was the old merchant’s quarter when the river was used for trade; there was still a station for tourist riverboats there, the “River Station,” and Podil was filled with the former houses of such merchants. In the streetlights Alex could see that many of the old mansions had been gentrified.
When they arrived, Alex found “the Residence,” which was how embassy personnel always referred to the place where the ambassador lived, to be a modest mansion, a comfortable old building with an appealingly livable quality. There was a staircase leading from the sidewalk to the front, but the actual entrance was in a courtyard in the back for security purposes.
“I guess we’re early,” Alex said. The only people present were embassy personnel.
“Standard practice,” Friedman said. “It’s like the crew of a warship going to action stations as the enemy approaches. Don’t forget this is work.”
“But it’s also a party, right?”
“Free food and booze, but you have to earn it.”
“Doing what?”
“Depends.” Friedman nodded in the direction of a young man. “For instance, Bill Katzmann there is a JO who has pulled receiving-line duty.”
“Which consists of…?”
“… keeping the line moving. There will be three hundred guests. If each one spent five minutes talking to the ambassador that would be about twenty-five hours. So guests are expected to be content with a handshake and maybe a ‘glad you could come.’ ”
“Are they?”
“Most understand, but some don’t and want to have a real conversation. So Bill’s job will be to wait for a break in the conversation and politely say, ‘This way, sir,’ or something like that. The problem is when an ambassador doesn’t understand the drill because he’s a political appointee new to the game or who doesn’t want to play it. I was in Bonn under Arthur Burns, a good ambassador but also a very chatty person. At the Fourth of July reception, where there are over a thousand guests, the line slowed to a crawl, with some guests waiting in it for three hours.”
“Did any just give up and leave?” Alex asked
“No way. An invitation to the Residence is always the hottest ticket in town. Everyone wants to say, ‘As I told the American ambassador…,’ even if in reality the exchange was one sentence each. In Bonn, not to be invited to the Fourth of July and be seen there was a major humiliation for anyone who thought he was someone. The pathetic cases were noninvitees whose secretaries would call to ask about the invitation that had apparently been lost in the mail.”
Alex laughed. “How are the guests selected?”
“That’s the job of the section chiefs. Each section is tasked with providing suggestions for the guest list. These are the people they regularly come into contact with. The guest list is weighted toward the interests of the visiting Americans. For instance, if the guest of honor is a high-ranking Treasury official, the guest list will be heavy with people from the Economic Ministry and so on.”
At this point, Ambassador Drake appeared and moved around, shaking the hands of the embassy personnel present. Eventually, he came back to Alex, whom he remembered from that morning. He took her hand and held it.
“Beautiful dress,” he said, eyeing her head to toe. “Lovely color.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Most of the women around here are built like beer trucks,” he said. “You’re closer to a Ferrari. A breath of fresh air. Don’t quote me.”
In her peripheral view, Friedman rolled his eyes.
“You flatter me unnecessarily,” Alex said.
“It’s my pleasure to do so,” Drake said. Politically incorrect as he was, Drake got away with his flirtations through a natural charm. His manner was engaging and amiable. After extending a few extra words of welcome, he released Alex and moved on.
“Well, you’re fitting right in,” Friedman said with a smirk.
“Is he always such a flirt?”
“He’s got an eye for the ladies. Wait till he has a few drinks. He’s like a nice old dog who still chases cars. I don’t know what he’d do if he caught one.”
“I know the type,” she said.
“Hey, I’ve got to go to action stations soon so let me wrap up,”Friedman said. “In addition to the officer on the receiving line, other JOs are supposed to look out for guests who don’t mingle but just stay with their wives looking on, and engage them in conversation. Then there are officers who go to the most important guests and lead them up to the guests of honor and introduce them. And finally, officers are supposed to use the opportunity to chat up their contacts, asking how things are in their areas and so on.”
“And the ambassador?” Alex asked.
“After the line shuts down, when the flow of guests has trickled off, he can turn things over to the DCM, who’ll be in the line next to him, along with relevant section chiefs, including me, unfortunately. The ambassador stands in the crowd and talks with the people brought up to him or who come to him of their own accord. Again, if an unimportant guest has glommed onto the ambassador, our officer will engage said guest in conversation while the ambassador smiles to that guest and says, ‘Delighted to talk with you,’ and wanders off.”
“So this is a ‘
“It’s a ‘reception,’ ” he answered, “with all the stuffy implications that go with it.”
“You like these things?”
“It’s one of the things we’re paid to do. Does a dentist mind looking into people’s mouths? And as you ‘mix and mingle’ you can meet some interesting people outside your usual circle of contacts. It’s the receiving line I hate.”
Friedman glanced over to where the ambassador was already in place with the DCM and some other officers.
“Action stations!” Friedman said. “Have fun.” He turned and took up his place in line. Not a moment too soon, for an early guest was walking through the door.
The event was a cocktail buffet. The food was very good. It was set forth on a table while white-jacketed waiters hired for the occasion took plates of it around the room. Heavy trays laden with drinks followed. There were three open bars, but by late in the evening they were barely necessary.
The party took on a Ukrainian flavor, much encouraged by the popular American ambassador. The Ukrainians, like the ancient Romans, liked to drink in toasts, two sides taking turns. Someone silenced the room toward ten in the evening and proposed the first toast of Ukrainian vodka. Friedman pushed a drink into Alex’s hand.
When in Rome, Alex decided quickly, do as the Romans do.
“Guests are expected to shoot their shot,” Friedman advised with a smile. “Sipping is wimpy. You okay with this?”
“Someone else is driving me back to the hotel, right?”
“Yes, and it won’t be me.”
Three toasts went back and fourth. Alex bailed after that. Two more followed. Ambassador Drake set the tone by conspicuously leading the consumption of shots. It was no surprise that he was popular among the locals and his staff, as well as whoever sold the vodka to the embassy.
Toward 11:30, the party was still going strong. Richard Friedman, somehow still sober, guided Alex over to Ambassador Drake. By this time, in addition to the shots, Drake had found too many of the heavy trays laden with drinks. Small talk followed. He addressed her as “Anna” and asked her when she would be meeting with Yuri Federov. She said the next afternoon. He nodded and soon began to mumble about how beautiful Alex was. He followed that by mentioning that his wife was out of town. Some of his aides exchanged glances.
Nearing midnight, Drake, wobbly, noisily drained a gin and tonic and looked around for another. An aide quickly found him one. His assistants seemed to enjoy getting him toasted. As he sipped his ninth drink of the evening, Drake surveyed the sea of young people who were still partying, the advance team, for whom the party was given. Here were all the young folks who had been making his life impossible for the last five weeks.
“The ‘advance team,’ ” muttered the ambassador. “I’ve never cared for those little clowns. Anna? Know what
