Abdul Sa’ad had three other concubines living there. There was Fatma, a beautiful sloe-eyed Arab girl from a poor family in Jidda, a sprawling port on the Red Sea. The other westerner was Inga, a stolid Swedish girl with blue eyes and long blond hair, whom Abdul Sa’ad had purchased from a brothel in Beirut. Her mind had long since been dulled by drugs and now she spent her days chewing khat leaves with the bland expression of a cow chewing its cud. Then there was Yasmin, a lithe, sensuous Negress, bought to add a touch of spice to Abdul Sa’ad’s harim. She was a Somali and had been purchased from her father, a refugee in the lower Shabelle region near Mogadishu. Her purchase had saved the family from starvation, she told Kelly tearfully. In addition, she learned that Abdul Sa’ad had four wives and eleven children, whom he kept in an apartment in the Royal Palace in Riyadh.

At first she thought it might be bearable. Her room was comfortable, the walls covered with colorful tapestries and the lamps and accessories were made of solid gold. The floors were covered with exquisite oriental rugs. The fat eunuch brought her a catalogue from Harrod’s in London and told her she could order anything she wished. The other concubines were kind and friendly. Abdul Sa’ad even gave her a diamond necklace which looked like something featured in Tiffany’s window. But that first night convinced her that she wasn’t going to make it.

Fatma brought her a lacy white pinafore, white stockings and a big white bow for her hair and told her to wear them. When she put them on she looked like a ten-year-old. Then Abdul Sa’ad sent for her. When she entered his apartment, he was sprawled naked on a mound of gold satin cushions, smoking a water pipe. His body was covered with a dense mat of black hair. He looked like an overfed chimpanzee. In the corner a tethered falcon shifted its position on its perch and stared at her with its cold savage eyes as if she was just another kind of prey. Then the craziness began.

He handed her a large doll and told her to play with it and talk in baby talk. Uneasily, she prattled and played with the doll, occasionally stealing a glance over at him. He told her to bend over, her short skirt hitching up, and stared at her lacy panties. The only sound was the gurgling of the water pipe. Her eyes grew round with horror as she began to realize the reality of the fantasy she was acting out for him. In a strangled voice, he called her over. She couldn’t help noticing his erection, standing out red and taut.