Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit

to Russia in search of abeautiful wife with whom to start a family, even a trophy wife, ifI was honest with myself. The women in the catalogue had beenbeautiful, each one more than the last. If I couldn’t find the loveI was seeking, then at least I’d have a gorgeous woman to wake upnext to every morning, a beautiful companion to show off to myfriends and family. However, what I was coming home with was fargreater than this. I had met a woman with whom I felt a developinglove, a love that was also being returned. Most of all, I felt Ihad found the one thing that had eluded me for so long: happiness.I was happy being someone’s knight in shining armor. I was happy tohave someone with whom I could communicate more than justsuperficial ideas. And I was also happy knowing that I was about tobecome part of something bigger than myself, a family of myown.
January – June 2000
The U.S. Immigration office was a pain in theass. From the moment the plane touched down in California, I spentevery waking moment preparing for Talia’s arrival and anticipatingthe new life I was on the brink of beginning. Unfortunately, thegovernment didn't share my sense of urgency. After I sent in thefiancé visa paperwork, I spent weeks trying to track it down andits progress. Delays, and more delays. The painfully slow march oftime weighed on me more than loneliness ever had, and each dayfound me dreading more and more my increasingly stifled existencein my gray cubicle, waiting for my life to start.
I spoke with Talia two and three times aweek, and our phone conversations were as they had always been:natural, engaging, and tender. The only difference came at the endwhen we said our good-byes and my longing for her returned. Themonths dragged on and on.
Finally, I received word that the fiancé visahad been granted. Talia picked it up at the American Embassy inMoscow. For me, it seemed like there were a thousand things to do,but I relished each one, from the travel arrangements, therepainting and freshening up of my home, to the new family-friendlyfurniture I bought which replaced my early-bachelor décor. Now thatit was real, I began to discuss what was happening to me with myfriends, family and co-workers. I couldn't wait to see Talia again.I counted the days, the hours, and even the minutes until her planelanded in Los Angeles.
June, 2000
While I stood at theinternational causeway, it occurred to me that I was now the oneawaiting a distant traveler. I was the one preparing to welcomelove from a foreign land. I was the one who’d be introducing Taliainto my family.When she stepped through the gate, I immediately caught sight ofher. Her long, dark, curly hair still fell to her shoulders the wayshe’d worn it in Moscow. Her long coat, though open and without ascarf, remained, distinguishing her from the many Americanpassengers. And her smile. Her smile was once again waiting for me.I stole up beside her, grasped her hand, and she turned to me witha start. We both erupted into laughter, and then an embrace. Thisfelt like home.
Our first week togetherwas everything I imagined it to be. I took time offfrom work to show her my life. We dined out everynight and we filled our days visiting the museums, the shops, andeven the beach. With each new experience, Talia seemed overwhelmedand excited. She had seen pictures of this great Americanexistence, but never believed that it could be part of her ownlife. To make matters even better, her growing love for her newhome included a growing love for me. It all seemed too good to betrue.
And it was.
As time progressed,Talia’s initial enthusiasm began to wane when she became moreaccustomed to her new life. The initial signs of change in her weresubtle, and so it was a while before I allowed myself toacknowledge them. At first, they were only little things. Shestarted to complain if we hadn’t dined out in more than a few days,and she began to nag me about our home and how she wished it weremore modern, more a reflection of the luxuries she’dimagined.
Since her mother had doneall the cooking for her family, Talia never learned to cook. Shewhined about my cooking, my income, and the clothes she wore. Sheseemed to want more of things,and less of me. Nothing seemed to pleaseher.
I drove Talia to themedical library every day where she would study for the tests sheneeded to become an American doctor. She would spend upward oftwelve hours a day there, and then return home and study some more.I couldn't help but admire her dedication, but her studies tookpriority over everything else, including me. When it came time forbed, my yearning for intimacy was met with dismissal. The woman Ibelieved was my life mate not only spent a lot of time studying,but also it seemed her studies gave her recurring nightlyheadaches. When Talia's rejections of my advances became the ruleand no longer the exception, I became more confused andbewildered.
What was going on here?
After a few weeks, Taliaadmitted that she was having trouble sleeping with me since she wasso used to sleeping alone, and so she moved into another bedroom. Ifound myself alone again.
With the passage of time,there arose more serious troubles. I returned home one rare rainyday to an empty home and a trail of blood on the kitchen floor.Talia was nowhere to be found. I panicked. Calling everyone we knewand finding no answer, my mind raced with horrifying scenarios.After an hour of worry, I picked up the phone to contact thepolice. My hand was sweating as I clutched the receiver, andclumsily dialed the number. The haunting sound of the dial tone wasthen interrupted by another sound, the sound of the front doorslowly opening with an eerie creak.
When I swung around to confront what wasentering, in walked Talia, wet and worn, showing no visible signsof explanation except a bandage wrapped tightly around her wrist. Irushed to her, relieved that she appeared safe, and asked whathappened to her.
“I had an accident in