone?" he said.

  "I'm sitting here with George and Rick. What's up?"

  "There's a situation developin' in Kaffa. No one knows about it, so don't tell anyone about it. We just received word that Princess Hamzin, King Tallulah's second wife, busted into the king's council meeting yesterday. That's bad enough. The last time somethin’ like that happened in that country, dinosaurs were still walkin" the earth. As if that wasn't bad enough, she was wearing no veil, and pants. Pants. And if that wasn't bad enough, she started lecturin' the king and his council about improvin' the lot of women in the royal kingdom. Appears the princess is a real fan of TV Matar. The king was reportedly taken to the hospital with chest pains."

  "It's begun, then," Florence said. "The revolt of the Arab women. This is real news. Bobby."

  "I'd say that depends on your definition of 'great.' 'Fhe Wasabis are mad-der'n adders. Our birds are picking up all sorts of chatter. And it's pretty clear who they blame for this. This is your revolution, Flo. My guess is someone's gonna walk into your office any minute now and take you to see the emir. That's why I'm calling—to put you in the picture."

  "We need to gel this out, put it on the news."

  "Whoa, whoa. Negative. Who are you, Bob Woodward? This is all off the record. No one outside the palace knows about this. They don't want anyone to know about it. for obvious reasons. You go puttin' this on TV, all hell's gonna break loose."

  "Then why did you tell me?"

  "
So you can keep your head down. I sure didn't tell you so's you could go wavin' red flags in their faces."

  "Bobby, this is why we came here in the first place."

  "Yo. Flo of Arabia, listen up for a second. We did not—let me say it again— not come here to start a war between Wasabia and Matar. Are we on the same page here? I'll bet you a million dollars—which I can access, now that I know how to fix a damn slot machine—that our Uncle Sam would agree with me on this."

  "May I remind you that this isn't your operation? You're along here to provide security and intelligence. And all you've managed to do thus far is shoot up a garage and alert the French secret services to our presence here. Are we on the same page now?"

  "If you don't want to listen to me, why don't you call Uncle Sam and ask him his opinion of the situation? Inasmuch as he's payin' our salaries."

  "I'll do just that. But what about the princess?"

  "I'd say it's not lookin' great for the princess." "What do we know?" "Is this off the record?"

  "Who are you. Deep Throat? What do we know?"

  "Sounds bad. We picked up some references in the chatter to lapidation."

  "Lapidalion? Stoning?"

  "This wasn't exactly the brightest thing she could ‘ve done. Embarrass her husband, the king, in front of all his ministers? Hell, I wouldn't do that back in Alabama."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saving that Princess Hamzin is in for a real rough ride." "We can't just abandon her, Bobby." "What do you mean? She's not working for us." "But this is our fight. This is our revolution. We started it." "Wait a minute. We didn't tell her lo storm into her husband's meeting and give everyone the finger."

  "Have you ever seen a lapidation?"

  "Well, no, but what's that got to do with it?"

  "I have. A video clip, anyway. She couldn't have been older than nineteen. Adultery. They use small stones so it takes longer. It was awful, Bobby."

  "I don't doubt it for a second, but look, Flo, we got to keep our eye on the big picture here. You go public with somethin' like this, and they're gonna know exactly how you came by the information, and this whole thing is gonna come down on your head. And they won't be throwin' small stones, either. Giant big fuckin' rocks the size of—"

  "Bobby, this is the moment. This is Aqaba. We can't back down now. We can't just leave her lo die."

  "Dammit, girl, what did you think was going to happen? That broadcastin' all this feminist crap into a kingdom that's still back in the fourteenth century was gonna result in some conference or somethin'? That there'd be panel discussions with everyone wearing name tags? And that they'd say, 'Oh, why, you're quite right, wise American lady, you're absolutely right, we shouldn't be persecutin' our women like this. How medieval of us! Okay, ladies, throw away your veils, this way to the drivers-license window. And just to demonstrate how liberal we're gonna be—we're not even gonna chop off your little heads anymore!' Is that how you thought this was going to play out? This is the Middle Last! The cradle of destabilization, mother of all tar babies, the planet's longest-runnin' argument! Don't you understand that since the dawn of time, startin' with the Garden of Eden, nothing has ever gone right here? And nothing ever will go right here."

  "Then what are we doing here?"

  "From the looks of it, fuckin' things up even worse. But at least we're consistent. That ought to be our motto: 'U.S. foreign Policy in the Middle Mast: Making Matters Worse." Flo? You there? Talk to me. Florence. Flo! Dammit, girl..."

  Florence called Laila. "I have to see you. It's urgent."

  "It's not the best time." Laila said. "Gazzy s in a foul temper. He's had all sorts of calls. Something's going on, and he won't tell me."

  "I think I know what it is, but I don't want to explain over the phone."

  "I don't think it's wise to annoy him right now by being seen together. I know it's all absurd, but we oughtn't feed this ridiculous rumor."

  "It's important." Florence said. "I wouldn't otherwise, Chartwell Mall, by the Starbucks. I'll be outside by the ficus tree."

  "Is this wise, darling, to be hitting the mall at a time like this?"

  FLORENCE WATCHED THROUGH the mesh opening in her lace veil. The woman approaching her was dressed from head to toe in a white abaaya. She approached and stood there, looking about uncertainly. "It's me." Florence said.

  "God be praised" Laila said. "Look at us both. 1 feel like a guest on Cher Azade."

  They sat by the ficus tree as the bourgeoisie, haute, middle and low of Matar ambulated past in the Muzak hush of the mall.

  "I managed to elude my bodyguards by slipping out the back of the dressing room at Ralph Lauren. They are inept. God forbid someone should actually try to assassinate me. Well, what's all this enormous urgency about?"

  Florence told Laila about Princess Hamzin. Laila absorbed the news in silence.

  "I met her once. She's the prettiest of Tallulah's wives, not that that will help her. God, what could she have been thinking?" Laila sighed. Her head turned toward the Starbucks.

  "Hundreds of years ago—perhaps a thousand—this area right here was a souk. Teeming with merchants and ships and caravans. Some of the first coffee ever drunk In Europeans passed through here. Now we have Starbucks. Thus do we progress. Well. Firenze. I must say, you seem to be very well informed about all sorts of things. What else do you have to tell me outside Starbucks? Have you gotten me mixed up in some sort of CIA operation after all?"

  "I don't really know who I'm working for." Florence said.

  "That smacks of evasion."

  "I know how it must sound. But the truth is, I don't. There's this man who calls himself Uncle Sam—"

  "I really don't want to hear this." Laila said angrily. "If I'm going to end up in a prison cell, I'd rather not have anything they want. You might have told me, Florence."

  "That's what everyone tells me these days." For once. Florence was glad to be wearing a veil. She felt tears welling up. "I'm sorry. I'd been looking for the right moment to tell you."

  "It's not that I hadn't wondered." Laila said in a slightly softer tone. "It did occur. I mean. I'm not a fool. But it was all going so well that I concluded it couldn't possibly be a CIA operation. They always turn out so badly. And now ... So. your Mr. Bobby, then—it was him in the garage."

  "Yes. It was self-defense."

  "It always is. What was he doing there in the first place?" "Checking out Maliq's car. He found out it was rigged. The black smoke, the miracle, it was a fake to provide an excuse for his religious conversion." "So... we're to have a coup, then?"

  "I can arrange to get you and your son out of the country." Florence said. Laila stood. "Thank you. but I think you've been enough help as it is."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Florence returned to her office, thoroughly depressed, to the news from her secretary that "your uncle" had called.

  "He didn't say which uncle. He seemed to think you'd know."

  Florence did know; and she knew furthermore that it was not a call she wanted. She dialled, Uncle Sam picked up halfway through the first ring, never a good start. She could hear the hissing of steam from his ears.

  "What in the name of all that is holy do you think you're doing over there?" he spluttered.

  "I see Bobby has given you a fill."

  "A fill? Is that what you call it? Jumping Jehoshaphat, you can't go revealing this information on television! Do you have any idea how sensitive it is?"

  Florence felt a certain weariness. It occurred to her that she had spent most of her time in the government arguing. "I told Laila I'm with the government," she said.

  "What? You did... what?"

  "As long as vou're mad at me. you might as well be really mad." "Why would you do such a thing?" "I was tired of deceiving her. I think she knew anyway." "Florence," he said, his tone quite changed. "I'm pulling you out of there, effective immediately. You've done a dandy job. But you're tired. You need some stateside time. Better still, a cou
ple of days in Paris or London, shopping—on your uncle's dime. How does that sound?"

  "You sent me here to start a revolution. Now you want me to go shopping?"

  "Oh. for heaven's sake, lighten up. young lady. I'm not trying to make some big chauvinistic point. If you'd rather go to a museum, go to a museum. I'm all in favor of culture."

  "That's very progressive of you."

  "Florence, if you put this story about the princess on the air, it will— Oh, how do I explain?" "In English?"

  "English. Very well, I'll give you a perfect English parallel. In World War Two, Churchill found out the Germans were going to bomb Coventry. But il he warned the people in Coventry, the Germans would find out the British had broken their code. So he let the Germans bomb Coventry. And people died. But he won the war."

  "In other words, one has to be ruthless."

  "Exactly. Exactly."

  "Thank you, Uncle Sam. You've clarified the situation for me."

  "I knew you'd understand. I'll send the plane for you. Gosh, you must be just knackered. And what a job you've done. What a job. Think of a week in a suite at Le Bristol on the rue du Faubourg St. Honore. My favorite hotel. Sleep late, massage, the museums ..."

  "It sounds wonderful."

  "I'll be there when the plane lands. I'll be the one holding a sign at baggage claim!"

  "Bye, Uncle Sam."

  FLORENCE CALLED IN Fatima Sham and handed her the script for the broadcast. Fatima read it. Her eves shot up from the script.

  "I haven't seen anything yet on this. Is it exclusive?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Our source?"

  "Reliable."

  "Ah," Fatima said. "I see."

  "This could be your big break, Fatima."

  "Yes. It might even lead to a job in legitimate journalism. Florence, this seems a good lime to ask." "Shoot."

  "Are we some sort of CIA operation?"

  "I'm not really sure myself." Florence sighed. "That must sound terribly evasive."

  "Well"—Fatima smiled—"it does, yes."

  "We probably are, one way or the other. But it is also true that this girl in Kalfa is going to be killed if we don't do anything about it. And now you know everything I do."