A Capital Affair

I booked into the same Ottawa hotel where I was so well laid less than a week before. Either I was a hopeless romantic or else I was picking my hotel the same way gamblers double down on a lucky number. In my room, I checked my smartphone but there wasn't anything from Damien. I texted him one more time: "hw r you? y? y avent u clld me by now? dnt u wn2 c me?" I waited a few minutes for some kind of response but still nothing.

Without calling home, I went down to the restaurant and put my phone on the table in case Damien should call or text. Not one vibration, not even a twitch. I ate my meal without the slightest enthusiasm. That's when I started looked around the dining room for some guy to pick up so I could get back at both Damien and Barry. Fortunately, there was a scattering of couples but no single guys.

Suddenly it came to me that, as a minimum, a real mother would check on her children before she called her lover but I didn't even pass that basic test. My eyes welled up in tears. What kind of a slut was I becoming? Dolores hasn't had sex for over a year. Her husband was thousands of miles away and she wouldn't have him in bed for another two years. I couldn't contact my lover for only a few days and now I wanted to cheat with the first guy I saw. Yes, Dolores was a better person than the spiteful, wanton woman I had become.

I decided to do the right thing finally and called home to check on the kids but the baby sitter answered. The kids were fine but Barry hadn't even waited until my taxi got to Pearson before he sneaked out to poke that woman. That really brought on the tears. The waitress saw me crying, came over looking quite concerned and asked, with a heavy French accent:

"Are you all right Madame? Can I get you something for your malady?"

I wasn't "all right" but I lied (number nine on the list of top ten sins): "No, I just got a bit of makeup in my eye. I'll be fine by the time you bring me the check."

After settling the check, I returned to my room. After a sleepless night and a skipped breakfast, I walked across the mall to Nerdstorm's new Ottawa store. I tried to keep my anger under control but, the way people were avoiding me, I don't think I was doing a particularly good job. Just before lunch, the store manager approached me while I was helping set up displays in ladies' fashions. He definitely had that "I've got bad news and bad news" look.

"The CEO's calling from Toronto and he doesn't sound too happy. He says he needs to talk to you right away. I don't know why but he's ranting about 'those people from Xxxxxxx'. You can take the call in my office if you want."

OMG! Head office found out about my adultery with the ambassador of Xxxxxxx last week during a Nerdstorm's business trip and they are not pleased. That's all I needed at this stage of my life is to get fired. Wouldn't that add up to a completely crappy day - spurned by my lover, unemployed and heading for a messy divorce? I closed the door to the manager's office, picked up the telephone and steeled myself for more bad news. His secretary put me through immediately. As I was warned, the CEO sounded quite annoyed.

"When I got in to work this morning, I found three voicemails from the Xxxxxxxian Embassy inviting me to a reception in Ottawa tonight for Canadian businessmen and artists. Apparently they just signed some sort of trade and cultural agreement with the Canadian government so they're putting on a party as a result. Why they want Nerdstorm Canada to attend is beyond me. It's head office that handles expansion to other countries.

Even if I thought we belonged at this party, I have a Board meeting tonight that I can't miss. I'm really annoyed that they called the office on a Saturday to invite us to a party on Monday. Haven't these people ever heard of such a thing as the weekend?"

I tried to make excuses without raising questions as to how I might know anything about Xxxxxxx. "I heard on the news that the agreement was just signed last Thursday. Probably they didn't want to celebrate until they were sure the agreement was signed."

"That sounds reasonable, but I still think we don't belong at that kind of event. I called the embassy with the excuse that we were honoured to be invited but we couldn't send someone from Toronto on such short notice. They insisted they needed someone from the Canadian retail sector. The embassy seems to know we're opening a new store in Ottawa and asked if we could send someone from there. I thought of you rather than the Ottawa manager because you're from head office. Can you possibly go to this reception tonight and represent Nerdstorm's?"

I hardly knew what to say. Damien, busy as he was, worked out a plan for us to meet in public without anyone knowing we had something going on between us. Better than that, I wasn't going to be fired after all. In fact, the CEO expressed his confidence in me. My Jewish chutzpah kicked into gear and I began to think, how could I run with this to my advantage?

"I'd love to represent Nerdstorm's tonight but there are a few problems. All the clothes I brought with me are suitable for business meetings but not for a formal affair. Can I get something out of our store's stock that we're featuring for our opening? That will cost a lot less than you flying to Ottawa, with the advantage that I'll introduce Nerdstorm's fashion line to the Ottawa women at this reception."

"Charge anything from the store you need to my expense account. Does that mean you'll go to the embassy tonight?"

My mind was working overtime. Could I play this to have more time to see Damien this week? "I'll also need the afternoon off to get my hair done for the evening. Then I'll need to stay in Ottawa another day or two to get caught up on my work here."

"Take all the time you think is necessary. Just make sure the opening this weekend is glitch-free. Charge that your hair to my account as well. Show off Nerdstorm's stock but just don't make any monetary commitments on behalf of the company. And, if I remember from our last Christmas/Hanukkah party, you like your wine. You'll need to be more restrained when you're representing Nerdstorm's."

Aside from the implication that "drinking problem" had been entered in my personnel file, everything was going my way for a change. I thanked the CEO for having confidence in me, promised to send a report and said goodbye. I was overjoyed. Damien wanted to see me, even if he had a convoluted way of arranging things.

On my way to Fashions, my first impulse was to beg Damien for forgiveness for ever thinking he was just another male pig. How could I think that he had abandoned me? Then logic kicked in. What would that accomplish other than sowing doubts about me in Damien's mind? No, I had to overcome that Canadian urge to apologize in every situation and just let things be. Damien proved himself to me by pulling all those strings to invite me to the embassy so I had to prove myself to him in return and look good at the reception.

In Fashions, I selected a pricey cocktail dress that was perfect for my size and shape. It was black, formal enough for an event like this but not overly showy. The dress hid the cellulite I accumulated on my hips from childbirth while displaying my cleavage and legs to good effect. Why not? After all, I was Nerdstorm Canada's fashion buyer and I had women like me in mind when I bought it for our collection. I didn't mention shoes to the CEO but I got a pair from Footwear that went perfectly with my dress with enough heel to be fashionable but still able to stand for a few hours. In lingerie, I picked up a D-cup brassiere in a style that emphasized my bubbies with this dress. Just in case Damien had thought of everything, I added a sexy hip hugger and thigh-high stayups to the CEO's account. Hopefully, he would just sign my expenses without going into too many details.

I told the Ottawa staff they could get along without me that afternoon. After my grouchiness in the morning, they seemed quite OK with seeing me leave. There was a hair stylist in the same mall as Nerdstorm's new store. Usually I don't go to a hair stylist unless I can see their work on other women but I took a chance. It turned out that Mr. Bruce had exactly the right touch for my Semitic face - not overly styled but still elegantly long. I took a long leisurely bath in my hotel room, speculating about the evening ahead of me. Obviously Damien put a lot of effort into setting up another meeting.

Refreshed from the bath, I dressed and put on makeup. My ensemble from Nerdstorm's and Mr. Bruce's work looked great but there was something missing. I needed some jewelry around my neck to show off my bubbies and I knew exactly what it was. For some reason, I brought along my necklace with a highly stylized Amgen David pendant I bought in Israel. The pendant made me feel so confident about myself. Just before I was ready to leave, I called home to check up on the kids and Barry. The kids missed me, although I suspect they just wanted some help with their homework. It didn't come as a surprise to me that the baby sitter didn't expect Mr. Halevy until late that evening. She sounded just a little too happy about the money she was making this week. I went down to the lobby to ask the concièrge to order a cab but he replied:

"But Madame, there's a limousine waiting for you at the door. Do you have any others in your party who will need a taxi?"

Apparently Damien wanted to treat me like a celebrity so I dismissed my request for a taxi and went to the front door. One of the creepy dudes stood at attention beside a black Mercedes limousine with the passenger door open. I nodded at him in acknowledgement as I climbed into the soft leather seat. Did I imagine it or was there just a hint of a smile as he closed the door? As we travelled down the Queensway to Ottawa's tony Rockcliffe neighbourhood, I had plenty of time to ponder what Damien had up his sleeve.

The Xxxxxxxian embassy was located in a huge walled mansion at the end of a cul-de-sac. The driver let me out at the front door and I went in. Inside, I went through a security check manned by the second creepy dude. He went over my bod quite thoroughly with his metal detector. I thought he paid just a little too much attention to what I had in my bra. I don't know why he bothered because my bubbies were pushed together so tightly that even a piece of paper couldn't fit in there, never mind a gun or, much less, a bomb. Finally, with just a hint of a smile, he admitted me to Damien's party. I surveyed the cross-section of Canada's elite before me.

Canada is supposed to be composed of two solitudes and this party was no exception. Tonight, however, one solitude was cultural and the other business. French and English businessmen can get along quite well when their bottom lines are involved. It was the same with the cultural side of the room. Gay men, French and English, vied for the attentions of the acclaimed Stratford actor, Fardel Bodkin. Gays are always well dressed so it was useless to try and drum up more business there. From the shmates and shlok jewellery our Canadian authors wore, it was obvious there's very little money from writing in Canada. No, Canadian authors couldn't afford Nerdstorm's.

I had lots of time to have interesting conversations with the straight artists because my quarry, the businessmen, crowded around the Minister of Trade and Industry. Finally the Minister's spooks pried the businessmen off him and hustled him off to either another engagement or to his mistress' pad. That was my signal to work the businessmen. Most of them were paunchy, grey-haired, if they had any hair at all, and dressed in expensive but out-of fashion suits. They had absolutely no interest in the latest fashions or doing business with Nerdstorm's so I let them direct the conversation to their limited interests while nodding my head in agreement to whatever was said. Their main interest seemed to be to get me into bed or peeking at whatever lurked down my bodice. I politely accepted their business cards with a vague promise to call them sometime.

They started to do deals among themselves so I got squeezed out of the conversation. Joining the business wives, trophy or otherwise, we made the usual talk about fitness centres and kids. Of course, they had personal trainers and their kids went to private schools, unlike the social circles I normally moved in. They more fashionably dressed but mostly the same vintage as the men, except for some outrageously clothed trophy wives/mistresses. Unlike businessmen, the wives and mistresses showed great interest in my clothes rather than what was underneath them. I casually mentioned that I was Nerdstorm's fashion buyer and that the dress I was wearing and more was available at our new Ottawa store, opening next week.

When I had exhausted their interest in Nerdstorm's, I realized hadn't eaten all day so I went over to nosh at the buffet table. The embassy had set out wine, cheese, French bread and assorted finger food. Since the finger food was unlikely to be kosher, I stuck to the bread and cheeses, especially the natural cheeses from Quebec. Most Canadian cheese is made from pasteurised milk with bacteria and rennet added after the fact to produce cheese curds. Health inspectors outside Quebec go all meshugganer over public access to unpasteurized milk. But it's a true fact that using rennet instead of natural bacteria unkashers cheese as well as turning out a product that can substitute for a hockey puck in a pinch. Only in Quebec do cheese makers ripen cheese using natural bacteria. That would likely get their cheese a hechser if the process were inspected by a mashgiach. I suppose good Catholic dairy farmers wouldn't even think of inviting a guy in a black hat to look over their farm operations.

So, I subsisted on the cheeses and French bread but that made me thirsty, just like Holophernes in the Book of Yehudit. I walked over to the bar and checked out their wines. Like the cheese, Damien selected only Canadian wines. Fortunately, Canadian winegrowers have improved their premium products so I had a choice of some excellent Niagara and Okanagan vintages. Despite my CEO's hint, I scored a glass (or maybe it was two) of Okanagan white.

As I worked the room, I caught glimpses of Damien doing the same thing but studiously avoiding me. I did the same to keep our secret but I wondered what the purpose of inviting me was, when the Xxxxxxxian Trade Commissioner approached me.

"Could Madame Halevy spare a few moments and step into our conference room. We're providing an opportunity to meet every delegate to our reception to discuss opportunities in Xxxxxxx."

I left Damien out of sight and followed the Xxxxxxxian Trade Commissioner to the embassy's conference room. He appeared nervous and lacking self-confidence. His name tag said something different but let's call him Mr. Lubumble for convenience since his real name would serve to identify Damien. In addition to his insecurity, his appearance was mediocre with a slightly balding head, pot belly and a prominent West African tuches. One of my single girlfriends swears that the uglier the man, the bigger his shlong. I couldn't help wondering whether Lubumble had a m'wamba that was...

"Please come in to the conference room, Mrs. Halevy. These are my colleagues Mr. Kunene, Ms. Umfolosi and Mr. Okavango. We speak a number of languages in Xxxxxxx but English is our lingua franca. I apologize for this artifact of our colonial era but we will conduct our business in English."

Two men and a woman sat on one side of the long table clicking away on the very thin laptops in front of them. The men were very young and handsome but the woman really caught my attention. She was also young and pretty, extremely fashionably dressed but in a style that spoke of the African marketplace. I had never encountered clothing of that sort before.

"We have a limited amount of time. There is a brief audio-visual presentation and then we will entertain your questions."

My attention turned to the conference room. Despite the old-fashioned exterior of the mansion, Xxxxxxx had renovated the interior to modern décor and the latest technology. The conference room was no exception as the latest audiovisual equipment greeted me. One wall of the room was occupied by a huge high-def screen with a video about to roll. Another wall was decorated with a giant map of Xxxxxxx. In the North of the country, someone had outlined a large area with a highlighter pen. I assumed that area was of some concern to Mr. Lubumble and his cohorts. I wasn't to be disappointed as Mr. Lubumble opened a file and cleared his throat.

"The Government of Xxxxxxx is soliciting proposals for the development of its abundant unobtanium deposits now that the rebellion in the north has been suppressed. Buggered Hill Pty. has already submitted an interesting proposal to our embassy in Canberra. I expect the Chinese and Americans will also be submitting bids to our embassies in Beijing and Washington. We now wish to hear from Canadian companies. Shall we start the video presentation?"

Without thinking, I replied: "Nerdstorm Canada Inc. doesn't mine unobtanium. We're a subsidiary of Nerdstorm International in the process of opening a series of stores across Canada to retail fine women's clothing."

Lubumble looked puzzled at my answer. "If you're not interested in unobtanium, Mrs. Halevy, perhaps you can tell me why Ambassador Damien invited you to this reception at the last minute?"

Uh-oh. I stepped into this one. Inadvertently, I ended up in a position where I had to defend both Damien and myself. The elegantly clothed Ms Umfolosi seated across the desk caught my eye. That was my answer:

"Mr. Lubumble, Xxxxxxx has far more to offer the world than a few rocks in a remote area of your country. My company has an interest in the clothing worn by the women of Xxxxxxx. We would like to work with your designers and manufacturers to introduce Xxxxxxxian fashions such as worn by Ms Umfolosi. In Canada, we would call her clothes 'wearable art'. As the fashion buyer for Nerdstorm Canada, I would like to feature a line of clothes from Xxxxxxx next summer. Also, from what I have read about Xxxxxxx, your artists and craftsmen produce exquisite objets d'art. Have you spoken to the art dealers who have been invited in order to market their work to the Canadian public?"

I know I was acting like Lubumble's Jewish mother, telling the Trade Commissioner how to do his job but you know how it is. My Yiddisher Mama shtick derailed when an older woman walked in and whispered something in Lubumble's ear. The blood drained from his face and he turned white, well as white as an African can turn. He fumbled for his note pad and tried to catch the attention of one of his juniors who were keeping their heads down and futzing on their laptops. This woman was obviously some kind of dragon.

"Mrs. Okele has requested that you meet Ambassador Damien in his office once our interview has been completed. We will send a list of our clothing manufacturers and designers to your office as soon as possible. I apologize that we didn't anticipate your interest in Xxxxxxxian fashion. You will mention me favourably to the ambassador in your meeting with him, I trust?"

Mrs. Okele was waiting for me outside the conference room. She led me down a short corridor and ushered me into Damien's office. Damien was seated at the runoff of a large desk, intently watching the screen on his computer. He removed his earpiece and stood up so I ran and embraced him before he could even open his mouth.

"Congratulations, Regina, on the way you handled yourself there. I'm sorry to have put you on the spot but you came through for me and solved a tricky personnel problem for me."