The woman made him think of Kate and he found himself wishing that his wife was beside him. When the weather was like this, he’d put his arm around her, and pull her into the shelter of his shoulder. He could almost feel the warmth and weight of her. If she were here now, he would take her to one of the restaurants on the river, where they’d watch the light on the water, and drink red wine.
Snap out of it.
He turned the corner, and there was the Esplanade. He headed straight for the bar. Now that it was nighttime, half the little tables were occupied, with each one sporting a candle in a red glass. A brace of microphones on a tiny stage threatened live entertainment. He’d read in the guidebook that one of the musical specialties of Belgrade was a hybrid of techno and Serbian folk music called turbofolk.
The bar itself was more like a voodoo altar. A long blue mirror strung with Christmas lights looked down on dusty bottles of whiskey, gin, and vodka. Plastic cacti glowed green amid miniature Chinese lanterns, pink flamingos, paper angels, and bobbleheads of Marilyn, Jesus, and Elvis. A woman filled four mugs of beer, then turned to him with an inquiring look.
“I’m looking for Tooti,” Burke said, barely believing the words.
The woman behind the bar was forty, or maybe even fifty, with thinning hair and an unhealthy pallor. “You found her.”
“There was an American who stayed at the Esplanade in January. The desk clerk thought you might have seen him. About my age.”
She arched a plucked eyebrow.
“He wore a hat,” Burke added. “When I saw him, he was wearing a fedora, or whatever they’re called.”
She smiled. “He’s gay, this guy?”
Burke shook his head. “No. I mean, I don’t know.”
Her lips came together in a pout. “Then what do you care?”
He thought about lying, but the effort was almost too much. So what he said was: “It’s kind of complicated, but… my name’s Burke. I’ve come a really long way. Y’know?”
She looked at him for a moment, and then she nodded, as if deciding something. When she smiled, Burke realized that she must have been a very pretty girl. “His name was Frank.”
Burke lit up with surprise. “You remember him!”
“We don’t get so many Americans,” she explained. “Mostly, they go to the Intercon.”
“You want a drink?” Burke asked. He put a thousand-dinar note on the table. She poured herself a tumbler of Johnny Walker Black. Took a sip and frowned. “You’re not a cop?”
Burke shook his head.
“You don’t look like a cop.”
“What’s a cop look like?” he asked.
“Big muscles and little piggy eyes.” She leaned on the bar. “Last week, two guys come from the RDB. They ask about this ‘Frank’ guy.”
“RDB?”
She rolled her eyes. “State Security.”
“So what did they say?” Burke asked.
“Who cares? No one tells them anything.”
“Why not?”
“These same pricks are here two months ago. Arrest nice girls.” She paused. “Okay,” she admitted, “maybe they do prostitution. But no trouble, ever. Good tips, too.” She looked Burke in the eyes. “You tip?”
Burke nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’m always tipping.”
“Good! Because here, most people don’t tip. I blame communism.”
Burke nodded in sympathy. Tossed another thousand dinars on the bar.
“Anyway,” Tooti said, “nobody tells these cops nothing.”
“Y’know, your English is really good…”
“I’m in Chicago for twenty years. West side.”
“Really?! And then… what? You came back.”
“My mother was sick, so…” She threw back her scotch, as if it were a shot of tequila.
“She get better?” Burke asked. “I mean, is she all right?”
Tooti tilted her head and smiled, surprised that he’d asked. “Yeah,” she said. “She’s fine now. They cut it out.” She paused. “Look, I don’t mind telling you about this Frank of yours, but don’t get excited. I don’t know much.”
“You know his name. You call him Frank.”
She shook her head. “He called himself Frank. He’s coming in, has a couple of beers. He’s not so friendly.”
“So what did you talk about?” Burke asked.
“I said, ‘Hi. I’m Tooti.’ And he said, ‘Frank.’”
“That’s it?”
Tooti nodded. The dinars vanished.
Burke felt as if he’d been had. “He talk to anyone else?”
Tooti shook her head. “No. And it’s too bad. Good-looking boy like that. Some people flirt with him – girls, boys – he’s not so interested.” She thought for a moment. “Most of the time, he’s writing.”
“Writing?”
“He has notebook,” she explained. “Sometimes, he sits where you are, and I look. He’s writing letters.” She frowned. “But not Aunt Mary ‘letters.’ Letters and numbers.”
“You mean, like-”
“Algebra. I think maybe he’s a student.” She tapped her glass with a finger and looked at Burke with an inquiring expression. He nodded and she poured herself another drink.
“He never talked about himself?”
She shook her head. “One time, he danced.”
“Danced?” Burke asked.
Tooti nodded. “This night, the band takes break. Not too much business. But Frank, he is getting loaded. So… he dances.”
“By himself?”
Tooti laughed. “Yeah! And this dance, it’s not the Twist, y’know? I mean, it’s not like any dance you’ve ever seen! This guy Frank, he’s kind of humming. Turning around. It’s like he’s floating. Very graceful, but… Anyway, he dances for a long time – five, ten minutes. After a while, the band stood there, watching him. Me, too.”
She looked at Burke. His expression told her that he didn’t know what to make of the story. She shrugged. “Anyway, when he stopped dancing, he gave me a big tip. Said he was going away.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No.” She tipped her glass back and downed the rest of her drink.
Burke turned to go.
“Oh,” she said. “Wait. One more thing. He spoke Serb.”
“No shit…”
“The night he was drunk. His accent was terrible. I asked him if he was with NATO – sometimes, the soldiers pick it up. He just shook his head. So I thought, maybe he has relatives here. But no. He said he learned it from books.”
“In school?”
Tooti shook her head. “No. He said he taught himself.”
Burke thanked her again and went up to his room, where he looked out the window at the snow. It was coming down harder now, turning headlights into opalescent beams as the cars crossed the city’s bridges.
He lay in bed, watching the lights of cars slide up the wall and across the ceiling. It was all so weird. Nikola Tesla and Ayn Rand, talking Serb and crazy dancing.
With a sigh, he rolled over and closed his eyes. Beyond the window, a car was stuck in the snow, spinning its wheels. Tell me about it, he thought.
Seeing Burke in the lobby the next morning, the desk clerk nodded toward the doorman, a little guy in a magenta uniform with gold braid and epaulets.
Burke walked up to him. “Ivo?”
The doorman turned, surprised that Burke knew his name. “Yes?”
“Mr. Milic said I should talk to you.”
“Yes?”
Burke gave a little wave to the desk clerk, who returned the gesture with a smile. “Yeah, he said you might be able to help me. I’m looking for a friend.” Burke handed him a folded ten-euro note. “An American guy. Stayed here a while ago. About my age. Black hair.”
“This is Frank.” Ivo buried the ten euros in his pocket.
“Right! Frank. You know what happened to him? You know where he went?”
“Sure, he goes to airport. Bye bye.” Ivo held the door open for an elderly woman in a fur coat. Touched his hat, and smiled.