Inside the Billiard Bar, I thought, was the wife of a gambler or a guest of the hotel.She was the only one in the place aside from the bartender, and it didn't occur to me anyone would be working the empty room. After a few minutes she was at my table saying yes, she worked at the hotel.They were there for sheiks who would think nothing of dropping ten grand on a good time. I looked down and explained my ride was waiting out front.After an awkward farewell, she settled back in the booth to finish her drink I'd promised I'd stop by the Four Seasons Giza, so the following day I did and talked with the poolside bartender about my Marriott experience."Americans always figure that out so fast," she told me.

Ahmed had been dating a girl from rural Egypt who came to Cairo after the revolution to earn money to send to her family. And he quickly made it clear she floundered at the job: she was unable to demand payment and allowed men to do whatever they liked. Even worse, the girl had disappeared and Ahmed hadn't heard from her in months, until that morning on Facebook.They were different: they had arrived with men on the casino floor or they simply belonged in a different price range.I left and went to the restaurant down the hall to wait for my ride.She was sitting in the velvet wallpapered bar, empty but for Frank Sinatra's voice, because as a local she couldn't enter the casino.The girls by the entrance were for high-rollers, she explained with a mix of bitterness and envy.