THE IMPERIALS #10

The Art of Diplomacy

The gallery was a small one located in the heart of the trendy Taide District, along with a dozen others just like it, each competing to launch the next great talent. And there were many contenders all looking for a chance to enthrall the world with their vision.

The Ambassador’s limousine crawled through the narrow cobblestone streets of the old town. She had been asked to cut the ceremonial ribbon on a new exhibit entitled AMERICA and was ecstatic. It was her first opportunity to make a public appearance, and what an opportunity. As the American President’s personal representative to Nordeland she was being asked to participate in a ceremony truly symbolic of her hopes and dreams for the United States, Nordeland, and the world: a Nordish artist compiling a body of work as a tribute to the gleaming beacon of hope, the United States of America. Immediately upon receipt of the invitation she threw the entire effort of the embassy behind the momentous occasion, much as the gallery owner had hoped she would. The embassy press office had been furiously working to ensure as much exposure as possibly: newspapers, television, magazines. They had even gone so far as to hire their own photographer to ensure some control and positive coverage. And just to be on the safe side The Ambassador had personally hired a video team to fully document her achievements while in Nordeland. For maximum affect Madeleine had scheduled her “welcome” gala, held at her residence, to immediately follow the gallery opening and invited the proprietor, artist and numerous others from the art community. It would be a day of extravaganzas in which she would make a noticeable debut onto the stage of international diplomacy. All the gallery owner had hoped for.

As the limousine pulled to the curb the gallery proprietor stepped forward to open the door for The Ambassador. There was a short red carpet, lined by stanchions laced with velvet rope holding back the handful of art lovers and members of the press, leading to the giant red ribbon tied across the front door. Pausing momentarily to pose for photos, Madeleine stepped toward the ribbon then turned to face the crowd. Her comments were brief. She extolled the ability of artist to bridge the divide of oceans, nations, cultures, and religion to bring all the people of the world together with an uplifting message of beauty and hope. She concluded by emphasizing her lifelong support of the arts. Turning, she cut the ribbon to an enthusiastic, if small, applause. The thrilled gallery owner threw back the doors, and with a flourish of arms gestured for The Ambassador to be the first to enter.

Directly across from the front door was displayed a floor to cathedral ceiling collage of images: bombs raining down from American planes, rockets ripple firing from American attack helicopters, napalm flowing through a village of grass huts; cities left barren by bombings, hurricanes and earthquakes; starving children in African villages, the “highway of death,” refugee camps, The Gaza Strip, Nagasaki, Hiroshima, Darfur, Rwanda. Everything depicting disaster, war, famine and death. All arranged in a manner so if viewed from a distance they created the image of a large United States one dollar bill, complete with a smiling George Washington.

The Ambassador stood in stunned silence. The smile remained on her face but it changed from one of sincerity to a plastic façade hiding her shock. Accepting a glass of champagne from a silver tray she took a long sip, her eyes never leaving George. Forcefully breaking her morbid fascination with the introductory piece she perfunctorily made her way through the entire exhibit which was composed entirely of similar images of despair, each with the shadow of a red, white and blue mushroom cloud hovering over the misery.

 

I Love ME!!!

No expense had been spared. Lobsters from Portland, crabs from Baltimore, barbeque from Memphis, etouffee from New Orleans, TexMex from San Antonio, California Roll from Los Angeles, coffee from Seattle… Chefs each with their own fame. The freshest ingredients. An Americana culinary tour worthy of royalty, or at the very least, The Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the United States. No extravagance had been spared, and all paid for with The Ambassador’s ample personal fortune.

Limousines transporting Nordeland’s decision makers and attitude shapers, both present and future, along with full representation of the world’s diplomatic corps pulled to the curb at the Embassy’s front gate. Standing under an ornamental gas streetlight (installed just for the occasion) Ben and Marten greeted the guests giving each and every one a small lapel pin of crossed American and Nordelandian flags before directing them through the grand entrance arch constructed of oak boughs and ivy runners accented with pear blossoms.  A stringed quartet playing chamber music was positioned on the front lawn serenading party goers as they made the short candle lit walk from the gate to The Ambassador’s front door.

Madeleine performed dutifully as hostess, manning the reception line single handedly (why share the limelight?) shaking the hand of every one of the hundreds of guests. But never alone. Stationed one step behind and to the left (the position of subservience) was Gretchen Godbold, always ready with The Ambassador’s cell phone, a business card, or a “Yes, ma’am.” “That is correct, ma’am.” “I believe so, ma’am.”

The party spread through the house, outside across the rear veranda and filled the back yard. A small jazz combo, flown in from New Orleans just for the occasion, filled the evening with music. After having greeted all the guests The Ambassador moved to the rail of the veranda and looked out over the masses gathered on the lawn below, much like Caesar from the steps of the ancient Roman senate. Her welcoming comments were brief and narcissistic. It is an extraordinary person who could have conveyed more self-aggrandizement in fewer words. Coincident with the delivery of her final line the sky filled with fireworks, explosions reverberating down from the heights of The Hill across the rooftops of the city. As the last spark floated to earth, a giant red, white and blue hot air balloon, in the pattern of the American flag, rose from beneath the cliff top ascending into the sky above the heads of the guests, glowing brightly in the twilight sky. A chorus of oohs and aahs from the delighted crowd carried the vessel away.

Nordelandians had always been amused, and sometimes perplexed, befuddled and frustrated, by the American custom of patronage appointments to key diplomatic posts. But one thing they came to presume: anyone with enough money to buy an ambassadorship normally threw exceptional parties. As if there were no problems for which canapés and champagne were not the first step toward solving.