Roxana was smart, funny, attractive, and tall, with long chestnut hair, a degree in journalism from Bucharest University, and a postgraduate diploma in development studies from Oxford. They were sitting at a small corner table in Grad, an upscale vodka bar on the corner of East 10th Street and Second Avenue, watching the door for celebrities during happy hour. Page Six had just run a huge list of star patrons caught downing cocktails at the long brushed-steel bar and enjoying the faux-Moscow 1950s décor of bare wooden floors, Soviet posters, and utilitarian furniture dubbed “Retro-Irony” by the column, but none seemed to be in attendance so early in the day. Roxana, a rare friendly face in the spokesman’s office, had been flirting with Sami for several weeks, asking when he would take her for a drink, or show her some New York nightlife. Sami usually avoided such invitations from female UN officials, believing, correctly, they were only issued because of his position at the Times.
