WORKING AT THE U.S. EMBASSY IN RIO DE JANEIRO – PART II

WORKING AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY IN RIO DE JANEIRO, PART II

If you’ve read my previous blog about the 4 years I spent working for the U.S. Embassy in Rio de Janeiro, you will know that my boss was R.J. Frisco (while the events I’m relating are true, I’ve changed all the names).

R.J. was 52 years of age at the time and a widower. He was a tall, stolidly built man with blue eyes, bald as a coot and a pink, florid face. He had three young children, R.J. Junior, (13), Pammy-Sue (10) and Lily (8). They all attended the American School in Rio, but whenever they had dental or medical appointments, I’d be relegated into the job of taking them there and bringing them back. I got to know them well and we developed a mutual liking between us. They were sweet, well behaved kids, who always called me “Miss Joanna,” because their Daddy had told them this was the right and proper way to address me.

R.J. was quite the ladies’ man, and he never saw any reason to confine himself to just one lovely Brazilian lady. He had three of them on the go at the same time, and one of my jobs as his assistant, was to keep them apart from one another, and above all, to keep them out of his hair (had he had any) during business hours. I got to be really good at this, and learned which lady was his particular favourite at that time that he’d want to see and which were just “spares.” The girlfriends came, went and were replaced by others, and frankly their names and faces have become blurred in my memory and I couldn’t tell you about them at the point in time, if my life depended on it – with just one exception – Graciana. She was a tiny, petit little brunette with long black hair, big velvety black eyes and a curvaceous body. I could well see why R.J. would’ve recruited her into his harem. But oh my, small though she was, she had a fiery temper and a very determined will.

“I want to see R.J. right now,” she said, marching smartly into my office.

“I’m sorry, he’s in an important meeting,” I replied, lying in my teeth, knowing full well R.J. was sitting back in his chair, feet up on his desk, smoking a cigarette.

“I don’t care if he’s in an important meeting or not,” she snapped, “You go in and tell him I’m here – right now.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that,” I said. “He told me specifically he was not to be interrupted. He’s in consultation with the Ambassador.”

Looking daggers at me, her pretty mouth in a pout, she stamped her foot, twirled around and stormed out of the office.

We went through this routine on a regular basis, and I breathed a sigh of relief when R.J. dumped her.

R.J. liked to play the ponies. Every Thursday afternoon, he’d go off to the Rio Jockey Club to attend the horse races. I used to make up all manner of excuses for his absences, but I think in the end, the Staff generally cottoned onto the fact that it wasn’t possible to contact R.J. on Thursday afternoons and they stopped trying to do so.

Since R.J. was a widower, I was also called upon to accompany him to social functions, which, frankly, was no hardship at all! In fact, I got to meet so many interesting people in the high echelons of both Brazilian and American society. For a 21 year old, moving in these circles was heady stuff and I loved every minute of it.

R.J. used to have to hold official cocktail parties as well, and it fell on my shoulders to organize and set them up. This required a lot of hard work – compiling guest lists, sending out invitations, receiving acceptances (no one ever turned down an invite to R.J.’s parties), renting a hall, hiring caterers, deciding on what food should be served, hiring bartenders, and waitress (R.J. would specifically instruct me to hire good looking ones)buying the required alcoholic beverages … and hiring musicians to play softly at these soirees, as well as lay on entertainment. On the night of the party, I’d have to get myself all dolled up, and act as gracious hostess next to R.J., greeting guests as they arrived and making sure everyone had a drink of their choice, and that the canapés and Brazilian “quitutes” (delicious titbits and sweetmeats) made the rounds.

One party stands out in my mind and is one I’ll never forget. It was a major party, very important – top Brazilian brass and intelligencia were coming, and I wanted it to be perfect down to the very last picky detail.

At the very last minute – less than fifteen minutes before the party was to begin – I got a phone call to tay the musicians and entertainer I’d hired had all come down with what is euphemistically called the “Rio tummy” – a virulent form of stomach flu that was doing the rounds in Rio at the time. Well, to be honest, I panicked. Background music I could provide with records (33 rpm in those days) through the hall’s loudspeaker system, but what to do about entertainment? It was far too late to try and find a replacement.

Well, there was only one thing I could do – provide the entertainment myself.

I should at this point mention that I’d taught myself to play a guitar at the age of 6, and could sing reasonably well. So I took my guitar with me to the party, and when the dreaded moment came, legs shaking with nerves, I got up onto the stage, guitar in hand. Instantly, the conversation died down and I was facing a hundred and fifty faces, all looking at me, doubtless wondering why on earth I was up there, clasping a guitar.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said. “Many of you know me as just ‘Joanna’ but tonight I am ‘Stopgap Joanna.’ The reasons I’m up here is because the entertainers I had lined up to sing for you this evening have dropped out on me at the last minute due to circumstances beyond their control. I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me.” To my surprise, (and need I say, enormous relief) they rose to the occasion and applauded my announcement, loudly and enthusiastically.

Encouraged by their response, I spent the next hour entertaining them. I told jokes, sang Brazilian songs, American songs, some slightly risqué songs, heck I even sang a Russian song, and my audience were, in a word – wonderful! They laughed at my jokes, applauded wildly after I sang songs, and at the end, as I took my final bow – bless them – they gave me a standing ovation. I was so touched by their generosity and kindness, that I had to swallow a huge lump in my throat and blink back emotional tears.

Best of all, was R.J.’s reaction! He came to me after it was all over, gave me a big hug, and told me how many people had congratulated him on such a successful, wonderful evening, saying they’d enjoyed it more than any of his other parties (high praise that – R.J.’s parties were the talk of the town!). He added that no one believed I hadn’t been the designated entertainer for the evening, because they’d considered my performance, professional.

When I crawled into bed that night, I was utterly worn out and exhausted – but very happy and relieved.

As a result of the success of this evening, R.J. gave me a big fat raise – I reckon I’d earned it too!

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Responses

  1. Well Joanna you deserved that big gat raise my dear. What a great story and what a very interesting life you have lead. Loved the story and I know you have lot more to write about.

  2. What a great story! You certainly are a woman of all trades (American meaning you can do anything). Jo, sometimes I explain my “Americanisms” because I’ve gotten some pretty funny reactions to my “slang.”