An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  Luckily the stewardess is called back to her seat for takeoff and I’m able to furtively deposit the rest of my champagne mush into a tissue and take a deep breath.

  I lean back into my seat and close my eyes while thinking reverently, “Thank you God. I promise I will never try to speak with my mouth full again (and I will further promise that I will make a concerted effort not to overfill my mouth through greed, gluttony or fear of missing out).

  1800 We’re now safely in the air. My wine (and water) is on the tray in front of me and I’m examining the menu.

  Yes, there is a menu. And not only that, but real knives and forks. (I was definitely born for this.)

  I decide to go for the fillet steak diane followed by sticky toffee pudding (on the outside possibility that I get locked up for going through the airport without my abaya, I might need some fat on me…)

  Steve is now on his third glass of wine and I’m seriously impressed. In fact I’m firmly convinced that one of the requirements for promotion in the RN is to be able to drink copious amounts of alcohol without passing out.

  Maybe he’s stocking up for the 3 day drought to come…

  Anyway, it’s made him a lot chattier and we’re now getting along famously.

  In actual fact, I never realized before, but he’s really quite witty (mind you, that could be because I’m now on my second glass of wine).

  1900 (or is it now 2200 – when does the time actually change?) Steve’s now on his second glass of Port and my admiration is turning to awe. Or it would do if I could keep my eyes open (it definitely feels more like 2200).

  Don’t think I’ll bother with coffee.

  Time to test the bed…

  And the eye mask of course.

  Week 9

  Monday 2 November

  0030 I wake up and for a second I wonder if I’m dead because I can’t see anything. Then I remember to take off the eye mask and I notice is that the cabin lights have been dimmed. I glance over at Steve who is snoring softly beside me – it feels oddly intimate actually and I hastily bring my chair into a sitting position while scrubbing at the now dried up drool that is decorating my cheek.

  I don’t think I’ve been snoring! (To be fair, I’ve never heard myself but Frankie assures me I snore like a walrus although I’m sure she’s exaggerating).

  I feel pretty grubby and despite the nice silky eye mask, my eyeballs feel as though they’ve got boulders in them.

  Lesson learned – doesn’t matter whether you’re in first or cattle class, whether you’ve been given your own toothbrush or not, you still feel scabby when you fly.

  I glance down at my watch. By my reckoning we’ve still got a couple of hours to go – maybe it’s time to try out my own personal TV…

  0215 We’re starting our descent into Riyadh. Everyone is now appropriately bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to land. I’ve used my little goody bag to freshen up (and remove all my make-up; no red lipstick for the next 3 days…) As I look around, it seems that some people have done much more to prepare for landing. There are a couple of ladies sat opposite us who started the flight wearing Gucci’s finest and now appear to ending it so that not even their husbands will be able to recognize them.

  I have time to briefly wonder how it all works when couples go shopping – how does hubby spot his wife in the supermarket when they all look the same…)

  I’m now really feeling nervous and very glad for Steve’s solid presence beside me.

  0250 We’re walking through the airport towards the Saudi Border Control and I feel as though absolutely everyone is staring at me. There are hardly any women around and those that are present are completely covered up from head to toe. My hair stands out like a beacon (why oh why didn’t I bring a head scarf with me – or better yet, die it black?)

  My heart is thumping erratically and I can feel the sweat beginning to slip between my shoulder blades. I have to resist the urge to hide behind Steve’s back.

  As we get to the border control, Steve (of course) is allowed straight through but I’m taken into a small room where they examine my paperwork while chatting at each other in Arabic.

  I feel sick. I am taken into another room where a woman (I think it’s a woman but can’t be sure as even her eyes are covered up with a black cloth – I wonder slightly hysterically how she’ll be able to tell if I’m carrying anything illegal…)

  I can see Steve waiting anxiously at the other side of the barrier – he might as well be on the other side of the world.

  Holding my arms out, I take a deep breath and allow the person in front of me to check me over for anything forbidden.

  I can see through a small window that they now have my suitcase and I’m seriously beginning to sweat (even though I know there’s nothing in it that shouldn’t be). (OMG are women allowed to bring Evening Primrose Oil into the country?)

  My imagination has now got me locked up in a damp cell with nothing more than a bucket and a mattress – in fact I’ve already lost half a stone…)

  Then, all of a sudden, it’s over. With a curt nod, the guard dismisses me and I’m allowed to drag my case through customs.

  I fight the urge to throw my arms around Steve’s neck while blubbering into his shoulder (definitely not a good look for a professional woman of the world) and content myself with a few sniffles (it is 3am).

  At that moment our escort to the hotel arrived (where the hell was he 5 minutes ago…?)

  He shakes hands with me as well as Steve (not always a given in Saudi) and then hands me my abaya.

  It’s at least a foot too long (all over). Who was the last wearer of this thing – whoever it was would have given Goliath’s mother a run for her money.

  I spend the next few minutes flapping around trying to get my hands free of the sleeves so I can do it up at the neck while our escort waits impatiently holding out my headscarf. I shove the sleeves up past my elbows and, grabbing the scarf, place it on my head, crossing the ends over at my throat and leaving them to trail down my back.

  My sleeves have dropped down again. I shove them back and grab hold of the front of the abaya in an attempt to lift the hem off the floor.

  I look like a demented Winnie the Witch.

  I’m never going to be able to manage my case. I look helplessly at Steve. Our escort is already striding away.

  Any minute now I’m going to simply sit on the floor and start bawling (I don’t bloody care if I’m a professional woman of the world…)

  Luckily Steve takes charge. He tells me to stay put with the luggage and chases after our departing escort.

  I don’t know what he said but whatever it was, it did the trick and quick as a flash our reluctant aide is back by my side, all apologies and taking my case from me.

  I trail after them both, trying to keep my headscarf on with one hand and holding the front of the abaya out of the way of my feet with the other. Despite my best efforts, I keep tripping over the hem and am now walking like Quasimodo in a black dressing gown. Any minute now I’m going to start clutching my head and moaning ‘Oh the bells, the bells…’

  I’m getting hysterical – definitely need to go to bed.

  0330 I’m finally sitting in the back of the car that will take us to the hotel (I hope). I can’t believe that only a few short hours ago I was sipping champagne without a care in the world.

  I want to go home!

  0930 It really is true, things definitely look better in the bright light of day! I woke up this morning feeling much less like my get up and go had got up and gone.

  My hotel room is really rather splendid (old fashioned word I know, but actually it truly is). All grand marble and beautifully woven tapestries.

  It’s on the 9th floor with an amazing view over the city of Riyadh. From my hotel room I can see The Kingdom Tower looming imposingly over the city and the Ministry of Interior Building which pretty much resembles an upside down space ship.

  Talk about stepping outside of your comfort zone
…

  I feel a renewed sense of excitement – I’m actually looking forward to whatever experiences the day brings (that’s if I don’t break my neck in the bloody abaya first).

  I’m supposed to be having breakfast with Steve before getting together with the resident Naval Attaché to discuss tomorrow’s strategy (that is, they’ll talk and I’ll listen).

  1100 Sitting in the hotel lobby with coffee and biscuits. Breakfast was amazing. We sat outside on the terrace in beautiful 23 degree sunshine. The high point was the maple syrup pancakes and the low point was nearly setting fire to my sleeves reaching over the warming plate (the smell of smoldering nylon was not pleasant I can tell you).

  The Naval Attaché (a very jolly Naval Commander – call me ‘Mike’) has promised to bring me another one that actually fits.

  Probably concerned about the possible insurance bill if I have to wear this thing for much longer…

  Apparently I don’t have to wear my head scarf inside the hotel which is great.

  So, here we are with coffee and biscuits – obviously not allowed to dunk.

  I sit trying to look interested as they discuss various dits that have both of them laughing uproariously (apparently strategy is coming later over dinner). The problem is that I don’t know what or who the hell they are talking about and after my late night (or early morning – depending how you look at it) my eyes are beginning to glaze over.

  Finally, I can’t stand it any longer – it’s either retire to my room or snuggle down with my head in Steve’s lap…

  I opt for retiring to my room.

  Apparently we are going to have a look round the Souks in the old part of Riyadh later on this afternoon. ‘Mike’ is coming to collect us and has promised faithfully to bring me another abaya in ‘extra short’.

  1500 It fits – yey! And just to make sure there’s no further surreptitious trailing of sleeves (or of me going up in a puff of smoke), the cuffs actually do up.

  The length is also perfect – I think maybe the number 12 on the inside label refers to the age of the last wearer rather than the size.

  There’s no mirror for me to look at myself (probably a good thing) so I simply tie my head scarf over my head and hurry after the men who are already striding towards our car waiting outside (I’m noticing a definite trend developing here…)

  1700 I feel like Billy no mates.

  We’ve done the sightseeing tour and are now sitting outside a local coffee shop. Steve and Mike are sitting together on a table about 20 feet away.

  And I’m sitting on my own. Apparently, being members of the opposite sex, we’re not allowed to sit together. In fact we can’t actually make eye contact, let alone talk…

  The ‘Adhan’ calling Muslims to prayer begins to sound over loud speakers in the nearby mosque.

  I shiver a little – it all feels so strange – like another world.

  Even another planet…

  It’s been a very long day!

  Tuesday 3 November

  0830 I’m lying in bed feeling pretty homesick. I feel very apprehensive about my contribution towards the staff talks today.

  Mike was actually speculating in our ‘strategy’ meeting last night that I could well be the first woman to ever have stepped inside the Royal Saudi Naval headquarters.

  No pressure…

  Still, can’t spend too much time analyzing. Mike is coming over to the hotel for breakfast along with the assistant Naval Attaché so I’m going to have to get weaving.

  Mind you, won’t take me long to decide what to wear…

  1000 Breakfast was light hearted and fun which is exactly what I needed to take away the nerves. The hotel staff are really friendly (albeit all male) so beginning to relax again.

  1030 Scratch that, I’m not relaxed at all. Currently sitting in the back of the car taking us to the Royal Saudi Naval Headquarters.

  I resist the urge to ask Steve to hold my hand.

  I need a wee…

  1048 We’re having coffee and biscuits while waiting for the Saudi Admiral to arrive. Or rather, everyone else is -I’m sitting in a corner trying to look inconspicuous (not really that difficult to be fair).

  There are 12 men and me. My head scarf kept falling off so I’ve resorted to tying it tightly around my neck. If the end gets caught on something there’s a good chance I’ll be garroted.

  And there aren’t any ladies toilets - think I might have to consider doing some exercises to increase bladder control.

  1105 The Admiral arrives and we’re escorted into the meeting room. There are now 20 men and me. There aren’t enough chairs around the table so I’m relegated to sitting against the wall giving a whole new meaning to the word ‘wallflower.

  1300 We’re having a break for lunch. They’re going to talk about Naval Training after eating and that’ll be my cue - I’ll be wheeled out to talk about English Language Training for their trainee cadets. I wonder briefly if I’m supposed to remain where I am and eat my lunch off a tray but apparently not; I’m beckoned to accompany everyone and trail after them feeling completely out of my depth.

  I catch up to Steve to ask him in a whisper what I’m supposed to do about the toilet. He has a word with his opposite number, who has a word with the Admiral’s aide and pretty soon everyone is scratching their heads looking a bit nonplussed.

  I can’t believe no one thought of this – and I really, really need the toilet (I have actually lasted over 3 hours which I think might be a record for me since I hit 40).

  At length I am given permission to use the Admiral’s private loo. By this time they could have offered me a hole in the ground and I’d have said thank you.

  1320 All ablutions taken care of, we all troop into a large beautifully appointed formal dining room.

  There are now 60 men and me…

  I’m seated opposite a very pleasant gentleman who is not in uniform (no bloody idea who he is) but he’s very polite and seems happy to chat to a woman.

  He tells me that he loves going to London and does so at every opportunity – usually 4 or 5 times a year. I nod respectfully as he continues to tell me about his favourite hotel – the one that he always stays in. Have I heard of it? It’s called The Dorchester!

  He asks me if I’ve ever stayed there and when I shake my head he advises that I ask my husband to take me at the earliest opportunity…

  Maybe a rich sheik carrying me off into the desert wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  1400 Beginning to think that the lunch is never going to end. They have brought out course after course – all delicious. Or would be if I had any appetite.

  Unfortunately I’m too nervous to eat much.

  1415 Lunch is finally over and we’re given a bit of a reprieve as everyone goes off to pray, leaving the 4 of us Brits to wait back in the conference room.

  I dig out my presentation and put it on to the laptop ready. Seriously beginning to get heart palpitations now.

  Wish I could have a drink.

  1510 They’ve spent the last half an hour discussing the merits of training the most ‘gifted’ Saudi officer cadets at BRNC and now all eyes are looking my way - it’s up me to talk about possible English Language Training.

  It’s finally time to rock and roll…

  1600 It’s over at last. We’re on our way back to the hotel and I can relax for the first time in days.

  My presentation actually went very well considering listening to women is not an activity done that often in Saudi Arabia.

  I’m going to have a lie down!

  1900 We’re being taken out for dinner to (possibly) the only restaurant in Riyadh which allows women to eat in a public place – exciting…

  2200 A very interesting evening. Basically we sat in a booth with a curtain over the entrance so that any other ‘male’ diners would not be tempted by my presence. (I know I can do pretty hot when required but I would very impressed if any member of the male species found me attractive dressed up like a Darth Vader g
roupie.)

  Still, quite flattering really – just wouldn’t want to do it more than once.

  Wednesday 4 November

  0900 Going home tonight and I have to say that I’m really looking forward to getting back to good old Blighty. This has been an amazing experience, but, to quote Judy Garland, ‘There’s no place like home’

  And Riyadh most definitely ain’t Kansas!

  A car is coming to pick us up at 1830 as we’re being hosted at the British Embassy this evening (possible alcohol….?) before flying out at 2310 local time.

  Which means we’ve got about 9 hours to kill before checking out of the hotel. Mike suggested shopping in the mall at the bottom of Kingdom Tower.

  And as you are no doubt aware, I’m never averse to a spot of retail therapy.

  Might be a bit awkward going with Steve though (mind you, I’m definitely not going on my own…)

  1100 Just discovered that they have every shop that we have in the West and more. In fact, apart from 2 glaring facts, I could be anywhere in Europe – it’s so bazaar.

  The 2 glaring facts? There are absolutely no changing rooms in any of the boutiques and there are absolutely no female shop assistants anywhere in any shop. It was majorly weird walking around Debenhams with male shop assistants trying to sell us perfume.

  To be fair, there is a second floor which is apparently ‘for women only’. It’s actually guarded by men with guns.

  I’m so ready to go home…

  1600 Am now lying on my bed having a rest before heading out to the Embassy and gin and tonic (I hope) time. I did actually manage to buy myself some very nice earrings and helped Steve choose some perfume for his wife (just managed to save him – and possibly his marriage - from buying ‘Youth Dew’ – I’m assuming his wife is not over 70).

  I’ve also realized that all abayas most certainly do not look the same.

  There are all kinds of styles – some costing thousands. It’s absolutely amazing how intriguing a pair of beautifully made up eyes look over the top of a black silk ‘hejab’ (apparently that’s the correct word for the head scarf and face covering used by Arabic women.)