Yes, I see it all in front of me now...
The Scene:
The Croatian Embassy in Ramat Aviv, Israel. Miriam stands at the receptionist's desk, leaning forward with a confident smile.
"I'd like to see His Excellency," she says.
The pretty receptionist looks up from her computer monitor. She regards the modestly-dressed matron in front of her.
"The Ambassador is in a meeting," replies the young lady smoothly. "Please be seated and I will let him know you're here as soon as the meeting finishes - in two or three hours, perhaps."
"No," says Miriam, equally smooth, "Just buzz His Excellency and tell him...Oskaar sent me."
The receptionist pats her hairdo nervously. "Oskaar? Of course. Um, please be seated...that is, please sit down. Can I get you a glass of water?"
"No thanks," smiles Miriam. She looks around at the glass-enclosed room, with its leather-covered furniture, luxurious potted plants and hidden cameras, and sits down.
"Your name, please?" asks the receptionist, picking up the phone.
"Just say it's The Mead Bubeh."
The receptionist whispers into the phone. Almost immediately, a buzz is heard and one of the glass doors opens. His Excellency, the Croatian Ambassador, strides forward with his hand out.
"So very pleased to meet you, Madame," he says, "Please come in. Ludovica," - he turns to the receptionist - Send in some slivovica. And do not allow anyone to disturb me for the next ten minutes."
In the Ambassador's office, Miriam and His Excellency regard each other. Another pretty young lady brings a tray laden with shot glasses, a bottle of slivovica and two cups of coffee. She pours the fiery plum brandy, then exits.
"Your health," says the Ambassador, lifting his shot glass.
"LeChaim," replies Miriam.They throw their heads back and drink.
"Ah, excellent," says His Excellency. He smiles with practiced charm. "Now - what message from...Oskaar?"
Miriam leans back, appreciating the atmosphere of quiet luxury and international complications, and power. She sips at her coffee, then puts the cup down. Her face darkens.
"Oskaar sends...greetings."
"Greetings?"
"Greetings," replies Miriam firmly. "From GotMead."
"GotMead! Ah!" the Ambassador stares into space meditatively. "Yess, yes. That scandal with the Consul General in South California, of course...?"
"I'm afraid it's worse," says Miriam regretfully. She stands and looks out of the window, then turns back to the Ambassador, who has turned pale. "It's the Finnish Ambassador's wife. I must say no more."
The Ambassador's eyes widen, but diplomatic training prevails and he recovers his habitual urbanity. "I understand," he says. "Indeed, that is sufficient. Thank you."
Miriam picks up her purse and leaves the Ambassador standing, lost in calculations. On her way out, she sees two people jostling each other at the receptionist's desk: a slinky blonde in a short black dress, and a tall, handsome man with his fedora pulled over his eyes.
"I must see His Excellency," insists the blonde.
"No, His Excellency must see me," claims the tall man.
Miriam sighs. Imposters, obviously.
