Foreigners in Belgrade

One of the other wives had labeled their shared ailment as TSS--'trailing spouse syndrome.' It was a glib phrase, but it did seem to capture something about her situation. Annie kept doing what she could to outrun it--jogging, cooking, shopping, listening to music on Radio-B92 sometimes. But even so, despite her very best efforts, the loaded question of how the hell she'd ended up in Belgrade just never seemed far from her mind.

* * * * *

Tom and Annie arranged to meet Ricardo for dinner at Vuk, a little neighborhood restaurant that experience told them was better than most. All three of them ordered the usual--veal sausages, together with a tomato salad dotted with dry crumbles of cheese.

"Delicious," Ricardo gushed, waving his glass of scotch around like the emperor at the banquet table. "All that, plus booze, for a buck-fifty? You kids are really living it up here!"

Sure--thought Annie, mentally rolling her eyes--as long as you never want to eat anything but sausages.

After dinner, they sat a while longer, relaxing and sipping their drinks. Ricardo and Tom talked shop. Nothing specific, just trading gossip--who was putting money in, who was pulling out, who was making a killing...

It was all a bunch of hot air, as far as Annie was concerned, and she was bored. To pass the time, she people-watched at the throngs passing by. The militia-men in their uniforms, puffed up, arrogant, unruly. The bohemian students, scraggly and acerbic. The refugees... too sad. Annie folded her arms and looked away.

She wondered if anybody really was making a killing. Back in Philly, slogging away at Anders-Beaumont, dismantling rust-belt companies and picking over the carcasses, Tom had chafed to hear how his old classmates were succeeding in the new post-communist worlds of Budapest, Prague, and Moscow. Annie suspected it was only bluster and braggadocio. Those B-school types were all the same: always marketing themselves, selling themselves.

In the end, though, it didn't really matter what was false and what was true. What mattered was that the promise of it was real to Tom. For him, Eastern Europe was the holy grail--a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a virgin land-grab--and if he didn't act quickly, he'd miss out on it completely.

Hence Belgrade. Tom said that the Balkan wars had slowed the development of the region--meaning that it remained a land of new horizons when doors were already starting to swing shut in Hungary and Romania. It was his last chance to get in on the action and hit it big. She hadn't had the heart to stop him from trying.

Once the men ran out of business chatter, the conversation turned to lighter topics, with the extroverted Cuban doing most of the talking. And then eventually, when the hour seemed sufficiently late, they roused themselves and caught a cab over to Klub Industriya.

The backseat was a tight squeeze for three, and Ricardo was the type who expanded to fill any space he occupied. The alcohol on his breath mingled in Annie's nose with the spicy notes of his aftershave. Once they got going, he casually draped an arm over her shoulders, in the guise of pointing to sights of interest--"hey, what's that over there?" Annie kept herself rigid, and answered as best she could.

Thankfully the ride wasn't long, and they soon spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of the club. "You got a real knack for this tour-guide stuff Annie," Ricardo cajoled. "Can I twist your arm into showing me more of the city tomorrow? Why don't you come by my hotel around 10--you don't have anything going on, right?"

Annie had never been good at devising spur-of-the-moment excuses, and her brain came up empty now. She glanced at her husband, praying he'd offer a reprieve, but instead he shot her a look that said to keep the man happy. At last, defeated, she gave in to the inevitable: "Sure, why not."

Tom and Annie usually liked Klub Industriya--a dark, stifling, chaotic basement, stuffed with 800 sweaty bodies and 130 decibels of raw techno-punk every night of the week. As a married couple pushing 30, it was the kind of place that made them feel young. Like they still hadn't lost their edge. Bringing Ricardo along, however, spoiled the effect. Despite being twenty years their senior, he made it seem as if they were the ones who were past it.

After downing a couple more drinks, the man launched himself into the mob on the dance-floor, swaying and spinning with that same energy that he brought to power-lunches, or womanizing. He ground his body up against first one willowy Slavic goth, and then another--displaying a shameless, unapologetic virility that Annie found strangely exciting. She tried to visualize Tom throwing himself into anything like that, but couldn't summon an image to mind.

The two of them danced for a while as well, a bit half-heartedly; then grabbed some beers and stood by the wall, watching the tide of humanity ebb and flow around them. Before very long, Annie noticed Ricardo heading for the exit--drawing a pale, slender girl along with him. The waif looked about 20, with dark, overdone eye-shadow and spiky hair dyed a candy-apple red.

Annie tugged Tom's sleeve and pointed at the couple as they snuck out the door. He rolled his eyes, "same old Ricardo. ... Look, do you want to get out of here too?" She nodded, and led the way as they beat their own hasty retreat.

* * * * *

Next morning, Annie arrived outside Ricardo's suite at the Beograd Inter-Continental at 10am sharp. In place of her usual athletic-wear, she'd selected a flattering navy dress. It struck the right balance, she thought--skirt short enough to show off her calves, but overall effect modest enough to avoid sending the wrong signals.

When she went to knock on the door, it swung open at her touch. The proper response would have been to call from the doorway--but instead, curiosity piqued, Annie simply pushed on in.

The sitting-room lay empty, so she moved along to the bedroom. There, Annie saw a large lump beneath the bedclothes. As she approached, picking her way through the garments strewn all over the floor, the lump groaned. "Fuuucking-A! What was in those pills, honey? You sure it was just E?"

At approximately that same moment, the red-crested goth from the club came strolling out of the bathroom. One glimpse at her sent an embarrassed shudder down Annie's spine: the girl was stark naked! And nor did she make any effort to hide it either--just stood there, hand on hip, gazing at Annie with a blank, bored expression.

Annie found it hard to look away. It wasn't that she was a prude, exactly. It didn't offend her if a movie had nudity in it; and she accepted that men liked to look at Playboy (or worse). But this was real life. The woman was exposed before a stranger, in a completely improper setting. She should have been agitated--should have been trying to cover herself. Instead, she was purely blasé. Annie struggled to imagine how the mind of such a woman must work.

The uncomfortable pause lengthened. The jezebel's ample, bell-shaped breasts faced Annie boldly; and the sparse patch of hair on her pubic mound (also dyed a shocking red) drew Annie's thoughts to the girl's crude sexuality. Everything about the situation seemed mixed up, almost creepy. If the other woman was the one with no clothes on, why was Annie the one who felt under the microscope?

The goth broke the impasse at last, addressing the lump in the bed with a heavily-accented contralto. "You have company."

Ricardo sat up, torso bare, hair scattered wildly. "Aww fuck!!" he said. "God, Annie, I'm sorry--totally forgot you were coming. Can you, ah, maybe just give us a minute..."

Annie sighed. "Sure, I'll meet you outside."

As she left the suite, she made sure the door latched behind her.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, the pair emerged. The girl (wearing last-night's club outfit now) met Annie's glance with cool disdain. Then, flicking her eyebrows dismissively, she sauntered off down the hall.

Ricardo was hastily attired--the tail of his shirt sticking out in back, and hair battered into submission with the aid of gel. "Annie, what can I say? I may have had a drink too many last night. ... That club was a great find, though--place really rocks!"

Annie studied his face. She wasn't sure if he'd suffered any shame or embarrassment at being discovered with that naked harpy--but if so, he seemed well over it now. It was infuriating, really, but she told herself to let it drop. Disapproving of the man was a waste of energy. "Come on, it's sunnier today. I'll show you the old town."

The charm of the historic quarter's 19th-century architecture was still evident beneath the grime and dilapidation of communism and collapse. As they strolled along, Annie did her best to bring the city's past (what little she knew of it) to life for her guest.

Soon, however, there was a break in her monologue, and Ricardo jumped in to change the subject. "Sweetheart, I'm afraid I had an ulterior motive for getting together today. See, my firm's planning a whole series of investments in the Balkans, and I'm going to set up HQ here in Belgrade as regional director. I'm not a fan of the long-distance relationship thing, though, so I need to convince Evelyn to move over with me. She's not exactly sold on the idea, but she did at least agree to come check the place out. That's where you come in. She's arriving by train tomorrow. And what I need you to do is, you know... talk her into it. You and Tom are thriving here--you just need to show her that she can thrive too."

Thriving, huh? Well, Annie supposed that was how Tom had presented things to his old boss, and she had no desire to undermine him. Still--persuading Evelyn to move here? It sounded almost cruel.

Yet, from a purely selfish perspective, Annie did enjoy spending time with Evelyn. She was Ricardo's long-suffering spouse, and Annie had known her pretty well in Philly. True, the woman's personality was a tad flamboyant; but even so, she was head-and-shoulders above any of those pitiful hangers-on at the Metropolitan Grill. If Annie was going to be stuck in Belgrade indefinitely, she could do far worse for company.

But then--well, there was that spectacle Annie had witnessed this morning, still vivid in her mind. It really seemed like an indiscretion of that magnitude ought to supersede all those other pros and cons. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable advising Evelyn to do anything right now. Not after what I saw back at the hotel..."

Ricardo waved it away. "What, that? That was nothing. Girl had too much to drink and needed a place to crash, that's all. I took pity on her. You don't think anything happened, do you? Fuck, she's the same age as my daughter Cindy!"

Masterful performance, Annie thought. Spout a breathtaking series of lies, then finish up with one honest statement. ... But you know--she decided at last--just screw it! Tom and Ricardo's dealings, Ricardo and Evelyn's relationship... it was all too messy. Better for her to stay strictly neutral, and let them figure it out. It wasn't her place to meddle anyway.

"Well... it will be nice to see Evelyn again." Even before the words were on her lips, Annie knew it was an admission of defeat. Ricardo's triumphant grin only confirmed it.

They went on with the tour, and as they walked, Annie got all the details for Evelyn's visit. Then, once a decent interval had passed, she moved to wrap things up, guiding their steps back to the sidewalk in front of his hotel.

Before parting, Ricardo insisted on wrapping his arms around her in another tight, cologne-scented embrace. "Thanks Annie, you're a doll! Hey, I know it's a little early, but you wanna come up to my suite for a drink?"

Gingerly, she detached herself from his clutches. "Bye Ricardo." Yep, just like old times...

* * * * * * * * * *

THREE

* * * * * * * * * *

By the next day, the Tom-and-Ricky show was already giving signs of heating up. At the breakfast table that morning, Tom pored over his executive-planner, mapping out a slate of meetings for the two of them to take together.

When Annie learned of it, she couldn't help pulling a face. "You're really getting back into business with him?"

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "Look, nothing's decided yet. We're both just, um... kicking the tires. We'll team-up, informally at first, take a fresh run at some of these officials, and see what happens. Find out if we can work together--and whether we get any traction that way. If everything checks out, well, then we can decide if it makes sense to partner up for real."

"Yeah, but... I mean, Ricardo?"

"Annie, we don't have to love the guy. I certainly don't. But I do love the money he's got behind him. So, I'd better at least try to work with him, right?"

This logic made no sense to Annie; but Tom's priorities were mystifying to her sometimes. She decided to push back a little: "Maybe I'm being dense, but explain it to me--how will this be any different than what you did before? You working for Ricardo, restructuring obsolete old companies... I thought we came here to do something good, something new." Not (she added to herself), to rehash the past, except in a Balkan hellhole!

Tom dismissed her concerns out of hand. "No, it's totally different. First off, I won't be working for Ricardo, we'll be partners. Second, we will be doing good--helping these people adapt to how capitalism works after a lifetime spent under communism. And third, I'll get a much bigger cut of the action here, than I ever did in the States."

Annie didn't say anything. Tom seemed to feel these arguments were unassailable, but he'd lost her at point number one. She wasn't a business tycoon, but even she was smart enough to know that the person holding the money was the one in charge.

Still, if she went any further down this path, it would only escalate into an argument. She didn't see any purpose in that--they had enough arguments as it was.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," he put in. "We'll be tied up at the customs bureau all afternoon. Ricardo asked if you can meet Evelyn and get her situated at the hotel."

Typical.

* * * * *

After breakfast, Annie went for a run, hoping to work some of the frustration out of her system. She'd covered a good bit of the city and was in the home stretch, jogging past the Prince Mihailo statue, when she heard someone call her name. Halting to scan the courtyard, she noticed Miloz slouched against a wall opposite, puffing another cigarette. When he saw he'd caught her eye, he straightened up--his broad, open face breaking into a smile.

With a brisk step, he set out across the square towards her, and Annie took the opportunity to stoop for a moment, hands on bare knees, to catch her breath. Then, as Miloz drew near, she rose again to meet him, watching as he tossed his smoke away.

"Nasty habit, eh? My Serbian bad-boy side asserting itself I guess." She grinned in reply, to show that she wasn't put off by it. "So, Annie Parker," he continued, with a gesture that took in Belgrade as a whole, "what's a nice girl like you doing in a god-forsaken dump like this?"

A hint of a breeze riffled through the man's flaxen hair. His cool, easy demeanor made her uncomfortably aware of how flushed and sweaty she was, and how clammily her running attire stuck to her skin. It would have been better if she'd met Miloz at the start of her route, when she was still relatively collected, instead of at the end.

Still, she was glad to see him. And she appreciated his snide dig at the city. Annie always found herself self-censoring around Tom--trying to stay positive, trying to support his dreams. It was refreshing to think she could be frank with Miloz, and she adopted his bantering tone. "Why, Mr. Katić, don't forget: you chose to live in this purgatory too."

"Touché!" he laughed. "But maybe a twisted soul like me deserves to be stuck in a twisted city. What's your excuse?"

"Well, Mr. Katić," she said with mock seriousness, "my only purpose here is business, all business, and nothing but the business. Is there anything else besides business?"

He laughed again. "You're funny! But at the risk of making your head explode, I should say there's some good news on the business front. Your friend Ricardo's really interested in hiring me for his enterprise. In fact, it's looking like he and Tom and I will be working together a lot. So, I hope you and I will continue to see each other too. That would certainly brighten up my days--and perhaps bring a little life to yours as well."

Annie reddened and her smile widened. "That's wonderful! You'll be a big help to them. But promise you won't get too immersed in their wheeling and dealing, ok? That pair tends to get tunnel-vision. So when they start rambling on about expense-ratios and debt-burdens, I'll expect you to take up the slack of normal conversation."

Miloz nodded agreeably. "It's a deal. I hereby designate myself: vice-president in charge of chitchat!" Then, after a brief pause, "Hey, I don't want to pry, but I must admit I've been dying to find out how things went with the police. The forms are intricate, and the legal terminology can be tricky for someone trained in business vocabulary. I hope your husband was able to cross the T's and dot the I's ok?"

"Well, everything seems fine," she said. "Of course, the money's gone."

He looked sympathetic. "Yes. I'm sorry about that. Belgrade can be very cruel to foreigners."

Annie tried to act nonchalant. "Nevermind, we'll all be billionaires soon and it won't even matter. ... Oh, and speaking of your new boss, did you hear that Ricardo's wife Evelyn is coming to town? She's arriving this afternoon!"

"That's great news!" Miloz beamed. "Knowing Ricardo, I bet she's full of energy and lots of fun--though I'm certain she won't hold a candle to you. Say, I have an idea: why don't we have dinner tomorrow, all of us? I know the perfect place!"

"It's a date!" she said warmly. "I'll tell Evelyn and you tell the boys. But I'd better be running along now, I need to shower before her train comes in."

"Of course," he said, "see you tomorrow."

* * * * *

Overtipping lavishly, they had no trouble getting Evelyn's luggage moved to the suite at the Inter-Continental. (Annie wondered whether the woman's presence there would put any kind of a dent in Ricardo's extra-curriculars.) With that accomplished, they decided to go out for a stroll and get reacquainted.

The late-afternoon sun slanted golden through the air, and the atmosphere was less close than it had been earlier in the week. Even so, a tinge of distaste crossed Evelyn's face as she surveyed the grimy buildings, grim shops, and sooty thoroughfares--like she'd bitten into an apple and found a worm. "Ricky's pretty set on moving here," she said dryly, "but I'm struggling to grasp the appeal."

Annie had settled on a tone of mild boosterism. It seemed better than either caustic honesty, or baldfaced lies. "Belgrade is rough around the edges, but it's not all bad. There's a lot of history, and the communists built some nice things. And with our husbands' help, maybe the future will be rosier, huh?" Carried along by the rush of seeing an old friend, she almost believed it.

As Miloz had guessed, Evelyn was a vivacious lady. Annie had always admired the brassy way she carried herself--like a peacock, parading before the world. Evie's origins lay in respectable Mid-Atlantic wealth, but her branch of the family had moved to Florida decades ago and gone feral. The result was a female who was savvy, slightly hedonistic, and a true force of nature.

Evelyn's crown jewels were her large, voluptuous breasts, and she knew it. She never hesitated to flaunt them, preferring daring necklines that showed off her cleavage. As if to prove that she wasn't top-heavy, however, she'd also cultivated a feline saunter that highlighted her curvaceous hips. Basically, she was all woman--and Annie admired that, even if her own approach to femininity was quite different.