The conversations followed a set pattern. First, Karima would say, “Not at all, my darling,” and then offer a thoughtful comment on a well-observed detail of their last conversation or something wonderful they’d worn. After a moment the visitor would lean in close and ask how Karima was handling the Terrible News in today’s Washington Post (which said that the administration was looking at a total shutdown of oil imports from the Middle East). The question was always delivered in the tone of a concerned friend but there was something almost gleefully predatory lurking behind it.

Karima seemed not to notice. In the same warm, generous tone, she would offer one of three replies: “Ah, this is the world we live in,” with the slightest arch of her delicate eyebrows; “It’s all a negotiation,” with a subtle shake of the head; or “Friends must remain friends. All will be well,” capped with a reassuring smile.

Finally, she’d turn and introduce them to Natalie, as ATN’s newest rising star. “You must get to know one another,” Karima would insist, with a wink. “I will connect you by email.”

Natalie understood that these introductions were worth Karima’s weight in career gold, catapulting her almost instantaneously into a new stratosphere of DC status and access. With Karima’s stamp of approval, she could officially become a person to know, and court. The only thing that marred the otherwise triumphant feel of this moment: her gratitude for Karima’s generosity was tempered, at the back of her mind, by a fear. It was the antsy concern of a guest who isn’t quite sure how much the hotel bill will be, or if she’ll be able to pay it. Because there was no question that an operator with the experience and connections of Karima Sahadi, wife of the ambassador to the Arab League, would want something in return.

Natalie’s best guess was that Karima would want her help with the Terrible News, which could mean a loss of trillions in oil wealth for the countries her husband represents, and Natalie was growing increasingly uneasy about the approaching moment when she would have to tell Karima that she did not cover energy or oil and probably couldn’t offer her anything even remotely useful.

When the stream of ill-wishers dissipated, Karima squeezed Natalie’s hand. “Thank you for your patience. Everyone is so hungry for bad news. It is why they all come. Also they know what they read in the papers is nothing. It is—” She made a gesture like she was pushing away dirty air. “It is the amuse-bouche. Everyone wants the main course.”

She lifted a single well-manicured finger to the maître d’, and silver dishes of food materialized out of nowhere, though Natalie was sure they hadn’t shown Karima a menu.

“The food here is quite good,” Karima said. “It is a pity so few of us eat.”