by Bergen, KC
9
Mary put away the yoga mat in her garage, mixed herself a large strawberry smoothie, went into her office, and logged onto her laptop. “Life is good,” she said to herself. “I have a good job. I’m happy.”
She clicked on the folder where she kept the images for her latest listing: a beautiful million-dollar villa on Ladan Drive. She browsed through the images, contemplating how she could best describe the mansion for potential buyers. A dream home perfectly suited for … a dream couple. A happy family. Someone madly in love. She felt a knot in her stomach, her eyes welling up.
Who was she kidding? She was not happy. She didn’t need a man to feel fulfilled, but she also believed her son should have a wholesome man to look up to. A good role model. And she would have liked to join Ted and Carol with a man of her own. But she was tired of being the third wheel, or the person everyone wanted to set up on dates and give relationship advice to. They all probably meant well, but it hurt to constantly have people point out that she was missing something in her life.
She did miss having a man. Not a man like Brian, though. Not a man like any man she’d met in a very long time. She thought of the best man she’d known, and was surprised to find herself thinking of David, whom she’d dated as a sophomore in college. He’d been a kind, generous man, and a great listener. He was funny too. His only flaw had been his, what, sense of adventure? They had ended the relationship because he’d left to go study abroad in Amsterdam. She’d looked him up on Facebook sometime after her divorce. David was happily married with two kids and now living in Upstate New York.
Mary snatched a tissue from the box on her desk and wiped her eyes. “Pull yourself together,” she said. “You’ve been adventurous too.”
She looked at the picture of the million-dollar villa. It was owned by Mr. Mozzarella, originally from Milan, as Italian as they got. She would never date an Italian guy. They notoriously had a proclivity for womanizing. No, if she was going to find a man it had to be someone old-fashioned, with traditional family values and a big heart. A good, honest man.
Mary heard Carol in the back of her mind: “The online dating thing. You said you’d give it a shot.” Mary clicked out of the work folder and typed into Google’s search bar: “Traditional online dating sites.”
She hit “search” and a slew of sites populated the search results page. She clicked on the first link that didn’t look like an ad: SwipeRight.com. She liked the site’s calm, elegant design. No flashy graphics, no popups, members from all over the world, and signing up was free. Adventure awaits, she thought to herself.
What have I got to lose?
Signing up took no more than three minutes. All men within hundreds of miles were horrible, so wouldn’t the opposite be true? If a man lived farther away, wasn’t he less likely to be like the nutjobs in her vicinity? Weighing this calculation, she set the distance bar to ten thousand miles, and pressed “search.”
As she scrolled down the page of suitors, a profile caught her attention. “Tristan Drimov,” she read. “A classy man with a healthy appetite for the finer things in life.” Mary clicked on the “more info” link and read: “A former KGB agent.” So what is he now? she thought. A current assassin?
Don’t be silly. It’s like the CIA or FBI, just a government job.
Not entirely convinced, Mary checked out another picture of Tristan standing on a rock, the wind playing with his long hair. The description read: “Enjoys long walks in nature.”
What kind of assassin would do that?
A stalker.
Give it a rest!
Mary clicked the “compose message” icon, but the site wouldn’t let her access the text box. She had to first become a paying member.
Of course. Signing up was free but making contact was costly. Well, they had to make a living too. Mary checked out the three membership levels: Bronze, Silver, and Gold. “Gold membership,” she read. “Free compatibility profile, unlimited messages. Hmmm …”
“Are you seriously considering this?” she heard herself say.
I just want to chat. The farther away he is, the better. Ten thousand miles seem sufficient.
She purchased the Gold membership and then started filling out a compatibility chart. “Interests? Let's see … Art. Check. Yoga. Check. Traveling. Check. Movies …” She completed the chart and then clicked the “compose message” icon on Tristan’s profile page.
“Now what to write?” she asked herself as she typed into the text box. Dear Tristan. Your profile intrigues me—no, that sucks. She deleted the text. “Be yourself, Mary. He's just a man. A handsome KGB officer, sure, but still just a man.” She typed: Hi Tristan. I have never used an Internet service like this before, but I nevertheless noticed your interesting profile. In your bio, you mentioned having a healthy interest in life's finer things. I wonder—what are they?
“Short and simple.” Mary placed the cursor over the “send” button. Then she closed her eyes and folded her hands. “Please don't be a serial killer.” She clicked the button.
10
Novak took a cold shower to calm himself down. Why had his grandpa called him an idiot? He felt humiliated, like when he discovered Alenka … Why had he even bothered getting married? Well, he’d originally met her through an online dating service. A service that his grandpa had encouraged him to sign up to!
It’s not Oleg’s fault.
Shepherding is a solitary occupation, but Novak had not been actively seeking a partner. He had not been looking for anything, really. However, Oleg showed such enthusiasm for the whole online dating scene that Novak finally took his advice. If anything, Novak was merely looking for a friend. Someone he could talk to and share things with. Someone who was not a sheep.
Come to think of it, he’d been looking for a good time. So when a woman named Alenka sent him a brief message about the prospect of a good time, he immediately felt a connection. They had something in common. She suggested that they meet up in a parking lot somewhere close to where she lived, which Novak found to be a little odd. Why meet in a parking lot when you don’t have a car? And why meet in a parking lot in the first place? But she was a city girl, from Kranj fifteen miles to the west, so he figured her ways were different. He still wanted to meet her, though. As shepherds tended to say: Never judge a sheep by its wool.
Novak had suggested a picnic near the Big Pasture Plateau, which had a stunning view of the Kamnik-Savinja Alps. She was initially reluctant due to the drive, but, as she enjoyed new experiences, eventually she agreed to meet. Novak brought his sheep and a basket filled with deliciousness: homemade bread, cheese, chicken, salami, a selection of fruits, and a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice. And they did have a good time. A very good time!
Alenka soon sold her apartment and bought a house on the outskirts of Kamnik, closer to Novak’s workspace. He enjoyed having a roof over his head, as he usually slept outdoors with his sheep. She told him that she thought of him as a bohemian soul, and that she loved that about him. But Novak never thought of himself as a bohemian soul. Just because he rarely cut his hair didn’t mean he was bohemian. Wearing modern clothes and cutting your hair once a month are not requirements for being a good shepherd. Novak simply worked hard to ensure that his herd survived.
Within three months, Alenka proposed to him. He’d been surprised and flattered and agreed to the union, as he felt he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He loved her sprightly spirit, and she was the friendliest person he’d ever met. She came with him to pasture a few times, and the other shepherds couldn’t believe he’d landed a woman like that: a voluptuous blonde who enjoyed drinking games. She was even good for business, as some of his fiercest competitors came to their house bearing gifts. Soon their work ethics also changed. They were oftentimes nowhere to be seen, so plenty of space opened up for Novak and his herd, and thus work became easier. Within a year he had doubled his herd from three to six animals. He was on top of the world! Until he had discovered
Franc on top of his wife.
A sense of sadness gripped Novak’s heart. But, in a way, Alenka’s cold-hearted betrayal made the situation easier to cope with. Divorce was the only solution, as Novak could never accept her infidelity. He was grateful that he hadn’t invested more than three years of his life into the relationship. And that he hadn’t brought any children into their now forever broken union.
Novak checked his watch. It was just past nine in the morning. His wife—no, his soon-to-be ex—was working until 5:00 p.m., which meant that he had ample time to go pick up his stuff. And he also had to go see about his herd. He hiked to Lake Blava first. Asked a fisherman if he’d heard or found anything. He had not. Novak scoured the edges of the lake, and he’d walked for more than two hours when he came across the bloated remains of Lambert. He was the only member of the herd that Novak could find, and he carried the lamb to pasture and buried him there.
Novak made his way to his former home, fetched his big backpack in the garage, went into his closet, and stuffed the backpack with clothes. Not everything fit so he filled a smaller backpack with socks and underwear, and also gathered up his passport, his ID, a few personal documents, and his laptop.
Carrying the small backpack in his hand and the big one over his shoulders, he left the house at 3:00 p.m. One chapter of his life was over, another one about to begin. No, it had already started. Novak thought it was strange that he wasn’t an emotional wreck. In a short time he’d lost his livelihood, his wife, and his home. But he’d never been one to dwell on the past. Living was like shepherding. You had to look over your shoulder from time to time, but always keep your main focus on the path ahead.
When Novak returned, his grandfather was waiting for him in his room. “Where you go?”
“I just went to get my things.”
“You should tell me. I worry.”
“You could have texted me.”
“And you could text me!” Oleg regarded the two backpacks that Novak put down and leaned against the wall. “That is all you have left in world?”
“Yep. It’s not much but it’s mine.”
“The horse throw you off. Now you must get back on.”
“What do you mean?”
“You must go to dating world and find new girl. A good clean girl. You need it.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“If you are not ready now, you will never be ready. Best way to get over bad girl is to get on top of good girl.”
“Always the romantic.”
“Who needs romance? All you need is sexy lady who like to make loves.”
“Jeez, Grandpa!”
“What? You think I am Oprah? No, I am Oleg.”
“You should watch your mouth when you’re giving classes, and maybe not motorboat the students. They could end up suing you.”
“They will not sue supreme leader.”
“It’s happened to other gurus. Do some research and you’ll see.”
Oleg pointed to his head. “All I need is in here.”
“You used to tell me that only a humble mind can find peace and understanding. What happened?”
“I take big actions and make myself successful man.”
“I’m impressed. I really am, grandpa. I don’t mean to preach, but you have to be careful. Improper actions can quickly lead to a man’s downfall.”
Oleg nodded solemnly. “Maybe I will look into it.” On his way out, he stopped in the doorway and gave Novak a hard stare. “Now get back on horse!”
After Novak had taken a shower, he started his laptop. Checked his email. Just spam and his monthly newsletter, Shepherd’s Digest. He didn’t want to read it. As a matter of fact, he didn’t ever want to read about sheep again. His shepherding days were over. So he deleted the newsletter and canceled his subscription. Then he thought of what his grandfather had said: to get back on the horse. He felt like making a switch. Maybe even getting away for a while. Considering the madhouse he was in, the sooner the better.
But he didn’t have any money. Well, he could dream. Since he was a boy, watching a ton of movies, he’d wanted to go see the U. S. of A. His favorite actors were Harrison Ford and Russell Crowe. Russell had even left his homeland of Australia to become a big star in America. Novak didn’t want to become a star, but he definitely wanted to visit the land of freedom.
He searched his browser’s bookmarks. Yes, he’d saved the address to the dating site he’d used in the past: SwipeRight.com. He remembered his username and password, and he also recalled that you could filter search results geographically. First he simply had to reactivate his old account. Maybe there was a good traditional woman in California looking for a good traditional man?
11
Two days had passed without a response from Tristan Drimov. Mary didn’t want to contact a bunch of guys at the same time, but she didn’t want to wait forever either. And perhaps the KGB officer was too adventurous for her? Although he had intrigued her, she was looking for a good, stable man with traditional values. Regardless, he hadn’t replied to her message. So she searched again.
The man who caught her eye this time looked quite different from Tristan. Instead of having a cleanly shaven chin and mysterious, almond-shaped eyes, Novak had a cropped beard and sincere, round eyes. Instead of reminding her of a cat, he reminded her of a dog. This man was not a KGB officer but a shepherd. A shepherd! It didn’t get much more traditional than that. Novak didn’t have any children, but he’d cared for and guided animals through treacherous terrain his whole life. And now he was looking for a good, traditional woman in the US.
Why in the US? Is he looking for a Green Card?
Mary read that Novak had loved the U.S. of A. since childhood, and that his favorite movies were Indiana Jones and Gladiator. An odd pair to pick, Mary thought, but she also enjoyed Harrison Ford movies. And the shepherd had a bit of a mixed Indiana Jones, General Maximus vibe about him—strong yet sensitive, free-spirited yet conservative, calm yet passionate. He even practiced yoga! Why not send him a message? And why waste time on writing a brand-new message when Novak might not even reply?
She clicked on the link to her previous conversations, figuring she could copy-paste and reuse some of the message she’d sent to Tristan. The KGB officer certainly has chiseled good looks, she thought. Almost too good to be true.
Right after she sent the message to Novak, her phone rang. It was her new client, Enrico Mozzarella, the owner of the million-dollar villa. And he was not happy about, well, anything: the pictures she’d taken, the ad, the staging of the house, and the lack of offers.
“Mister Mozzarella, it’s only been a couple days,” Mary said. “Okay, I’ll touch up the pictures, revise the ad. Yes, and I … What? You want to see me now? Okay, sure.” This was undoubtedly going to be a difficult client, but she hated losing business. And there were plenty of local competitors who would gladly snap up this lucrative listing. Mary grabbed her purse and rushed downstairs while still on the phone. “Just give me ten minutes. I understand. Time is of the essence.” Mary hurried outside, slamming the door shut.
***
Upstairs in his room, Michael paused the video game and removed his headphones. “Mom?” He was certain he’d heard a loud noise, so he walked out into the hallway. “Hello?” He noticed that the door to his mom’s office was ajar. She wasn’t there, but her computer was on and it displayed an image of a man. Michael moved closer. “Tristan Drimov … What’s this? Oh crap, a dating site.”
Michael read the message. He couldn’t believe that his mom was looking for men online. And this so-called KGB officer looked like one of those sleaze-ball studs who decorate the covers of romance novels. What was he going to do about this discovery? Pretend to be his mom and send this guy a creepy message to turn him off? Michael shuddered at the thought of his mom turning any guy on.
He needed proof that this was actually happening, though. That much he knew. Maybe he could use the information later on, put the sque
eze on his mom for a boost in his weekly allowance, or make her buy more video games. He snapped a photo of the onscreen message with his phone, another photo of the page containing Tristan’s full bio, and also captured three images of the sleazy KGB poster boy.
12
Racing down Highway 154 going thirty miles over the speed limit, Brian inched his convertible coupe between two SUVs. “On a sunny day like this, there’s nothing like the wind in your hair.”
As the old Beemer swerved close to the SUV to the right, Michael flinched and held onto his cap. But he tried to play it cool. “Yeah, this is tight.” And he meant it literally, as the car swerved again and nearly swiped the other SUV.
“You gotta keep your eyes open today, playa. I'm gonna show you some tricks of the trade.”
“Cool, I’m down for whatever.”
“I know you are.”
Michael scratched the back of his head. “Dad, there’s something I should tell you.”
“What?”
“Well, uh, maybe I shouldn’t say anything.”
“The pussy is out of the bag now, playa. Spit it out.”
Michael brought up the photo of Tristan’s dating profile on his phone and handed it to his father.
“Tristan Drimov … What the hell is this?”
“It was on mom's computer.”
“Your mom’s on the prowl?”
“Watch out!” Michael yelled, pointing ahead.
His father was about to rear-end a biker. Brian hit the brakes. Tires squealing, the car swerved and seemed destined to careen into the motorcycle. Scared that the biker would get clipped and end up inside the convertible, Michael ducked. But his dad managed to regain control of the vehicle and moved into the lane next to the biker.
Shocked at the close encounter, the biker almost toppled over. “You moron!” he yelled.
“Hey!” Brian exclaimed. “My son’s here, you son of a bitch, so watch your fuckin’ language!” Brian glanced down at Tristan’s profile page, then thumbed through a few more photos on Michael’s phone. “I don’t see a response from this Tristan character.”
