Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit by Paul Goldman (surface ebook reader txt) 📗

think we’ll be able to make it.Thanks.” I stared down at my cereal, the flakes now limp andunappealing, as I listened to him rattle on about where they livedand how to get there. I probably should have written it all down,but I was too distracted by the thought that I would once again seeSvetlana and the inevitable awkwardness that wouldcreate.

I spent the rest of theday wondering about what might have been. Svetlana was lovely,graceful, and interesting when she allowed herself to open up tome. Had I given up on us too soon? I met Talia and she neverhesitated to jump right in, never wavering or cautious. Had I beenexpecting too much? Perhaps Svetlana was the reasonable one,wanting to explore a relationship while remaining careful andrealistic. Had everything I believed to be true actually been amistake? In a state of consternation, I tried to avoid the mostterrifying question with no success: Had I chosen the wrongwoman?

When I shared the news of my phone call withTalia, she was very excited. Anxious to meet someone from herhomeland, Talia's demeanor changed in the days approaching thebarbecue. She seemed happy and I sulked in the knowledge that I hadnothing to do with it. When Saturday finally arrived, she spent theentire car ride to Costa Mesa chattering away about the possibilityof newfound friends, while I stared anxiously out the window,unmoved by the sunny skies overhead, worrying over my reunion withSvetlana.

The address that Roy gave me was an apartmentbuilding in a modest section of Costa Mesa. I knew the area.“Modest” was the kindest thing you could say about it. A far cryfrom my cottage in beautiful Huntington Beach. The sounds of atelevision blaring from within greeted us. Ringing the bell, Iexpected to be greeted by a man donning a ten gallon hat and Smithand Wesson. I began considering an appropriate response to “Howdy”when the door opened and Roy welcomed us in.

Though his tall, slender frame disproved mystereotypical expectations of a Texan with a generous paunch, hissouthern hospitality immediately made us feel right at home. Roywas an average looking, thirty something man with a warmpersonality. I scolded myself for assuming the worst in him andconsidered the idea that we might be friends. Thinking that thisday may not be so bad after all, I suddenly became aware of a womandescending the staircase. It was Svetlana.

As she made her way to greet us, I wassurprised to find her at ease and smiling. There was a warmth abouther that had always been missing from our own dates, and it wasobvious she had really taken to the American lifestyle. Weexchanged pleasantries and made a quick attempt to catch up beforethe women headed off into the kitchen, and Roy and I headed to thebackyard to begin the very manly task of barbecuing.

Roy and I took the time alone to get to knowone another and how we’d both come to marry Russian women. As webecame more comfortable, we also became more candid.

At one point I simply turned to Roy andconfided, “I have to be honest. I’m not sure what’s come overTalia, but she's not at all the same woman I met in Russia. Itseems like, from the moment the plane landed, she became someoneelse.” Roy grinned a knowing grin while I spoke, which not only putme at ease, but also signaled a shared experience. He flipped acouple of the smoking burgers and I continued, “Am I crazy? ShouldI have expected this?”

“Oh,Paul, didn’t you know?” he asked, with a bemused expression. “Mostof these Russian women are manic-depressives. They’re high oneminute, then low the next. Christ, Gershwin even wrote a song aboutit.” I chuckled when Roy erupted into song:“They’re writing songs of love, but not for me. Alucky star’s above, but not for me. With love to lead the way, I’vefound more clouds are gray, than any Russian play couldguarantee.” He gently swayed while heperformed something I thought I’d never hear: Gershwin gonecountry. I laughed at him, and enjoyed learning how much miserydoes love company.

“So I guess manic was inMoscow, and depressive was in America,” I stated.

“Buddy, it’s in theirgenes,” Roy agreed. “The nagging, the whining, the complaining; andyou thought American girls were all about the drama.”

“Wow. So you’ve gonethrough the same thing with Svetlana?” I was hoping he had, if onlyto put my mind at ease over choosing one woman over theother.

“Oh, yeah. Same problem,but I got it handled. I know how to keep things on an even keel.When Sveta starts up, I drop what I'm doing, give her my fullattention, take her right to bed, and she's fine for the next fewdays.” My stomach began to feel queasy. “Works every time,” Roycontinued matter-of-factly, and grinned boyishly from ear toear.

After dinner, after my burger and Talia'slettuce, Roy gave Talia a tour of their apartment. I sat alone withSvetlana in the living room. I noticed that she seemed uneasy withher surroundings. “What's the matter? I asked.

“Well, Paul, to beperfectly honest with you, Roy told me in Moscow that he was richand we'd be living on a fifty acre ranch in Texas, and I knew fromwatching 'Dallas' on TV what that would be like. When I came to himin USA, I discovered the truth. He talks big, but has nothing. I'mtaking real estate tests, so I can become realtor and take care ofmyself. In the meantime, I happy enough, because our sex is reallygood.”

The queasiness in mystomach which I had felt earlier with Roy returned, magnified ahundred-fold. I couldn't think of anything to say to Svetlana. Whatthe hell had I done? Now, two people were miserable because of mydecision. If I hadn't fallen for Talia, Svetlana and I could havebeen on a permanent honeymoon in my cottage by the sea. The nextmoment, the sounds of Roy and Talia walking down the stairs gave mean excuse to get up from the couch and walk toward the door. Ihastily said our good-byes, and glumly steered Talia out to thecar, even lonelier than before.

What a day.

Three weeks later, Taliaand I were husband and wife. My failure was complete.

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