(First) ladies who lunch

The large, rather rococo, table was decorated with the daintiest Brussels lace and the hand-woven Estonian napkins. After much debate, the Franco-German balance was reached on the understanding that the porcelain would be from Meisen and the silverware from Christofle.

The crisp salad and the saffron pilav were served in two beautiful bowls of İznik Ceramics, a contribution that dated from the 1980s, when the table became a tradition.

The women around the table, some beautiful, some ugly, most middle-aged, but a few young ones, addressed each other by pet names. They exhumed power and self-assurance, the sort that comes from living in power circles for years.

But not all of them looked jubilant: "I cannot belieeeeve that the so-and-so now asks me to apologize for my remarks to the press about heem," said the sexy-looking woman with full lips. "Eet ees not me who ees frequenting minors. Birthday, my eye... When he has not even come to the birthday of our own daughter! " The woman next to her, known in the circles as EE, simply shrugged: "You never challenge your man in front of the media. My husband says your husband is a good man and an excellent world leader." She adjusted her hair-scarf. "I am not telling you to take it lightly, mind you. When my husband first came to power, he wanted to pose with some models in Davos. É That was, you see, before he was invited to all those conferences on the Middle East, so he had more time then. Anyway, I placed myself firmly on his right and managed to appear in all the pictures."

"Are there any models in his Cabinet?" asked the full-lips.

"No, of course not. The minister of education is good looking, but no, of course no models."

"I resent that models are seen as of easy virtue," cut in who was doubtless the most beautiful woman at the table. "A model can be anything: a song-writer, a minister or a first lady."

"Carlita mia, I did not intend to offend you," said full-lips. "God knows what you must have gone through."

"Oh, one can easily deal with ex-wives and ex-ministers," said the woman referred to as Carlita. "The trick is to let him know who is more media-savvyÉand of course, taller in stockinged feet."

At the other end of the table, they heard Michelle say peevishly: "It is just too awful, you cannot wear a sheath without being compared to JackieÉ" "The thing is," said Carlita, "you are always compared to Jackie as soon as you become a first lady. Even I was compared to Jackie by your Vanity Fair. Cover story. Twice. It must be worse for American first ladies."

"I was never compared to Jackie," said Hil. "Not even when Bill was involved in you know whatÉ"

"Well, the little sidekick was no Marilyn Monroe," said full-lips. "But you see, eet ees very hurtful when your husband, whom you trust and love, decides that a man is as young as the woman he ees feeling."

"The trick is to get them before they get too powerful," said the woman known as EE. "And then keep them out of the harm’s way. If he is religious and believes that adultery is a sin, it is easier."

"And it is easier if you are younger than him," said the other headscarved women at the table, known as Hera because her name was impossible to pronounce. EE gave her a bad look, but Hera, used to ducking such dark looks from her compatriot, simply looked away. Instead she turned to Raina: "Have you thought about covering up?"

Raina, who was saying to Michelle. "No, they never compare me to Jackie, always to Princess Soraya of Iran, the sad princessÉ" replied Hera: "No, not really. Have you thought about uncovering your hair?"

"Yes," said Hera. "But I would find it difficult, because of her," with a defiant list of the chin toward EE, her compatriot. At the other hand of the table, EE was whispering to full-lips: "You know, I rather fancy that a shade of auburn would make me look younger, but how can I, as long as Hera covers herself?"
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