Chapter 4

When he returned home the following evening, Tom seemed in an unusually positive frame of mind. It was like a breath of fresh air, lending the apartment an upbeat vibe that Annie hadn’t felt for some time.

She lay down her magazine and raised her lips, but he breezed past her. “Don’t get close to me yet, honey. This humidity is awful—I’ve been sweating like a pig!”

After a couple of minutes, he came back to the kitchen, fixing the cuffs on a fresh shirt and giving her a peck on the cheek. “There, that’s better. And I’ve got great news! Real progress today. We persuaded a deputy-minister in Finance to come on board with us. Finally we’re engaged with a player—someone with the clout to cut through all the bullshit we’ve been dealing with.”

“Tom, that’s super! Now I’m really glad we’re going out with Miloz and the Garcias. It’ll be like a proper celebration!” She checked her watch. “In fact, it’s probably about time I start getting ready.”

“In a minute, hon.” He opened his black leather satchel on the table. Pulling out a sheaf of papers, he handed her a pen. “I just need to have you sign a few things first. Here, here, here, and um ... here.”

She stared blankly at the dense, indecipherable blocks of Cyrillic text. “That’s odd. What does it all mean?” She started scribbling her John Hancock in the spaces Tom had indicated.

“What it means is that we’re finally getting somewhere. You remember how we put our seed-money into that joint-account at HSBC? Well, these forms will let us tap into it. Now that things are in motion, it’s time to use those funds to pick up speed.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

In the bedroom, as she mulled her wardrobe options, Annie found herself humming. She was happy for Tom, but she was also just excited to be going out. Visiting restaurants or clubs with her husband was fun, but they rarely had opportunities to socialize with other people as a couple here. The thought of tonight’s dinner-party made her feel more grown-up and sophisticated than she had since coming to Belgrade.

And then too ... well, she had to admit, the idea of seeing Miloz sent an extra flutter through her stomach. It wasn’t really inappropriate to feel that way, she decided. He was just a very likable man. A friend.

In the end, she put together a Balkan-boho outfit—featuring a long floral skirt, and a loose-fitting V-neck blouse sheer enough that her lacy black bra peeked through a little. It struck her as the correct level of racy for a vibrant young woman like herself. Risqué without being slutty.

She’d moved on to testing different pairs of dangly earrings when Tom crowded her out of the diminutive bathroom mirror to fix his tie. Playfully she elbowed him back. “So, where are we going?”

“I don’t know the place,” Tom said, putting the finishing touches on his knot. “Miloz suggested it. It’s out in the boondocks somewhere.”

That made Annie grit her teeth. “Ugh, we aren’t going to have to ride one of those diabolical trams, are we?”

“No, my dear, you’re in luck. I’ve arranged a little surprise—our own private limousine service!”

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. But whatever it was, it sounded good.

When it was time to leave, they clambered down the three flights of stairs and emerged onto the twilit sidewalk. There, Tom began scanning up and down the road. Soon, he crossed his arms and began shifting his weight in impatience. Finally, after a few too many minutes had passed, a black Audi careened around the corner. It barreled recklessly down the street, then skidded to a stop in front of them amidst a screech of brakes. He gestured for her to get in.

Western cars were still a rarity here. This one was old, but appeared to be maintained with care. What surprised Annie far more than the vehicle, however, was the driver—the female driver. “Hi, I’m Deyana,” she said in a sultry, Serbian-inflected voice, reaching a hand around the seat to give Annie a limp shake. “Charmed.”

Annie’s efforts to categorize Deyana came up woefully short. Businesswoman? Girl on the town? Hooker? It was impossible to say. She wasn’t much more than Annie’s age, and had an elegant platinum coif, good skin, delicate features, and a nice figure. These conveyed a certain degree of class. But she also had on way too much makeup—mascara, eyeliner, rouge, lipstick all decidedly overdone. And her clothes! The woman was wearing a cap-sleeve stretch-top with nothing underneath, nipples showing through like a pair of pencil-erasers. Below that, she had on a black microskirt that concealed next-to-nothing. It added up to one very confusing picture, and left Annie flummoxed.

Before Tom and Annie were even settled in their seats, Deyana dropped her foot on the accelerator and they were off. She made the Belgrade cab-drivers look like gray-haired grannies, and Annie found herself clutching the grab-handle over the door for dear life. “You can’t give these assholes an inch!” Deyana said, turning round to talk to her passengers instead of watching the traffic careening toward them. “You drive in Beograd, you must be brave. You see where you want to go, and you just go there! Otherwise they push you around every time.”