Behind Palace Walls: In the service of a Saudi princess by Cay Garcia

By Cay Garcia

Cay Garcia was once given just a couple of hours to close up her assets and go away Riyadh for good.

She had dared to confront her corporation, a tender Saudi princess, concerning the therapy of her employees. during this ebook, she stocks the intrigues of Riyadh's expat group and exposes the nasty underbelly of the extravagant lives of Saudi Arabian royalty.

This candid and bright account of her time within the provider of the princess is an element travelogue, half romance and half exposé.

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It was hard to believe what she was saying. Her daughter, a girl just like me, was sick with tuberculosis. I had never known anybody who was really sick, and it hadn't occurred to me that a girl just eleven years old and our neighbor could actually be bedridden with tuberculosis. I swallowed hard and thought I Page 30 should say I was sorry or something, but the words just stuck in my throat. If I had to go to see Annie Laurie, and I supposed I would, what would I talk about to a girl my age and sick in bed?

The air was so cold my breath froze and floated away like a misty cloud; but in the dry atmosphere the cold didn't penetrate my flannel gown, and I hardly noticed it. As I started back up the steps, my ear caught that first clear bugle note, the sound of reveille out at Fort Bliss. Quick as a flash I tucked the folded paper under my arm, turned around, and ran out to the edge of the street.  . Every child in the neighborhood knew those words. I tapped my blue felt bedroom slipper in time and repeated the words to myself: Coffee, coffee, coffee, Sugar never seen, Page 4 Bacon, bacon, bacon, And nota streak of lean.

Most of the patients out there were veterans and didn't have a lot of visitors, so the Toonerville didn't have many passengers and only ran on the hour. Anyway, the motorman, Mr. Gibbs, looked out for us. When he saw us coming down hill he clanged his bell bloody murder, but he knew we'd have trouble stopping, and at the last minute after all the clanging he would bring the little trolley to a stop right at the pavement's edge, giving us a friendly wave and the right-of-way. When we were skating downhill, once we jumped our skates over the Toonerville track, it was clear coasting on to Dyer Street at the bottom of the hill.

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