Princess from Iran

On 16 January 1979, Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi of Iran had fled Iran in exile as the last Persian monarch. It was a tragic day for the Shah. And for a different reason, totally other reason, it was also a difficult day for Max, the public relations officer in one of five stars hotels in Dubai.

Early morning of that day Max, sat rubbing his hands slowly in front of Mr. coyote, the hotel’s General Manager. He looked like a kid did something wrong and yet asked for candy.

“You know Max that you’re in trouble!” Mr. coyote picked up an internal memo from his tray and handed it to Max. “Here you are. You can read this memo and know how your boss feels fed up with you. He says you’re useless, good for nothing, and do not have a place in the public relations department.

“Then what?” Max answered in both a concerned and relaxed manner. He was worried because if it came to the worst and he lost his job in such a good hotel, it would be difficult to find a similar opportunity. And he was relaxed at the same time because Mr. coyote was his stepfather and would not let him down.

“Then what? What do you expect? You’re spoiled. I’ve already given you a second and third chance, but it did not work. All your concern is the showing off. You walk around acting like you’re some big shot while you’re not. You try to show you’re rich while you’re not. You’re not a real man. You’re fake; you’re Mr. fake.”

“Yes, I might be fake for the time being, but very promising. All I need is the right opportunity to prove myself.” Max answered with confidence. He knew Mr. coyote was also fake, and unless Max’s mother supported him to be a GM, he could have been nothing. Similarly, most big shots in town who are proud of their positions were only fake guys who benefited from their social contacts.

“What’s the opportunity you’re looking for?” Mr. coyote looked through the window to the cloudy sky and asked.

“The bar manager. The bar in this hotel is not doing well, and its manager will retire at the end of the month. I want that position to show my real talents.”

“The manager of Fireside Bar?”

“Yes, The manager of Fireside Bar.”

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Max celebrated his new occupation as a bar manager with his Iranian mistress Rashida. “It’s not a new job only but a turning point in my life,” Max said and raised his glass of wine. “I’m going to do whatever needed to climb up the social ladder and become one of Dubai’s celebrities starting from divorcing my wife.”

“Divorcing your wife!”

“She is only good to let me feel down. On the contrary, you make me feel high and willing to turn my dreams into reality.” Max had a long sip of wine, then looked Rashida in the eyes, “And from today, I’ll officially call you my girlfriend. And others will call you Your Royal Highness.”

“What! Who! Me! How? Did you forget that I’m Rashida?”

“Yes, we’ll invent a story that you’re Rashida Pahlavi, The niece of Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. All members of the Iranian royal dynasty have fled Iran to different countries, and you have chosen Dubai.”

“What! You want me to claim the Shah is my uncle?”

“No, you’ll deny that the Shah is your uncle, but the people will not believe you and insist that you’re Your Royal Highness.”

“I don’t follow!”

“It’s so simple. All I’ve to do is tell some talkative people that you’re Your Royal Highness and ask them to keep this information confidential because you hide your true identity for security reasons. And those talkative will take care to spread this story. Such people feel proud when they tell secret stories; it makes them think they’re informative.”

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The trick of Max worked well. New people started to be the regulars of Fireside Bar. They wanted the opportunity to talk with her Royal Highness. They had the curiosity to find out how a member of the royal dynasty talks and behaves and were amazed to find out Rashida as an ordinary person as they are.

“Your Royal Highness, I can’t think of an honor more than talking to your Highness,” that was how most of the people addressed her when they met her for the first time.

In such cases, Rashida would look at the floor frequently and blink a lot to show she was uncomfortable and shy. and would say in a soft tone, “No, please don’t call me Your Royal Highness. I’m Rashida, and I love people to call me Rashida.”

Over time Rashida became interested to know even the slightest details about the Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, his early life, his education, and marriage. And the same thing about his children, brothers, and sisters. Rashida started to feel she was part of the Pahlavi dynasty and referred to the Shah’s sister Ashraf Al-Molouk as her mother.

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Max was the first to notice the changes in Rashida’s attitude; She started to talk and behave like a Princess and became glad about the title of your Royal Highness. Max was happy with those changes, then started to get worried when Rashida told him that even though she was not the niece of the Shah, her family was very close to the family of the Shah’s wife, Farah Deba. “My mother was Farah’s best friend till Farah got married to the Shah and became the Shahbanu of Iran. Farah new position made her busy, and not having time to meet with my mother daily but would receive her in the Palace and invite her for lunch from time to time.”

Max was aware Rashida was lying, yet he pretended he believed her. “So, the Shahbanu of Iran used to receive your mom in the Shah’s Palace and invite her for lunch?”

“Yes, of course. And sometimes, I used to accompany my mother to the Place; it’s a palatial estate nestled against the Alborz Mountains — a place no Iranian ever dreamed of visiting. You know, even though I’m not from a Royal Family, I feel I deserve to be treated like a Princess and get married to a Prince.”

“Get married to a Prince? So, you’re not willing to get married to me?”

“Come on, Max, you’re my boyfriend, but I can’t imagine you can be my husband one day. Please don’t take it personally; you are fake, and I want a man who’s genuine as me.”