Strangers in Budapest

by Jessica Keener

  “You don’t. You have to see who’s behind what. See what kind of money is invested, that sort of thing.”

  “And what about your mayor?”

  “He’s thinking.”

  “Which means?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. But he hasn’t said no.”

  “I’m starting to wonder if the newspapers know what they’re saying.” Annie said. “Is anyone having success here?”

  Will nodded. “A few. Possibly. I don’t know.”

  “Not that bagel place,” Annie said.“The Wall Street Journal got it all wrong.”

  “Agreed.”

  A New York – style deli launched by two Americans got a rave in the Wall Street Journal, but Annie knew for a fact it was struggling. She’d met one of the owners. Apparently, bagels, lox, and cream cheese weren’t must-have foods for Hungarians. Yet a story profiling the “successful” venture made the front page of the Wall Street Journal. Front page!

  “And that American-style laundry,” Will said. “A bust.”

  “I know. But they wrote a full-length column in the business section touting its success. I don’t get it,” Annie said.

  “They need to do their research.”

  “That’s why Bernardo misses you.” At Fendix, Bernardo once told her how Will excelled at research, found obscure data that no one else could uncover.“This is going to be strange to see him here,” she said.

  “Yup,” Will said, sounding tense.

  They stepped onto the Pest side and headed for the luxury hotel in the city center a few short blocks away. Bernardo was staying there. How typical of him. He didn’t scrimp on material things. He went for the best. The Kempinski was Budapest’s newest top-of-the-line and only five-star hotel.

  At the hotel’s entrance, a doorman in uniform opened one of several glass doors, raising an eyebrow at her, nodding approval. Will pointed to a door off the main lobby that led to a smaller bar and dining area. They walked into a darkened, air-chilled room with contemporary blond wood and wall-to-wall carpeting. She had been here before with Leo on one of the summer’s many sweltering afternoons.

  “Annie, Annie, Annie,” Bernardo said, embracing her. Short and muscular, he squeezed her just a little too hard and kissed her on the lips as if she were his old, trusted friend, which, of course, she wasn’t.

  “Can you believe we’re here in this friggin’ place together? Sorry, Annie. I can’t believe it myself. Jesus, it’s cheap here. A person can live like a king. I can see why you came here. How are you? What can I get you? Glass of wine? Beer?” Bernardo flagged the bartender.

  “Never expected it,” Will said, shaking Bernardo’s hand.

  “Neither did I, man.” Bernardo grinned at Annie. “You sure look good as ever. How’s motherhood?”

  The thing about Bernardo, he could be your best friend: personable, asking all the right questions, handsome with lively expressions and flushed complexion. He knew how to break through to people, especially when they resisted him.

  “Motherhood’s great. Amazing. Thanks.”

  The bartender looked expectantly at Bernardo. Bernardo grinned and swiped a lock of hair off his forehead. “A bottle of that Hungarian red wine I’ve been drinking. Great stuff.”

  Will pulled out his new wallet to pay, but Bernardo refused him. “No, no. This is on me.”

  “Egri Bikavér. Bull’s Blood, they call it.”

  “What’s that again?”

  “Eg like egg, and re as in refinance,” Will said.

  Bernardo shook his head, laughing. “Got it. It’s imprinted in my brain forever. Eggs refinanced. I like that.”

  Bernardo was handsome. She’d give him that. Square, balanced face, thick black hair, and eyes that zeroed in on her with precision and intensity. She could feel him wanting to know what she was really thinking about him, about his being here.

  “I know. I know. You can’t believe I’m here either,” he said to her. “I left Fendix last month. Opportunities are too good to pass up, but you already know that.”

  He looked at Will, eager for affirmation.

  “Plenty of it,” Will said.

  “Annie. You talking Hungarian now?”

  “No. Hardly. I point a lot,” she said, smiling.

  “It’s not a third-world country, as you can see,” Will said.

  Annie smiled. She and Will were used to this misperception of Hungary by Americans.

  “Yeah. Man. Mea culpa. Love the power of the dollar here, though,” Bernardo said. “Unbelievable.”

  “It sure is,” Will said.

  “That’s what I want to tell you about. Sonny’s got a start-up.”

  Sonny was Bernardo’s former boss who took a retirement package two years ago, then bought land in the mountains of North Carolina.

  “Go on,” Will said, slipping his arm around Annie’s waist.

  Start-up was the other buzz word. Annie was sick of hearing about start-ups.

  “This one’s going someplace,” Bernardo said, looking at her, noticing her resistance. “Sonny’s got twenty investors. Most threw in half a mil. You should see his place. Beautiful. House on a lake, woods, fields. Works from home. Got a computer, a few phone lines. What else does a person need these days, you know? Called me for months. Wouldn’t let up. Seriously. Finally offered me half a mil up front, plus monthly bonus incentives. I’m good for a couple of years even if nothing works out. The deal’s going down right now. Couldn’t refuse it. Could you?”

  “That’s serious money. When did he get this going?”

  “Spring. Not even six months.”

  “Nice plans,” Annie said. “They’re moving quickly.”

  The money was impressive, yet something in her recoiled. As Bernardo talked, she couldn’t help thinking of his duplicitous behavior at Fendix. She had liked Bernardo when she first met him at a company function soon after Will took the job, but over time she grew disenchanted with his magnetism. Was he sincere? She couldn’t say. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. He was a climber, of that she was sure. He liked to put his arm around you, then step on your shoulders on the way to higher corporate levels. Annie remembered how Bernardo had befriended one of the marketing directors, a gay man named Harrison, then fired Harrison to please the higher-ups who despised Harrison because he was gay.

  “I didn’t get it when you left. It confused me, I admit it,” Bernardo said to Will as the bartender filled their glasses from a newly opened bottle of Bull’s Blood. Bernardo passed the bartender a rolled-up American dollar.

  “Whatever happened to Harrison?” Annie asked.

  “Poor bastard,” Bernardo said, taking a long swallow of wine. “Hardest thing I ever did. Hardest thing. I heard he took a job in Miami. He landed on his feet. Look, maybe it was for the best. I liked him personally. You know I did.” He looked at Annie for affirmation.

  Annie tasted her wine. He was convincing. But she decided not to believe him.

  “I know you did,” she said, looking away.

  She finished her glass, wishing she had eaten something before coming over. Already, the Bull’s Blood was surging through her limbs.

  Will placed his palm in the small of her back.

  Annie wondered about Bernardo’s wife. Where was she in this new mix? There were rumors about that, too. “How’s Eileen?” Annie asked. “And the kids?”

  “Unstoppable. Taking care of the kids. Great kids. She’s a brick. Unbreakable.”

  “Tell her hello,” Annie said.

  “Absolutely I will. I want her to come over here. If I’m going to do this and do it right, I want the family to move here. Like you.”

  As she leaned against Will’s arm, Annie remembered how Bernardo’s urgency could either annoy or charm, depending on his need at that moment. Did he need Will to do his dirty work, or was he simply looking for a drinking companion, someone to keep him company in this lonely country? And then there was Bernardo’s life story, which he liked to tell—how he came to America from Ve
nezuela when he was six and how he grew up with his aunt and uncle in New Jersey. He never spoke about his parents. It was a story he told when he first met you: how he had to fight to fit in, how kids made fun of his accent, how he went to Stanford on scholarship. It was an admirable story—she recognized that—a true American success story.

  “Bernardo, you know better than anyone what it’s like to move to a foreign country,” she said.

  “I was a kid. Sure. I’m ready, but Eileen has questions. She’s on the fence.” He shrugged. “You’re living like kings, right?” He seized the menu and started reading: “Bottle of wine: two dollars and fifty cents. You got to be kidding! Can’t get a single glass of wine for that in the States. What do you pay for your place?”

  “Practically nothing. Couple hundred a month,” Will said. “We got lucky. Our old Hungarian neighbors back in the States had connections. If you go through American channels, you’ll pay three times as much, but it will still be cheap.”

  “Listen, Will. I want you in on this. Money’s not an issue. Seriously. I need you to help me out here.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Come on board full-time. We can talk details tomorrow. Meet for coffee in the morning.”

  “No promises, but I’ll be happy to talk,” Will said.

  “That’s all I’m asking. Now let’s have some fun. Shall we eat? What do you recommend for dinner?”

  THEY ATE AND drank at a table in the bar. Will and Annie sat on one side of the table, Bernardo across from them. Will ordered chicken paprikash for Bernardo, a classic Hungarian dish and a favorite of Annie’s because of its tender meat. Gnocchi-like pasta floated in a light sauce of garlic, paprika, onion, and a dab of sour cream. That was the Hungarian palate—a weave of subtle, quiet spices that drew you in.

  “I feel like I’m with family,” Bernardo said, polishing off another glass of wine. “When you told me you were hauling over here with the baby, I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head. “But I gotta tell you. I envied you. I thought you were crazy, but I envied you. I admit it.”

  “Most people thought we were crazy to come here, especially with a new baby,” Will said.

  “Crazy is good. It’s good,” Bernardo said. “You take risks and it pays off.”

  “You hope so,” Will said.

  Annie, of course, knew the full story. Risk meant endlessly waiting for mayors to decide. Lots of promises, nothing concrete, no tangible money in hand. It was all starting to look and feel like smoke and mirrors, like the bagel and laundry stories. Promising? Yes. But, so far, no more than that. Worse, it was starting to feel like a secret she didn’t want to keep. The initial capital would soon run out and neither of them wanted to dip into their savings. God. She didn’t want to think about that.

  “I admired you and I hired you.” Bernardo laughed at his silly rhyme. “I got that right.”

  “Yes, you did,” Annie said. She smiled, acknowledging that, indeed, it was Bernardo who had courted Will, hired him at Fendix, and given him a solid financial start. “What’s new in Boston?” she asked.

  “Real estate’s starting to move. I mean, really move. You could sell your house for twenty percent more now. And it’s not stopping anytime soon.”

  “Is that so?” Annie said. Real estate was in her blood. She grew up listening to it, so it galled her to think she could have made more in such a short time, but then, that was Bernardo goading her a little, looking for her weak spot.

  “Timing’s everything,” Bernardo said.

  “We got a good price,” Will said. “A good profit.”

  “We did,” Annie said, smiling. They sold their house quickly because of the renovation and got all their money back and then some. Of course, they could have sold it for more if they had been willing to wait longer, but once Will gave his notice at Fendix, he wanted to leave ASAP. Everyone was talking about Eastern Europe. Budapest was hot. Prague was hot. Will wanted to start right away.

  “If I sell my house, I’ll make fifty percent above what I paid for it. But I’ve got to get my wife to agree.”

  “You don’t have to sell it. You could rent it,” Annie said, feeling momentarily bad about his marital struggles. “We thought about doing that,” she said, turning to Will.

  “We sold it. We made money. We’re here,” Will said. “We’ll buy another house.”

  “Buy something here,” Bernardo said.

  “Absolutely not,” she said, laughing, knowing Bernardo was prodding again, looking to see where she really stood on this matter of relocation and, additionally, how long she was willing to stay. She didn’t want to give Bernardo any hint about that. Let him wonder. “Why don’t you buy something here?” she said, prodding him back.

  He grinned, taking her bait. “Maybe I will. Why not? What would it cost you for a place on the river?”

  “Nothing. Twenty thousand American dollars. Can you believe that?” Will said. “But it’s hard to say how long you’d need to wait to get a return. Could be decades.”

  Under the table, Annie felt Will’s hand on her thigh, reassuring her.

  “What about Eileen?” Annie wanted to shift the focus back to Bernardo’s problem. “Does she want to move?”

  “Eileen’s tough. That’s why she married me.”

  He grinned, letting her know that he knew he was evading her question.

  AFTER DINNER, THEY took a cab to Club Z, a punk rock bar that Annie and Will discovered by accident one night on one of their meanderings through the city. In the cab, Annie sat between Will and Bernardo, the wind fanning them through the car’s open windows.

  “Don’t they have air-conditioning?” Bernardo said. “Ask him.”

  “No work,” the driver said.

  Bernardo pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his collar, then turned to Annie. “When in Budapest, right?”

  “I’m watching it,” Will said to the driver, pointing to the taxi meter. “No games.”

  The driver, a gray-haired, skinny man, shrugged.

  Annie was glad Will was asserting his authority, letting the cabbie know he knew all about taxi scammers who ran up the meters on clueless foreigners. Again, she found herself needing self-affirmation that they were not as naïve as Mr. Weiss had said they were. Unnerving man. She wondered if he were bipolar or something. When she had called him back after her women’s luncheon, he had been abrupt, said he couldn’t talk, had practically hung up on her, then surprised her by calling her the next morning, sounding perfectly calm and asking her to stop by. He told her that he had something he needed to tell her. Not on the phone. Stop by, will you? Come in the morning. She promised she would, tomorrow. She was flattered and intrigued. What could he possibly need to tell her?

  “Annie, you with us?” Bernardo said, nudging her knee with his.

  She turned to him, smiling. “You’ll fit right in. You’re a natural chameleon, right, Bernardo?”

  “Not sure how to take that. Hey, Will. Your wife’s giving me a hard time.”

  The cab swerved down a narrow road. She grabbed onto Will’s thigh and laughed. The good food and wine, maybe the easy American conversation, had relaxed her. Maybe it was the warm summer breeze jostling them. She didn’t care. She felt freer than she expected. How cool that they were in Budapest at this exciting, historic time.

  “She wants you to feel at home.”

  Bernardo laughed loud and hard. “For chrissake, Will. I hired you because you weren’t the typical Fendix type. That and your beautiful wife. Didn’t you read one hundred classics or some crazy shit like that? You stood out, man.”

  “Come on, Bernardo. You doubled in Spanish lit and advertising. That’s quite a combo.”

  “Spanish lit? Hey, man. I’m Spanish. Those are my roots. The thing I love about you, Will. You want technology to improve communication between cultures. I like that. You want to help the world. It’s noble. It comes from the heart. I admire that. I don’t think Fendix folks
understood that about you. Me, I’m in it for the money, right, Annie? You know that about me.”

  Annie smiled. It amused her to watch Bernardo once again courting her husband by courting her, pulling out all the stops—honest and full of shit in one big mouthful.

  “He likes to do the right thing,” she said.

  THE CAB STOPPED on a side street in front of Club Z where a small crowd of twenty-somethings milled outside the door, smoking cigarettes. Girls posed in black fishnet stockings, black miniskirts, hair henna-dyed an orange-red, which Annie saw everywhere in Budapest, all of them wearing that Hungarian expression of disinterest that hid deeper emotions of distrust mixed with even deeper cravings to connect. Annie identified with those feelings. Growing up, she held back, played it safe, avoided getting noticed. At the same time, she knew that something was missing, but until she met Will, she didn’t realize how isolated and separated she had become from herself.

  A group of boys leaned against the brick wall, smoking. Even in summer, they wore tight, punk-skinny jeans, metal-studded belts. These were not the scary, violence-prone skinheads who rambled the city in small groups. These kids were the young artists trying to break free from history, detach from communist Russia’s recent debilitating hold, to create something new and positive for themselves. She felt attracted to them. She, too, wanted to break out of some vague repressed feeling in her life, the one that began on that day on the driveway when her brother threw a wild ball.

  “I love this place,” Annie said, getting out of the car, eager to enter the club. She didn’t care that she looked out of kilter in her conservative dress. She loved the rawness of these kids, their hips angled, their obvious discontent and nervous energy. It touched something in her, made her wonder about herself. Maybe that was really why she had come to Budapest, to understand, like the Hungarians, what it meant to be a witness to tragedy, to break from the paralysis of the past.