Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit

of the hydraulics as the plane re-corrected to its truecourse. Once again, I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten here. I wasn’texactly sure what I was doing, but at least this time, I hadsomething to look forward to.
Much like my excruciating commute to work,the long flight afforded me unwelcome time alone with my thoughts.My mind proved to be as cloudy as my surroundings and I couldn’tescape the questions buffeting my brain: What the hell was I doing?Was I crazy? You cannot, you should not commit to a lifelongpartner in one week. I thought about the many couples I had knownover the years and how they dated their eventual spouses for yearsbefore marrying. Now here I was, expecting to find what they had,in one week.
As the clouds parted and the land belowrevealed itself, the anxiety that is typically experienced attakeoff really began to set in. I glanced at my watch while theplane landed safely on foreign soil and found that it was exactlynoon. High noon. Day one had begun. I had one week. Seven shortdays. I had one real chance to find the person I came for, orreturn to my gray cubicle to continue my gray life.
Of the three majorairports in Moscow, I arrived at the primary international portalknown as Sheremetyevo 2. Despite being a significant gateway forinternational passengers, the airport itself proved small, dull,and cold. So cold, in fact, that my first impression of the countryhad nothing to do with culture, or landscape, or evencommunication. It was just really cold and I had brought the wrongcoat. My SoCal winter outfit, tennis shoes and a coat intended forCalifornia winter, sixty-five degrees above zero, were doing me littlegood now. I quickened my steps toward the baggage claim in anattempt to generate some needed body heat.
After I retrieved my bags, I took a moment tosurvey my surroundings. A sea of people characterized by gruffmovements, stoic expressions, and muted colors trudged this way andthat while providing a stark contrast to my sunny origins.Determined to use the cold to steel myself, I took another deepbreath and sought out some sign that might direct me on my journey.And then I saw it. An actual sign with my name handwritten on itthat read, “Paul Goldman,” and holding the sign was a short,middle-aged woman.
“Welcometo Moscow, Paul,” she said warmly. “I’m Natasha, the office managerfor RussianBrides.” When I returned her greeting, Isuddenly realized that she wasn't alone. Standing just behind herwas a tall, beautiful woman wearing a long coat, with a scarfdraped over her head and neck. Her image wasunmistakable.
“Svetlana,” I managed,trying to overcome both my excitement and surprise, “You’re evenmore beautiful than your pictures.”
“Hi Paul. Nice to finallymeet you in person, although I feel that I already know you fromyour letters and our calls.” Her eyes fluttered momentarily, thenshe regained her steady gaze. Good, I thought, that means she likesme. “How’s Basel?” Svetlana asked.
“Probably missing me atthe kennel, but I assured him it was for a good cause,” I replied,awkwardly handling my suitcase while I debated what to do or saynext.
Natasha, sensing a momentof self-consciousness, directed us to the parking area where hercar was waiting. I made a point of holding the car door forSvetlana and also made a mental note to let things unfold naturallyas I loaded my bags in the trunk. Moments later, we were heading tothe agency’s apartment. Svetlana and I talked about the city, theweather, and all the usual little things people talk about on afirst meeting.
Pulling up to the apartment building, Natashastepped out of the car and handed me directions to her office whileSvetlana remained inside. “Svetlana will be at the office aroundsix. There’s a nice Italian restaurant close by. You two can havedinner there.”
I turned into theapartment building and made my way to the arranged apartment,located on the third floor. Walking up the stairwell, so too myspirits rose. Svetlana likes me, I thought. She's friendly, and wejust talked incessantly for the last hour and half. Well, maybeI could find mysoul mate in one week. Having climbed the steps hurriedly with myheavy bags, at the top of the landing I paused a moment to catch mybreath. Then, I opened the front door to what would be my home forthe week. I noticed these walls were gray, but this gray now had adifferent meaning for me. This gray was an empty canvas, ready forme to cover with images of the rest of my life, the life I'd alwaysdreamt of.
Six and a half days left. I found my way toNatasha’s office and found Svetlana waiting for me. More at ease,we gave each other a big hug, said our good-byes to Natasha andheaded to the restaurant. While we walked, it was just as cold asbefore, and it had begun to snow, but now I seemed protected fromthe cold by an aura of warmth surrounding me. Arriving at therestaurant, I opened the door and was engulfed by wonderful smellsof cheese, garlic and oregano. I glanced around and noticed redcheckered tablecloths and paintings of Tuscan landscapes. Ah, hereI am in romantic Italy, I thought. What a romantic place to be,especially with Svetlana, the most beautiful woman in the world. Wepicked up our conversation from the long ride back from theairport. We talked about our families, our work, and even oursituation.
“Sveta, I have to tellyou, being here with you is like a dream come true,” I saiddaringly, and then I reached across the table to hold her hand. Tomy surprise, however, she immediately pulled it away and lookeddown. I was shocked and confused. “What’s the matter?” Iquestioned.
“I’m sorry. I don’t feelcomfortable.”
“Why? I don’t understand,”I said, as I searched her face for some explanation. When I couldfind none, I tried some levity instead. “Do you think the KGB iswatching?”
“No, it’s just me,” sheresponded, revealing a beautiful smile that signaled her wish totake back what had just happened. However, no matter how much shetried to erase the memory of her recoil with smiles and kind words,I now realized what should have been so apparent. It was dumb andnaïve of me to expect