Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit

by Paul T. Goldman

  I spent the rest of the day wondering about what might have been. Svetlana was lovely, graceful, and interesting when she allowed herself to open up to me. Had I given up on us too soon? I met Talia and she never hesitated to jump right in, never wavering or cautious. Had I been expecting too much? Perhaps Svetlana was the reasonable one, wanting to explore a relationship while remaining careful and realistic. Had everything I believed to be true actually been a mistake? In a state of consternation, I tried to avoid the most terrifying question with no success: Had I chosen the wrong woman?

  When I shared the news of my phone call with Talia, she was very excited. Anxious to meet someone from her homeland, Talia's demeanor changed in the days approaching the barbecue. She seemed happy and I sulked in the knowledge that I had nothing to do with it. When Saturday finally arrived, she spent the entire car ride to Costa Mesa chattering away about the possibility of newfound friends, while I stared anxiously out the window, unmoved by the sunny skies overhead, worrying over my reunion with Svetlana.

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

  Though his tall, slender frame disproved my stereotypical expectations of a Texan with a generous paunch, his southern hospitality immediately made us feel right at home. Roy was an average looking, thirty something man with a warm personality. I scolded myself for assuming the worst in him and considered the idea that we might be friends. Thinking that this day may not be so bad after all, I suddenly became aware of a woman descending the staircase. It was Svetlana.

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

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

  At one point I simply turned to Roy and confided, “I have to be honest. I’m not sure what’s come over Talia, but she's not at all the same woman I met in Russia. It seems like, from the moment the plane landed, she became someone else.” Roy grinned a knowing grin while I spoke, which not only put me at ease, but also signaled a shared experience. He flipped a couple of the smoking burgers and I continued, “Am I crazy? Should I have expected this?”

  “Oh, Paul, didn’t you know?” he asked, with a bemused expression. “Most of these Russian women are manic-depressives. They’re high one minute, then low the next. Christ, Gershwin even wrote a song about it.” I chuckled when Roy erupted into song: “They’re writing songs of love, but not for me. A lucky star’s above, but not for me. With love to lead the way, I’ve found more clouds are gray, than any Russian play could guarantee.” He gently swayed while he performed something I thought I’d never hear: Gershwin gone country. I laughed at him, and enjoyed learning how much misery does love company.

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

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

  “Wow. So you’ve gone through the same thing with Svetlana?” I was hoping he had, if only to put my mind at ease over choosing one woman over the other.

  “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 full attention, take her right to bed, and she's fine for the next few days.” My stomach began to feel queasy. “Works every time,” Roy continued matter-of-factly, and grinned boyishly from ear to ear.

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

  “Well, Paul, to be perfectly honest with you, Roy told me in Moscow that he was rich and we'd be living on a fifty acre ranch in Texas, and I knew from watching 'Dallas' on TV what that would be like. When I came to him in USA, I discovered the truth. He talks big, but has nothing. I'm taking real estate tests, so I can become realtor and take care of myself. In the meantime, I happy enough, because our sex is really good.”

  The queasiness in my stomach which I had felt earlier with Roy returned, magnified a hundred-fold. I couldn't think of anything to say to Svetlana. What the hell had I done? Now, two people were miserable because of my decision. If I hadn't fallen for Talia, Svetlana and I could have been on a permanent honeymoon in my cottage by the sea. The next moment, the sounds of Roy and Talia walking down the stairs gave me an excuse to get up from the couch and walk toward the door. I hastily said our good-byes, and glumly steered Talia out to the car, even lonelier than before.

  What a day.

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

  * * *

  The next three years of my life were as gray as the longest Russian winter. Talia continued to work toward her medical degree. The medical library was her real home. She lived like a tenant in ours, at night retreating to the privacy of her own personal bedroom. I continued my uninspired life in the prison of my cubicle. My days became routine, robotic, and not at all fulfilling. I had no one to share my concerns with, and I found myself even lonelier than before. Begrudgingly, I accepted my lot, though I was always on the lookout for some sign of change for Talia and me.

  And then, rather unexpectedly, the biggest sign came in the form of two words, spoken by Talia one warm day in February, 2002.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Knowing that sooner or later I would be divorcing her, I was not at all happy with the news. How had that happened? I wondered. During the one time a month, or less, when Talia had relented to my begging for intimacy, I had been careful, but obviously GOD had different ideas.

  Johnny arrived in October of 2002 and with him came the knowledge that I would be forever changed. It took nine months of waiting, ten hours of labor, and one moment of complete and utter disbelief to finally realize what his life meant for my own. Johnny was born with a thick head of hair and eyes wide open, ready to take in the world around him. The nurses kept remarking how unusual it was to have a baby with his eyes open, as well as one who didn't cry at the moment of birth. The same could not be said for his father. I shed tears of joy.

  The subsequent days and months in my new role as father were joyous. I was eager to help in every way I could, and it was a good thing, too. Talia's contribution was solely as a milk machine. When she was home, she breast-fed little Johnny every four hours, and pumped bottles to put in the fridge for me to feed him while she was at the library. My son and I were undeniably linked in both personality and appearance. Though I finally had something I had so longed for, the one thing I could not deny was my loveless marriage. Feeling I owed it to my son, I decided it was time to take a stand and confront Talia.

  The trigger for this long-overdue action was an official-looking document from the U.S. Immigration Service. Inside was Talia's “green card.” I realized what had happened to me, and I knew it was time to end the charade. The moment occurred over another silent dinner while Johnny slept soundly in the other room.

  “I just can’t stand this,” I said, almost surprising myself.

  “What? The lo mein? What’s wrong with it?”

  “No, God, not the stupid lo mein. I mean thi
s,” gesturing to the two of us with my hands. “This marriage. I mean, it’s not even a marriage.” My words seemed to startle Talia and she searched my face for answers, answers she really didn't want to hear. “I’m not happy,” I continued quietly, intent on remaining calm and firm. “You’re at the medical library fifteen hours a day and I understand and respect your commitment, I do, but when you get home you’re too tired to do anything. Unless it’s about Johnny, we never talk anymore. I don’t understand what has happened.” I could hear myself becoming more emphatic, my emotions were taking hold. “And never mind that we hardly ever have sex anymore; besides, on those rare times that we do, you couldn't seem more disinterested. But even that, that’s not really it. It’s you. You’ve changed.” Now, I had let my tone reveal my anger and frustration. “You’re not the girl I met in Moscow. You’ve changed completely and I don’t know if this is your true personality, or you’ve just become a different person. And I'm sick, frankly, sick of all your complaining and nagging. I can’t take it anymore.” I stood up, placed my hands on the table, and leaned into her. “I want a divorce.”

  And there it was. I finally let my feelings out, and I felt utterly relieved. A burden had been lifted. I looked down at her. Her expression was one of disbelief and I thought that, perhaps, I had finally gotten through to her. Within a second, however, her rage set in.

  “You heartless bastard!” she yelled, with fury in her eyes while she rose to meet my stance. Before I could blink, a carton of noodles flew by my face, splattering the wall inches from my head. “How can you do this to me? To our son?” she challenged, her fist shaking. “You want to leave your family? For what? What about your son?”

  I would not let the guilt silence me for three more years. I was doing this as much for my son as for me. No man should have to live in a loveless marriage, and my actions today would be his lesson for tomorrow. I would be used no more. And I wasn’t done.

  “Bastard? Fine. But I'm not going to be miserable for the next seventeen years until he goes to college just so Johnny can say he has two parents living under the same roof. I can’t live with you; you and your whining, negative, nagging, manic-depressive self. The sweet girl I met in Moscow is gone, and she’s been gone for a long time. Whoever replaced her has affected me in a bad way, and I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’m not the same person I was before I met you. I’m not the man I want to be, the man I know I can be.”

  “How can you leave me alone with a son to raise? How can you do this to your family?”

  “I have no intention of leaving my son, only you. I'll always be there for Johnny. Who do you think is going to take care of him, while you go off to another state for your three years of residency? Me, that's who. I’ll make sure Johnny will be fine. I'll take care of him, just as I've done every day since he was born.”

  And that was it. The fight ended like it had begun, with complete, withdrawn silence. Talia went to New York soon afterwards for her medical residency, and I began my life as a single parent. I knew I had forced the right decision for everyone and, in doing so, I realized my greatest responsibility, and my greatest joy. Watching Johnny grow and learn, seeing the world new and fresh through his eyes, was a wonderful experience. But I came to understand that to raise him in the best possible way, Johnny would need a new mother.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jewish Singles: The First Meetings

  November 2006

  Autumn in Southern Florida does not produce the same visual effect it does for much of the rest of the country. There's no colorful foliage heralding the change in season, no crisp breeze causing us to snuggle into sweaters newly pulled from winter storage, and no mixed anticipation as we wait for the blustery weather ahead. Southern Florida simply and seamlessly shifts from unbearably hot to manageably warm and, at least for most of us, that is our climatic cue that the year’s end is fast approaching, and a chance for a new beginning awaits.

  Walking with my son through an outdoor West Palm Beach mall, I did have the faint, palpable sense that change was upon me. The air was still fairly warm and the sun’s intensity wasn’t lost on the dogs gravitating toward the shade. The shoppers were happily milling about as they began the preemptive task of holiday shopping. Preempting the holiday season was not my objective, however. My objective was to try, once again, to make my toil at Jewish Singles bear fruit in the form of a real, stay-at-home mommy for Johnny.

  The omnipresent smell of freshly baked bread also signaled that we were nearing our destination, Le Parisien café. I had agreed the night before to yet another first date, and this one's name was Audrey.

  Would she be the change I was anticipating?

  The first change I initiated was the move to Florida. After the divorce from Talia, I really wanted a fresh start for Johnny and me, and so the decision to relocate seemed obvious. Since I had always enjoyed a closeness with my own grandparents, I hoped Johnny might have the same. So I decided we would move closer to my parents, which meant choosing between Florida and Rhode Island, since they spent half a year in each. Having grown all too accustomed to the Southern California climate, the choice was easy and now Florida was our home. With my insurance background, I quickly got a job with Metro Insurance Agency as an Account Manager, and, since he was not old enough for school yet because he was only four, found a day care for Johnny right down the street from the office.

  I had a relationship with my son that was more fulfilling than anything I might have ever hoped for. Despite that joy, however, two areas of my life could have used improvement, to put it mildly: One, I was imprisoned in my new cubicle, furloughed only nights and weekends to be with my beautiful son. Two, I was still without a woman with whom I could share the partnership of parenting, the comfort of compatibility, and the intimacy of a loving relationship.

  I always brought Johnny with me on my first dates. My prison wages left no slack for a baby sitter. Even though it was a little awkward, I thought it made us an attractive package, and it gave Johnny a glimpse of his prospective new mother.

  We meandered through the maze of tables and hurried waitresses darting this way and that, and my eyes settled on a beautiful woman seated alone at a table. Well, that's not her, for sure, I thought. I looked closer. Wow, she sure looked like Audrey's online photo. Then I realized that she was the one I would be meeting.

  Maybe this won't be another disastrous dating experience after all, I thought. Bearing the likeness of silver screen beauty Andie MacDowell, her long brown hair spiraled down her back, and her slim frame and delicate beauty captivated me even before she returned my gaze. The pulsating sounds of the café’s music and the incessant chatter of the patrons seemed to fade away and I lost myself in my imagination.

  A tug from Johnny stirred me from my trance and I laughed at my own boyishness. Taking him by the hand, I approached the table and the two of us greeted her together as father and son.

  She was in fact Audrey Munson, and she graciously returned our greeting when we joined her at the table. Surprised by my own nervousness, I busied myself with Johnny, helping him to get situated and attempting to appear casual and confident. Audrey too was busy. Her cell phone rang almost immediately after we arrived and she unapologetically reviewed the number, seeming confused by the caller’s identity.

  Not wanting to start things off on the wrong foot, I pretended that the small disruption didn't bother me at all. Instead, I turned to the waitress, a young woman who looked frazzled and anxious, and found comfort in the idea that, by comparison, I was looking collected and assured.

  “May I start you off with something to drink?” she rambled. I turned to my son.

  “What do you say? Chocolate milk?”

  “Yes, Daddy, can I have chocolate milk?” he asked with an elated smile that overshadowed even Audrey’s glow. My heart warmed and I let my fatherly pride take hold. I turned to Audrey to see if she too had been enchanted by my son’s charm, but I felt myself deflate when I realized the momen
t had been lost on her. She was still fidgeting with her phone.

  “How about you, Audrey?” I asked, my tone only slightly altered to reflect my disappointment.

  “Oh, uh, I’ll have an iced tea.”

  “That's a good idea. I'll have the same,” I said, and turned my head to the waitress. “Two iced teas and a chocolate milk,” I requested. She nodded distractedly; the stains on her apron and her smeared makeup seemed that much more glaring next to Audrey, whose beauty once again transfixed me, making the incident with the phone a distant memory.

  “You look exactly like your picture online. Really, from my experience, most people use their high school pictures instead of current ones. But you…” I caught myself trailing off. Recognizing that I didn't want to sound overly eager I added, “It’s nice to meet someone who doesn’t feel the need to misrepresent themselves.”

  “Not me, Paul,” she said with measured firmness, her eyes truly holding mine for the first time. “My picture is current. One thing you’ll learn about me is that honesty is so important.” The idea that I might get the chance to know her excited me, and I leaned forward in an attempt to signal my interest.

  This felt right.

  Our conversation turned to the process of getting to know one another. Audrey briefly mentioned that she was a stay-at-home mom, raising her thirteen year old daughter, Annie, her eleven year old son, Davey, and her youngest, Tommy, who was all of two years old.

  “And where is your mommy?” she asked, turning her attention to the source of my greatest joy. Johnny’s eyes gazed up at me, not knowing how to respond. I answered for him.

  “His mother is actually in New York on her medical residency. She has another year to go and then, well, I’m not sure. We're divorced, and I’m a single dad.” Usually when I disclosed this information, the typical response from a female involved a head tilt, a smile, and an “Oh, how sweet,” all suggesting a genuine respect for my apparent accountability, as well as their reassured confidence in my credibility. Audrey was the first woman who never really had a reaction.