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

thought. I might aswell leave now and go back to my cubicle. The confidence that I hadfelt only a few days prior had slipped away.

What a disaster.

I had hit bottom. But now,there was a glimmer of hope, if Natasha wasn't putting me on. Ifell into a fitful sleep, and realized that I'd know in a few hourswhether the whole trip was washed up.

CHAPTER THREE

Talia

Two more days to go. Making my way to the RedSquare metro station, I was not at all surprised to find myselfshivering from the cold. Quickening my pace, I glanced up to findthe sky gray and threatening. And, when I finally arrived at thestation, I found myself surrounded by dour faces staring atnothing. Trying not to succumb to the bleakness surrounding me, Iturned to look for a bench on which to wait and I practicallyknocked over a young woman who had been swiftly walking by. Imuttered my apologies in what little Russian I had managed to pickup, and she turned her face to mine and revealed a warm smile.

I was surprised.

It was Talia, and I becameelated. Meeting Talia confirmed my impressions from her photo. Shewas cuter than her picture, standing about 5’5” and draped in along coat and heavy scarf. Her dark eyes matched her curly blackhair which fell softly to her shoulders. Though our initialpleasantries were fairly typical for a first encounter, there was auniqueness about her that struck me immediately: she was neverwithout this warm smile. Talia was the exception to the seriousnessthat surrounded us, and a welcome reminder of the sunnierdispositions I was accustomed to back home. Things already feltdifferent, though I was careful not to get ahead ofmyself.

“Let’s go walk around themuseum,” she suggested, with a slight tilt of her head, “It’s rightaround the corner.”

“Fine with me,” I replied,and we set out for the Lenin Museum, a small building dedicated tothe country’s greatest figure.

While we strolled through the grand foyer, Icouldn’t help but notice how often Talia laughed. I was carriedaway by her joyfulness, which served as a stark contrast to themostly serious Svetlana. Our conversation was comfortable andnatural, and at one point, Talia even grabbed my elbow as wewalked, making me feel strong and needed. Instead of recoiling frommy touch, she was the one initiating it. By the end of our timetogether, all I could think was, uh oh, I'm in trouble now! This isthe one! What do I do about Svetlana? When we exited the museum, Inoticed a phone booth, and explained to Talia that I needed to makea call.

Svetlana's voice was warm. “Hi, Paul. I'vebeen waiting for your call. Where shall we eat tonight?”

I bit my lip. “Uh, Svetlana, I can't gettogether with you tonight.”

“Why not, Paulie, aren'tyou feeling okay?”

“No, I have this reallybad headache.”

“Oh, that's too bad. I seeyou tomorrow, then. Good night.”

I hung up the phone, and my stomach churned.How could I do this to her? I asked myself. But then, I realized itwas, after all, mostly her fault. I turned to open the rusty door,and out of the corner of my eye I caught Talia's smile, and myJewish guilt about blowing Svetlana off was gone. Natasha will takecare of it, I thought, and I turned my full attention to Talia.

That evening, I took Talia to dinner at thevery same Italian restaurant I had been dining with Svetlana. Iwasn't concerned that I might look like some kind of gigolo becausenone of the other diners ever looked at me. It seemed that theyears of Communist rule had conditioned people not to inquire aboutother people's business.

So, it didn't matter whom I was with.

Our conversation over dinner was even moreengaging and natural than our experience at the museum. I learnedwith some degree of surprise that Talia had recently finishedmedical school and longed to become a doctor in America like someof her friends had done. She was candid, intelligent, and sincerelyinterested in me. We talked about our personal histories, our pastrelationships, and our families. Talia’s face absolutely glowedwhen she began to tell me about her parents, and the overwhelminglove she felt for them made me that much more captivated by her. Ifshe valued her own family so much, surely she would also look tocreate a similar one.

She went on to tell methat her father was the manager of some kind of auto import firm,and her mother worked as a nurse part-time, while raising her andher sisters Jane and Anne. Talia also had two older brothers whohad immigrated to Israel; one was a doctor, the other a filmstudent. By the time we were finished dinner, I felt like I alreadyknew her well, and I had absolutely no idea what we actually ate. Idid know, however, that a great weight had been lifted from me, andthat I was beginning to smile as often and as easily as Talia.Without thinking, I reached across the table to take her hand, andshe put her other hand on top of mine, looked me directly in theeyes, and smiled.

As we exchanged our good-byes, she asked if Iwanted to meet her family the very next night. I agreed and thenmade my way back to my apartment, seemingly walking a few inchesabove the crusty snow. Could it be? Could this be what I had beenlooking for? Could I be what she had been looking for?

* * *

Only one day left. I made my way to Talia’sfamily’s apartment, and I again looked for some kind of sign thatmight give me an idea about the direction my trip had taken. Thesky was still gray, the air was still frigid, and building afterbuilding looked exactly the same. I was beginning to believe thatall the apartment buildings in Moscow were built by the sameconstruction company, and so I was shocked when, despite one wrongturn, I arrived at Talia's building without getting really lost.Now that had to be a sign.

Though Talia had spent agreat deal of time expounding on her parents’ countless virtues, mymeeting with them proved that she had not done enough. They wereamazing. Her father was a small man, but the twinkle