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

in his eyesand his welcome and total acceptance of me was like a force ofnature, something that absolutely could not be faked. I couldn'thelp but return the feeling. Talia’s mother was a replica of herdaughter, except for being a few inches shorter and a few poundsheavier. They welcomed me with a warm embrace and even warmer wordsthat finally accounted for Talia’s permanent smile. Within momentsof entering the apartment, my coat had been taken, my back had beenpatted, and my dinner plate had been heaped with blini, shashlyk,slivki, and pelmeni, traditional Russian cuisine.

Though Talia’s younger sisters spoke Englishflawlessly, her parents knew only a few words, but that didn'tmatter in the least. We all sat down together, and Talia’s fatheropened a very large bottle of vodka, filled a shot glass, andhanded it to me. I took a moment to take in the apartment, a smallspace crowded with family portraits, overstuffed furniture,hundreds of books, and happy people. I noticed Talia’s fatherpoured himself a third of a water glass, and began a light-heartedsuitor's inquisition.

“What do you do for work?”he asked, relying on Talia for the translation. His round eyessparkled while he peered over at me with fatherlyinterest.

“I work for an insuranceagency,” I responded, not sure how that might translate, but wasrelieved to find that the answer was more than agreeable. His widesmile, a carbon copy of Talia’s own, revealed a toothless grin anda thousand wrinkles carving the outline of his mouth. He lifted hisglass and cheered, “Nosdorovia! To insurance!”

I followed his lead in throwing back theglass and, even before I adjusted to the slow burn in the back ofmy throat, I realized my glass had already been refilled.

“You know,” I chuckledwith an unexpected giddiness, “this is the first time I’ve drunkauthentic Russian vodka.” Talia’s parents turned their eyes to herfor the translation and before she’d even finished the sentence,her father was lifting his glass again.

“Nosdorovia! To vodka!” hebellowed. We lifted our glasses once more and I waited for the burnin the back of my throat. This time, however, it seemed much moremanageable, and by the time we had finished dinner and many moretoasts, I was beginning to feel no pain in any region of my body.Like the previous night’s dinner date with Talia, the conversationhad been natural and fun, despite the language barrier.

When I returned to my apartment, I replayedthe last few hours in my mind. It all ran together, but in the end,the evening was a kaleidoscope of a wonderful family who includedme with the first warm hug, good food, much laughter, and vodka.I’d had more fun with Talia and her family than I’d had in a verylong time. Entering my own apartment building, I ascended thestairs with a quickness that contrasted my usual labor and signaledmy renewed hope. I opened my door, turned on the light, looked inthe mirror, and realized I had been smiling the entire time.

Last day. Time to pack. Iawoke with a pretty formidable headache and an overall sense ofconfusion as I tried to distinguish the night’s events. Iremembered a lot of laughter, a lot of conversation, and a lot ofvodka. After that, I wasn’t entirely sure. I decided a call toNatasha was in order.

“Paul! I was hoping tohear from you. How are things going with Talia? I was right abouther, wasn’t I?” Though I could practically see her smile throughthe phone, I didn’t understand why she felt the need to talk soloudly.

“You were right. She'swonderful. Actually, I think we might be engaged.”

“Engaged! How perfect!Congratulations, Paul!” she boomed while I winced, rubbing mytemples.

“Yes, thank you. I mean, Iseem to remember giving her the paperwork last night and, well,there was a lot of vodka. But, yes, I’m pretty sure we’re engaged.”Explosions were going off in my head when I peeked through mywindow, looking out over the street. I needed to find Tylenol.“What should I do about Svetlana?” The moment I asked was the samemoment it occurred to me that I had forgotten all about her. Atwinge of guilt did nothing to help my cause.

“Paul, I am so happy thatyou have found happiness. Don’t worry about Svetlana. I will talkto her. In the meantime, pack your bags. I’ll be by around 3o’clock with Talia to take you to the airport.” We hung up thephone and I slowly began the task of packing my things and mendingmy headache.

A few hours later, I waswaiting outside my building for Natasha and Talia, feeling thankfulfor the sunless skies for the very first time since I’d arrived inRussia. When my thoughts turned to Talia, my spirits continued tolift. Even though we hadn't spent much time together, I felt Taliawas the one I’d been looking for forever. There were so manycouples I knew who had dated for years and eventually married, muchto my envy, but only half were still husband and wife. It occurredto me that the length of time a couple spent dating seemed to havelittle impact on the success of the relationship. In many respects,it all seemed like one big gamble and I was ready to roll the dice.When the car eventually pulled up with Talia inside, clutching thepaperwork for the fiancé visa, my headache was a distant memory andmy heart was overwhelmed. During the hour and a half drive to theairport, Talia and I talked of our future life in California. Itried to be as pragmatic as possible, explaining that lots of hardwork lay ahead for both of us.

“As long as I'm with you,”Talia replied, and kissed me tenderly. I was really happy, perhapsfor the first time in my life.

Arriving at the airport, Natasha parked thecar and we made our way into the terminal. I thanked Natasha forall her help, and hugged my new fiancé for the last time, thenreluctantly left her standing at the gate when the attendant calledfor my row to board.

The thirteen hour flighthome meant more time alone with my thoughts, only this time Iwelcomed the occasion to reflect. The route back to Californialiterally flew over the top of the world, providing a readymetaphor for my own emotions. I had come