Foreigners in Belgrade

It was the absence of children in her life.

After the wedding, when she'd said she wanted to start a family right away, Tom was amenable. And for a while, she hadn't worried about the lack of results--in fact, she'd been glad for the time to just be a couple. But as the years marched on, full of dashed hopes and false-alarms, a growing sense of emptiness and unfulfillment had begun to oppress her.

She couldn't say whose 'fault' it was--maybe their bodies were just incompatible. But neither of them was eager to roll the dice on costly, debilitating fertility treatments. So, they just kept trying. And failing. Sometimes, she thought the very worst part was how maddeningly philosophical Tom could be about it. "If it's meant to happen, it'll happen," he'd say. "There's no point agonizing over things we can't control." She hated when he talked like that--as if the idea of children was appealing enough, but nothing that he'd ever really crave. It made her feel alone.

By the time Tom proposed moving to Serbia, their barrenness had spanned a full five years and started in on a sixth. Annie was ready to jump at any sort of change. If she couldn't be a mother in the States, then maybe she could reinvent herself as something else entirely overseas. It hadn't worked, of course. But she couldn't really blame herself for trying.

Now, with an effort, she pushed these thoughts down and glanced back at her friend. Evelyn had composed herself, and was eyeing Annie shrewdly. "Are you ok, honey?"

She managed a watery smile. "Yeah. It's just a moving work of art, that's all."

Evie looked unconvinced. "Well, it is that."

* * * * *

They met the girls at Mamma Mia, another Belgrade hangout that was popular with transplants from America and Western-Europe.

There were eight in their party, and the mood was convivial. Annie and Evelyn sat at opposite ends of the table, which was laden with generous platters of pasta, cutlets, salad, and bread, along with endless bottles of a surprisingly good Croatian red.

Evelyn kept most of the older women engaged in conversation. She was not only a great talker, but also keen to learn more about the challenges of caring for a large family in Belgrade. Evie's eldest was in college now, but she still had three more at home, spanning a variety of ages. So, she kept up a steady stream of questions--about the international schools, extra-curricular options, availability of detached houses, and a dozen other things.

Annie, meanwhile, carried on a side-discussion with a couple of the younger women down at her end of the table.

She hadn't been able to shake the bizarre impression Deyana had made on her the previous evening, and when there was a break in the chatter, she decided it might make an entertaining anecdote. "You'll never believe this one. Tom's been working with some government official--real high up. And this guy assigned a woman from his staff to assist Tom. Like, act as his driver and gofer and stuff. But she is the weirdest civil-servant I've ever seen. I mean, if you saw her on the street, you'd swear she was a..." Annie mouthed the word: 'prostitute!'

The other women traded knowing glances. Then one of them laid a sympathetic hand on Annie's arm. "Dear, you need to put your foot down. Try your best to get rid of her. Don't you know how these Serbian bosses operate? They don't have any money, so they pay with what they have--people."

Annie was confused. "I'm not..."

"It's simple. The American is flaunting his dollars, see? And the minister is dying for them, but he knows he needs to ante up too. So, he sweetens the deal by throwing in one of his ladies. And sure--she'll lick envelopes, if that's what your husband asks her to do. But she'll also do anything else he asks her to, if you follow my drift. And to be honest, I doubt she'll even wait to be asked."

The second girl broke in, eager to share some dirt. "You know who had the very same thing happen? Janet Roche! Her husband had some slut from the Defense Ministry assigned to work with him on a procurement contract a few months back. Within a couple of weeks, poor Janet had chlamydia! She's still too mortified to show her face."

Annie frowned and shook her head. "No, it's not like that with Tom. He's not that kind of guy." The other two simply nodded, in the manner of kindly souls humoring the village idiot.

She reddened. Was she an idiot, Annie wondered? Was she, in fact, really sure it 'wasn't like that' with Tom? Deyana was definitely sketchy; and the way Tom and Ricardo had been acting around her at dinner the night before had not inspired confidence.

Still, her husband was a solid, dependable, and basically honorable man--wasn't he? The last thing she wanted was to act like some sort of jealous shrew. She wanted to give Tom the benefit of the doubt.

Even so, she decided she'd better keep her eyes open. Maybe she could persuade Tom that working with Deyana was not a great way to burnish his professional image.

* * * * *

When she arrived home, Annie was still feeling out of sorts. What she wanted was to hide away from the city for a while, with all its drab faces and unpleasant realities. But her apartment didn't offer much refuge. It was laundry day, and Zora was busy puttering around the place.

Annie didn't know anyone in Belgrade who had a washer-dryer. Instead, Zora spent hours every week scrubbing their clothes with caustic soap, then hanging them out in the grimy air of the balcony. It seemed ludicrously inefficient, but that's just how they did things here.

Curling up on the lumpy couch in the sitting room, Annie chose a spot where she could see the maid through the kitchen doorway. She pretended to read yesterday's issue of Blic--scanning the photos and sounding out words in Cyrillic. But mostly she peeked over the top of the paper to watch Zora laboring.

Like everything else in this country, the woman seemed to contain strange and unresolvable tensions. On the surface, Zora was stolid, unbending, utterly determined that things be done only one way: her way. Yet, Annie sensed a slyness within her as well--a malleability and eye for personal advantage that must have helped her survive over long decades of war and oppression.

Today, all her soaping, scrubbing, rinsing, and wringing gradually merged together to form a regular, predictable rhythm. It was soothing and mindless, and Annie's eyelids began to feel heavy. But then, abruptly, something changed--subtly upending the routine, and jerking Annie back to alertness. Zora had stopped to scrutinize one particular garment closely. She scrubbed it hard, and peered at it again. Then again. Finally, she gave a quick peek around (just a reflex, apparently, since she didn't register Annie behind her), wadded up the soggy piece of clothing, and slid it deftly into her handbag.

Annie was baffled. She'd watched Zora like a hawk when they'd first hired her--convinced the maid would start stealing things every chance she got. But that hadn't happened, and gradually Annie had let down her guard. Now it seemed those fears may have been justified. But of all the things Zora might pilfer, why choose some odd bit of clothing? And a wet bit at that?

She bided her time, waiting until the cleaning-lady had hung up the last of the laundry and gathered her things to go. Then Annie pounced, intercepting her at the front door and preventing her from leaving. Zora was built like a linebacker, and could have easily muscled her way by. But Annie carried the authority of being a 'rich American,' not to mention the woman's boss, so the maid stopped short instead, eyes wary.

With an accusatory glare, Annie reached into Zora's bag and pulled out the article in question. It was one of Tom's white button-down shirts. She shook it in front of Zora's nose. "Why do you have this?"

Between Annie's Serbian and Zora's English, they shared a vocabulary of about ten words. It was hardly sufficient for the current need. Zora jabbered at her for a minute, agitated and defensive. Then she seized the shirt from Annie's hand. Uncrumpling it and pointing to a smear of red, she spouted another animated stream of Slavic. Finally, she thrust the garment into Annie's chest, threw up her hands, and edged past to freedom.

Annie stood there in stunned silence. It was lipstick on Tom's shirt, without a doubt. And it was a garish scarlet hue too--cheap and attention-seeking. It wasn't a shade that she would ever wear. But it might have suited Deyana's look perfectly.

Had the maid just been hiding her own inability to clean the shirt? Or was she actively covering for Tom? And if that was the case... had she covered for him before?

Feeling a tightness in her chest, Annie clattered down the stairs and hailed a cab. She needed to talk to her husband. Now.

* * * * *

She guessed Tom would be at Yelena, a business-club he liked, located out toward Savski Venats. After paying the driver, she stalked inside and soon spotted him, sitting at a table with Ricardo, Miloz, and a couple of other guys she'd seen around town before.

Striding over to them, adrenaline pumping, she brandished the wadded-up shirt in Tom's general direction--voice shaking with suppressed rage. "What the hell?!"

He was shocked into silence for a moment. Then he rose and gripped her arm, pulling her away from the table. "Let's talk outside." The other men traded knowing smirks.

Out on the boulevard, Annie's voice rose, drawing stares from the passers-by. "Why is there lipstick on your collar? Tell me. Explain it to me. Are we that much of a cliché?!"

His face was blank and self-contained, his voice level. "What are you talking about?"

"This!" She stabbed at the stain with an accusing finger.

"I don't even know what that is."

"Don't lie to me. I know all about Deyana. She spreads her legs for you, and then you cut her boss a better deal, right? Just business-as-usual in the Belgrade boys' club?!"

"Look, I don't know who's been feeding you this stuff," Tom said, his voice rising now with a hint of agitation. "Is it Miloz? He's been sniffing around you like a junkyard dog since day one. That man is slippery as hell. You get that, don't you?"

"For your information, it was one of the wives who put me on to you. Miloz has nothing to do with it. And I notice that you aren't even bothering to deny that you're sleeping with her."

"Of course I deny it!" he snapped back. "I mean, yes, Deyana has hinted that she'd be, uh... amenable to that sort of thing. I guess it's how they operate around here; this place is fucked up! But no, nothing happened between us. I don't do business that way--you know that. And as for the lipstick, I have no idea how it got there. Maybe she was leaning over my shoulder to look at some papers, I don't know."

Her reply was bitter. "How can you possibly expect me to believe a load of garbage like that? Damnit, Tom, this isn't how it was supposed to go for us. We were supposed to be better than this. You were supposed to be better."

He looked wounded. "Well if I'm not good enough for you, then I don't know what you're even doing here."

Classic Tom, she thought--turn defensive when things get tough, pull away, withdraw. God it infuriated her.

"Frankly--I don't know what I'm doing here either!" She stormed off down the street, too upset to even hail a taxi.

* * * * * * * * * *

SIX

* * * * * * * * * *

It took Annie hours to get back to the apartment.

For a long time, she wandered the streets in the general direction of Skadarliya--trying to think, trying not to think. Eventually she bought a slice of borek and sat down on a bench, watching a few kids splash in the feeble jet of a fountain. She wasn't hungry, but she chewed and swallowed anyway.

When she arrived home at last, dusk was falling. There was no sign of her husband. Automatically Annie brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas. She let some inane comedy play on the television for a while, without comprehending a word. Then she went to bed--drifting off to something like sleep, except without any rest.

Around 5am, giving up on slumber, she rose to get dressed and cook herself some gluey, inedible kasha. Tom never had come home. She stared at the door, wishing he'd appear so she could scream at him. But when it finally opened, it was Zora who came bustling in with her key. The maid was obviously still fuming over yesterday's confrontation, eyes shooting resentful daggers, so Annie roused herself and went out. She spent the morning peering in shop windows, full of dismal displays and shoddy merchandise.

Gradually her steps carried her in the direction of Dorcol. If you'd asked her, she couldn't have said why she was going there, or what she was looking for. But perhaps she found it, because at some point around lunchtime, she turned a corner and ran smack into Miloz, hustling along the street. He smiled and waved, "Annie!"--then stopped abruptly when he saw her expression. "What's wrong?"

She struggled to choke out anything coherent. "Come on," he said at last, sympathetic. "Let's go sit down somewhere and talk."

She took his arm and they walked a block or two east, soon reaching the waterfront park that overlooked the Danube. "I know a great spot," he said, leading her to a secluded bench set in an angle between two hedges. It was overshadowed by a majestic old oak tree, and offered a pleasant panorama of the river.

He waited patiently while she caught her breath and quieted the sobs that kept welling up from her chest. At length, she could speak: "Tom and I had a big fight."

"Yeah," he said gently, "things looked pretty tense yesterday."

"But then he didn't come home last night, and now I don't know where he is."

"I can put your mind at ease on that score, at least. I saw him this morning. We had a meeting scheduled, so Deyana and I swung by just before 10 to pick him up. He was at your apartment then. He suggested I take the meeting myself, though, while he and Deyana went over some things--said it was an ideal time to get some work done, since the place would be quiet. You were out jogging or something. And your maid, what's her name?"

"Zora."

"Yeah, he sent Zora away too. Said she could have the day off. Hell, the two of them are probably still there now. Want me to walk over with you?"

* * * * *

Annie recoiled at the images that Miloz's words had summoned in her mind. Did she actually want to take a chance on catching the couple in-flagrante in her own bed? "No."

Yet after a pause, she went on, anxious for an outsider to weigh in on the doubts that haunted her. Was she being rational? Was she seeing things clearly? "Listen, do you really think that Deyana... I mean, that she and Tom are just working...? I-I've heard things, you know?..."

Miloz looked down at the ground, clearly embarrassed, face slowly reddening. At length he spoke, still not meeting her gaze. "Annie, I'm going to tell you something now. It's not something I'm proud of, and I wish I could keep it from you. But I think you need to hear it. Yesterday afternoon, after you came for Tom at the club?"

"Yes," she said nervously.

"Well, he never returned, and after a while I went back to my place. I was bored, and I guess a little horny, so I called up Deyana and asked her to come over and look at some things. When she arrived, I made a pass at her. And, let's just say that she was very obliging about it, but also extremely frank. She told me it was her job to make us happy--that gratifying Tom and Ricardo was her main focus, but I was part of the package too. She said the minister was very pleased with her whenever she had sex with any of us. And so... we did..." He looked miserable as he spit out the words.

She wasn't surprised, not anymore, but it was still painful to listen to. Two days ago she had never even heard of Deyana. Now, that disgusting slag was running around Belgrade, sullying everything Annie cared about.

"I'm sorry Annie. Only, I want you to know the truth about the deal Tom made. And the truth is--he and Deyana had their hands all over each other this morning. Now, I don't know how far they took it after I left, but I don't think there's much doubt. And frankly it makes me sick. I'm just a lonely bachelor, but if I had a woman like you? God, I would never screw it up. You're too good to be deceived and humiliated like that. You deserve a lot better."

At that moment, something happened that Annie found difficult to explain afterwards. All she could say for sure was that the emotional buffeting of the last 24 hours must have thrown her far off her equilibrium. She'd been attracted to Miloz from the very beginning, of course, but she'd never intended to act on it. So what had changed now? Was it simply a matter of getting even with Tom? A self-indulgent stab at soothing her bruised ego? Or was she driven by some latent jealousy over Miloz, brought to life by the revelation that the Serbian bitch had her hooks in him too...?

She never could say for sure. But whatever the reasons for it, her actions were unambiguous. Leaning over, she kissed Miloz on his sensuous, full mouth. Kissed him hard.

* * * * *

Without hesitation he kissed her back, eagerly, passionately, lingeringly--cradling her face, so that his fingertips curled in beneath her long chestnut tresses to brush lightly across the nape of her neck. She reached a hand up to the side of his head as well, running her own fingers through the glossy white-gold softness of his mane.

On and on they kissed, lips grinding together insatiably. God, it was thrilling! If she and Tom had ever connected with such intensity, it was too long ago to remember. After a bit, Miloz ventured with his tongue, and she opened her mouth gladly to receive him. The two of them just seemed to fit together--their arms and their mouths and their spirits. The warm tingle of their tongues, as they lunged and parried and toyed with each other... it was utterly enchanting.

Soon, Annie was breathing hard, chest rising and falling, heart flip-flopping. With one arm, Miloz had her wrapped in a sturdy embrace, while the other reached across to cradle her hip. Then, deftly, he worked that hand in under her t-shirt, skimming it beguilingly up over her bra. Her flesh responded to him, and she pressed her torso back against his fingers, inviting still more of his touch. Through the thin fabric of the undergarment, he teased and tweaked her areolae, and she caught her breath as electric ripples radiated out through her body. Her nipples hardened instantly, poking out with a boldness that would have embarrassed her if she'd had pause to think about it.

At that moment, however, she wasn't thinking about anything, only feeling. And all of it felt good, and right. The physical sensations were wonderful, of course, but even better was the purity and heat of her emotions. It was so intoxicating to be wanted like this--to want someone else like this--and then to be able to lower her guard and simply give into it...

The woman's bra was stretchy and her breasts were on the small side, so Miloz--moving with a ravenous urgency--had no trouble working the cups up over them. Then he pushed her shirt up too, bringing the elegant, understated curves of her tits out into the open air. He ran his hands over them greedily. And somehow, in the frenzy of the moment, it didn't bother Annie at all to be exposed like this, in a city park, in the middle of the day. In her mind, their lovemaking was private, sacred. It was impossible to conceive that any random passerby might stumble across their hideaway.

Breaking free from her lips with some reluctance, Miloz took her nipples in his mouth, each in turn, sucking and massaging them exquisitely. Annie gasped in delight. The fire slowly building in her sex felt powerful, wonderful. Instinctively her hips began to wriggle, trying to create a bit of friction between her legs.