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In typical Washington, DC fashion, the round robin of social events was designed just like a cutthroat style athletic competition, where everyone tries to politely and graciously screw everyone else in order to advance to the next round of activities. All the time everyone was smiling and nodding as if enjoying themselves. I suppose some people could actually enjoy it, but it seemed a bit bloodthirsty to me. It was, however, apparently the system the people inside the Beltway were most comfortable with. I figured screwing other people and stabbing them in the back was the only way they knew how to do anything.
The format for the competition was that the first big bash would be for everybody. From that event, a selected few would advance to another, more exclusive event the next night. The larger group, the losers, who would never know of the more exclusive function, would attend the formal dinner that was scheduled the next evening. They would be done. They would return home the following morning, fat, happy and none the wiser. They just might be active voters, after all.
At the exclusive function for the select few, the cattle would again be judged and from this event, even fewer couples would be selected for the next level, this one with lofty personages who, although technically called public servants, never seemed to find time for either the public or to serve.
The winners of the judging at that semi-final event got to mingle in the same atmosphere with the highest of the land, the President and First Lady and their guests of honor, usually heads of state or Nobel Prize winners. From the gene pool selected for this particular cattle drive that Nicole and I were attending, it was obviously not anticipated that there would be any winners for the grand prize, but rules are rules, so there was an outside chance of a winner.
Scoring at the first big bash was varied and was based on pretty much what you would expect for a beauty contest. Could they walk upright, was their fly closed, was there any spinach stuck between their teeth? Bonus points were given for complete sentences, the more consecutive sentences strung together, the better. Humorous anecdotes received a huge bonus unless they were old ones everyone knew or were obscene. A well-told titillating off-color story scored extremely high, however.
The scoring at each successive level was a magnitude tougher than at the previous level, as was the determination for the grand prize tougher still. One had to be careful not to appear more intelligent or debonair than the guests of honor, those with whom one was being allowed to hobnob at each particular soiree, while still appearing interesting and post-Cro-Magnon.
Nicole took to this atmosphere like crabgrass to my lawn in spring. Probably 99.9% of the people there had no clue what was going on. Nicole not only figured it out, she spotted the scorers of the event. I had never seen her so vitalized, so challenged, so well, French. This was her element. Apparently they taught this stuff in kindergarten in her country. Her countrymen and countrywomen had, after all, invented this little game that was being played all around us. She went after it like it was matter of national pride to win the gold medal.
Within ten minutes of entering the ballroom, she tugged me urgently to one side, out of earshot of the other guests.
"Lawrence, you did not tell me. What is the prize?"
I looked at her only slightly less blank than I was still bedazzled by her beauty. When she saw I truly didn't know what was going on, she succinctly and patiently explained the contest, the rules as played in the French aristocracy and again demanded to know what the prize was.
Still without a clue, she finally asked who was important, who was in town? A president, a king or Shah?
I wracked my brain, sifting through the news I had heard, both on the public news stations and what I had heard through the Agency grapevine while I had been there for my physical. I had heard some disturbing news while I was there related to Gary, but nothing about an alert for a bigwig being in town. I told her no one. Then I asked her if Gertie had mentioned anything to her the day before. That brought her up short. She had known the answer all along.
"Oh, dearest Lawrence, we must win! Gertie said she was meeting with some scientists in town and that the president was seeing them later in the week."
Good old Gertie. She always seemed to know everything. I asked Nicole, "So. Who are they?"
She looked at me as if I was a stupid child.
"Does it matter? We must win!"
Well, excuuuuse me!
We slipped back into the general hubbub of the ballroom but now, as I looked, I could see the gentle manipulation and orchestration of the flow of the attendees. We were being gently herded as lambs to the slaughter so that all the players moved by the unobtrusive outposts of the scorers. Nicole allowed us to be moved along, but she positioned us at a point for optimum advantage as we came in range of each station.
It happened so quickly, I had to pinch myself. A witty quip to me, a fairytale laugh and we were past the judges, who were lurking like hunters in a duck blind. Maximum points. Timing was everything in this event. Now I was the one who was terrified. This meant so much to Nicole, and I didn't want to blow it. She seemed to sense my dismay and looked up at me.
"Lawrence, do not worry. Just relax and enjoy it. This part is women's work."
The twinkle in her eyes was all the reassurance I needed. I had a sudden urge to pick my nose, however, which I resisted by putting my itching finger in the small of Nicole's back, along with the rest of my hand. She took this a sign I would follow her lead and Nicole was off to the races. We must win!
We made the rounds of the scorers for about 90 minutes, then she pulled me off to the side, out of the fray. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining brightly.
"Why are we out here, Nicole? Are you feeling OK?"
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