“Goodness, no!” she cried. “All of it must be out until I say so. No deliveries, not even wine. I thought we explained. Nothing at all.” She paused. “Yes, the whole wine cellar. Dry.” She hung up the phone, shaking her head. “I am trying to rid my house of alcohol. It’s impossible to leave anything to others. Is it so difficult to understand what ‘all of it’ means?”

Until now, it hadn’t occurred to Natalie how strange it must be for Karima Sahadi, a Muslim, to play the part of American hostess while following Islamic law. Did she have to have a dry house always, she wondered, or just when she entertained Muslim guests. That had to be complicated.

Karima’s eyes went to Natalie’s plate. “You have not touched the food. You do not like it?”

Embarrassed, Natalie glanced at Karima’s plate and saw that it was still bare. She hadn’t even taken any food. Apparently she wasn’t one of those women who pretended they could eat anything they wanted and still keep a waiflike figure. She just avoided food altogether. In a twisted way, it endeared her to Natalie. Maybe this meant Karima made her moves in the open, Natalie thought, and didn’t engage in elaborate pretend.

“It looks delicious, I’m just—I feel a bit overwhelmed,” Natalie answered candidly.

Karima smiled at her with understanding. “Washington, DC, can feel unnerving at first. It appears to be a place of much guile, but really it is very simple.” She gestured to the room. “Here’s what you should know. Everyone here wants more power. Mostly power comes through access. Of course, with money, too. You ask my job? My job is to be a fulcrum, the delicate point that maintains balance. Between the US and the Arab world, between my friends who are sometimes enemies with one another. If the balance is overturned, hurt feelings can become a tantrum. From spark to fire in no time.”

“All relationships here are transactional,” Natalie said, more as an observation than a question.

For a moment Karima seemed distracted, lost in thought. “You remind me of Anita when she and Patrick first got to DC. He had been preparing for it for years. But she—she was still surprised at how things worked.” She shook her head, withdrawn. “Poor Anita.”

At the mention of the First Lady, Natalie perked up. She understood that Karima was name-dropping, her relationship with the First Lady was likely no less transactional than all other DC relationships. Still any insight was valuable.

“You know, I urged her to stay with him. I told her they are good together,” Karima said.

“So, she did leave him?” Natalie asked, on alert. “Are they separating?”