Soraya

After talking to Lars Holmgren, Marie felt disillusioned. He had hardly said anything, yet the message had gotten through to her: she was not wanted here, she was being excluded from social life. In short, because she was a woman, she was considered less valuable.

Marie put the phone aside and only then realized how hollow her stomach felt. She stood up and routinely looked for a minibar. Nothing. Not even water, except for what came out of the tap in the bathroom. She sensed immediately that this was no accident, but part of the order of things. Supplies according to rank, not according to desire.

Going out was out of the question. She was so sure of this that she didn't need to think it through. A unaccompanied woman, visibly a stranger – even if it had been allowed, she wouldn't have dared. So room service was the only option. But how? There was no internal telephone, no intercom. Should she use her smartphone to find the hotel's external number and call them? Or did she dare to go down to the lobby alone?

While she was still mulling it over, there was a knock at the door.

Marie sat up straight and absentmindedly smoothed out her business suit jacket.

“Come in.”

The woman who entered seemed to transform the room instantly. She was tall, with long black hair that fell perfectly styled over her shoulders. Her skin had a warm tone that shimmered exotically in the artificial light. Her red dress was tight-fitting and emphasized each of her impressive curves. For Marie's taste, it was too low-cut, but without appearing vulgar — it gave the impression that the wearer was deliberately showing off.

The stranger smiled warmly.

“Good evening, Marie,” she said in a soft, dark voice. “My name is Soraya.”

Marie let her in. She had been briefed that it was customary in the US to immediately switch to informal first-name terms without a formal introduction. Especially with women. So she wasn’t surprised and responded without hesitation.

“Good evening, Soraya. Nice to meet you.”

“Mr. Jenkins, our government's chief negotiator,” Soraya continued as she closed the door behind her, “has asked me to take care of the guest.”

The guest. Not the diplomat, not the advisor. Marie nodded automatically. Even with a polite gesture, she was being shown her place.

“Thank you, that's very kind. Maybe you can make a suggestion. I wanted to order something to eat.”

Soraya smiled again, looking very pleased. “Of course. But that's not necessary. I came to take you out to a restaurant.”

She looked around and moved through the room with a confidence that made her seem at home there. Her high heels made hardly a sound on the thin carpet. Her dress flattered her figure, leaving nothing to the imagination. Nothing she did seemed accidental.

“Just a second, I just need to get my purse with my papers,” Marie accepted the invitation.

"That wouldn't be necessary either if you're accompanying me. But of course you can take whatever you want.“

It didn't take Marie long to gather her things.

”Do you work for the Department of Commerce or the State Department?“ Marie asked, more to pass the time than out of genuine interest.

Soraya shook her head. ”No.“

A short pause.

”I work for the government."

She said this without any undertone. It was a statement.

Marie stepped into the hallway and only then realized that she hadn't been given a room card or a key. How would she get back? But that was a problem she would solve when the time came.

Soraya followed close behind and put a hand on her shoulder. She was proof of how this country defined care for women.