Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous

by Best, J. Brandon

  ‘She’ll be here in a quarter hour,’ she said. Katya had played the interpreter role for Bronte throughout the conversation and done well. Despite the background noise and the need for secrecy and discretion he’d understood her well.

  ‘So let’s back up a minute. You sent her $1500 for nose surgery?’ Katya asked him.

  ‘Yes.’ Looking at Zhana he continued ‘I had not received any photos since the early ones you sent… and there were only 3.’ He paused while the returning waiter emptied his tray of drinks in front of the group exactly as ordered. Bronte continued,

  ‘So you can see I was willing to support you and have relations with you. I really thought it was you who asked me for the money.’

  Zhana’s appearance looked stormy, her dark eyes disguising any hint of what she was thinking. Would she break with fury or would she blow over? When only a tear leaked from the corner of each eye, he suspected she was incapable of responding. She was so tragically beautiful yet so vulnerable, he wanted to take her in his arms and run far away and live with his Mrs Crusoe on his deserted island, safe from the unscrupulous heathen.

  ‘You should move Bronte. You don’t want Rita to see you sitting here with us. She will run if she sees you, I can promise’ Katya said suddenly.

  ‘She’s a mouse.’ Zhana leaned back in her chair, stretched and with straightened arms, cracked her knuckles. When she pulled her hair back from her face and shoulders, his groin churned at the site of her long neck and ample chest.

  ‘There…’ Katya pointed, beginning to relish the group-leader role. ‘Go sit there… at the bar.’ She looked again at her watch. ‘And you should go now. I’ll signal when to come over, just give us some time alone with Rita, okay?’

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  Rita’s heart skipped a dozen beats when she saw Zhana’s name on her incoming call screen. She was on her way home when she took Zhana’s call, having left Alessiya only minutes before. She panicked, not wanting to answer her phone, but she was too slow on her feet for an excuse. And the combination of curiosity, fear and guilt had compelled her. ‘Thank God Oly wasn’t here’ she thought after she’d hung up, still hearing Alessiya’s words of pending doom ringing in her ears. What if… by some chance, he bumped into the real little miss heart-throb?

  She had used and abused Zhana for profit and gain when really, Zhana had only ever treated her fairly. Now she felt guilty. But if all was okay – and Zhana sounded okay she thought - she could use a few drinks with the girls. The last few days had been stress for a novice like her and as she made haste for the restaurant, she said to herself, ‘It's all okay, he hasn’t met her, Krasnodar is too big. Its two in a million… it’s impossible. And Zhana sounded okay… I heard Katya in the background. It’ll all be okay.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bronte sat at the bar and chain-smoked. Back home he smoked only moderately but now he could afford to smoke in more ways than the mere cost. It was obvious why they were only eighty cents a pack. There were so many frustrating things about everyday Russian life, that the entire population needed some form of cheap stress relief. Earlier in the day, the water had suddenly dried up throughout the entire apartment complex, just when he was about to make a coffee. Luckily he had sufficient in the kettle. This was a unique place with its own unique set of conditions. Even the nature, purpose and method for the sting he’d walked into would never occur back home. What Australian woman could ask which foreign man for money because of the poor conditions she suffered? Just go get the dole, love.

  He was unable to see Zhana clearly from the his position. He had a clear view of her back and her long, wavy hair, but that was it. So much nicer than Rita he thought, now he could compare the two girls. In fact almost everything about Zhana compared favourably to Rita. Most notably, Zhana had a softness and sensitivity he could not detect in Rita, who was more like a wet fish with a cute face. Rex Hunt would like Rita, he guessed. And when Zhana peeled off her coat and stretched in her seat, he saw she was definitely more amply endowed than Rita. He hadn’t detected such mounds lay hiding under Rita’s clothing and when he thought about it, he beat himself again for not suspecting a fraud. Zhana certainly had a larger nose than Rita, but most women would have a larger nose than Rita. She had a classic Californian button nose. Not that she spent Bronte’s $1500 to get it. That went on mobile, jeans, shoes and a bag, living expenses and a hefty commission to Alessiya. God gave Rita her nose, gratis.

  Katya kept glancing at Bronte, as if to say she hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe she thinks I don’t know what Rita looks like? Katya glanced again, Bronte looked at the entrance and Rita stood there staring around the room. He looked at the floor. Zhana and Katya waved to Rita who made her way to their table, thanking her lucky stars that at that moment all was normal. Bronte wondered how Zhana could remain cool and calm without blowing the charade with an outburst of abuse or worse, flailing arms and handbag.

  ‘Hi Zhana, Hi Katya, how are you?’

  ‘Okay thanks Rita’, both replied in unison.

  ‘Where’s the others? I thought some of the other girls would be here.’ As she unzipped her jacket and sat slowly, Rita resembled a descending periscope looking this way and that, doing her best to disguise the heart attack she had when she saw only the two of them.

  ‘They had to go which is a pity. You just missed them.’ Katya glanced quickly at Zhana who added,

  ‘What have you been up to lately?’

  ‘Not much really. Dad has been ill so I have been spending a lot of time nursing him…’ Rita sat looking nervous, fiddling with her mobile phone. ‘Now I have started work with a travel agency. I must show clients Krasnodar region.’ She fidgeted excessively when she spoke about her new job.

  ‘O really?’ Zhana said a little too seriously, doing her best not to start unloading on Rita. To keep her from Zhana’s death looks, Katya asked,

  ‘That sounds good Rita. Do they pay you okay?’

  ‘It’s not easy to find a job with good pay, is it Rita?’ Zhana said before the now extremely uncomfortable Rita could answer.

  ‘No! After I left the shop, I couldn’t find anything at all. Maybe I could get work there… with you again?’ Rita pleaded, attempting to feign genuine interest and a willingness to work.

  ‘I don’t think we have a vacancy at present’ Zhana said, almost spitting the words out.

  ‘And what travel agency is it you work for, Rita?’

  ‘Umm… it’s a new one on… umm… near the old post office…’ Rita could feel her composure slipping, but took advantage of a pause when the waiter arrived with her bourbon and coke. If it was a pregnant pause, the conversation was about to go into labour.

  ‘So tell us about your work Rita? Like what have you done this week?’ Zhana asked, laying an obvious trap. Rita was caught, stuck for an answer.

  , Katya understood it’d be difficult for Zhana to keep a straight face. She also understood Rita was a poor liar and her sense of guilt was making it impossible to answer Zhana. Rita ummed and ahhed playing with her glass, then Katya announced,

  ‘Rita. There’s someone here you should meet.’

  Bronte saw Katya motion him to go over, using little more than her eyebrows. Katya guessed they’d never get through enough small talk for Rita to relax. Bronte had been wondering what could be taking them so long. He walked straight to the table and grabbed the vacant plastic chair.

  ‘Hello Rita, how nice of you to join us. Do you know everyone here? Have you met Zhana?’ Seeing Bronte, Rita went from a flushed pink to a stone cold grey, literally. With a slow, calculated movement of her head, she straightened her back, lifted her chin, turned to her right and looked solemnly at no one on the next table.

  That action brought seething point for Zhana. She began to unload a tirade of disgust and disappointment on Rita. She blasted her grievances in a cacophony of accusations, complaints and expletives like an automatic AK-
47 firing words. And she was unloading all her clip, while Rita sat cold and unmoved offering little resistance or defence. Occasionally, Katya added something during pauses which fell more like time to tend the wounded.

  After Rita said something, the gunfire started again. No armistice yet Bronte thought. It was obvious Zhana was really upset, but there was no place for tears. She was laying shots into Rita without the need of an appropriate weapon. Her words were wounding Rita’s conscience and at the rate she was going it could be slaughter they were looking at.

  He was witnessing an expression of outrage against the mistrust and abuse of her friendship, love-life and goodwill. He wondered had they been in a more private place, would it have been a cat fight. He also had no idea of an intended result the girls had devised. That hadn’t been mentioned while he was at the table earlier.

  Something Zhana said brought a dramatic change in the weather. The dark cloud that Rita had become broke suddenly and tears began to flow like rain. She started sobbing right there while Zhana went right on assaulting, only now with larger intervals between shots. She hoped her prey had been mortally wounded. Both girls were visibly upset, but if Rita looked like she had just learned of her father’s passing, Zhana looked like the one who killed him. They were both upset over the same incident, but for very different reasons. Bronte was losing so much in the translation or lack of it that he could only sit, keep his mouth shut and watch. The final break to tend the wounded turned out to be the last word from Zhana. There was a lengthy period of silence as she sat rigid, her face solemn while Rita sat crying, her face wet. Katya turned to Bronte and calmly stated,

  ‘Rita has agreed to meet you at the agency tomorrow at 2pm. She will return your money there. Zhana warned that in the event she does not do this, you will both go to the police.’ Zhana fired a few passing words as Rita departed the happy party with Bronte and the girls from her former work.

  ‘Horosho, da… yes, I understand’ Rita replied, turned and walked away as briskly without a glance back. After a moments silence,

  ‘So I must go to this agency at 2 pm tomorrow… to get the money?’ Bronte asked.

  ‘Yes, Zhana just reminded Rita you will go to the police if she does not return your money.’

  ‘Exactly’ Zhana stated, having not smiled since the initial meeting more than an hour before.

  ‘I have no idea where it is and anyway tomorrow I’ve got to be out of my apartment. Oly told me tonight my time there is up. God, until now I’d forgotten about it altogether’ Bronte said slightly stirred.

  ‘Where are you staying? You say Alessiya told you to get out tomorrow? Are you staying at her place?’ Katya asked questions like a detective. Even before Bronte could answer she said,

  ‘I bet she has you in the apartment she uses for visitors. I know she’s had foreign men stay there before… you are near the Amphitheatre, yes?’ Bronte nodded. ‘It’s very close to the agency, about eight to ten minutes walk maximum. Zhana can explain how to get there.’ Katya collected her things, stood and said,

  ‘Unfortunately now I must run.’ She gave Zhana a kiss and they agreed to speak the following day. She shook hands with Bronte, said goodbyes and left. Suddenly, after six months of hurts and tears and countless emails to God knows who, the two lost romantics were alone.

  ‘It is terrible we must meet this way’ Zhana said, now more relaxed but no less miserable looking. Her eyes were like ink and in the low watt lighting of the restaurant the smeared mascara trail on her cheeks gave the appearance her eyes had spilled. When she finished looking at herself in her compact she added, ‘And I am very sorry about your money. You will get it tomorrow.’ Bronte hadn’t considered the return of the money as a possible outcome. Come to think of it, the money wasn’t important. Now that the matter was settled and he was out of the dark, the only thing he wanted was that he and Zhana stay together. Wanting to see how she’d react to the mention of his accommodation,

  ‘Hey thanks for helping me get the money… and of course it will help me pay for a hotel.’

  ‘That’s no problem, I can help you find a reasonable hotel,’ Zhana replied, lucky dipping into her bag to find a pen. ‘And I will draw you a map so you can walk to the agency tomorrow.’

  ‘You can’t come with me tomorrow?’ Bronte asked, sounding like a kid starting his first day at school after thoughts of staying with Zhana had been dashed.

  ‘I wish I could go with you… but I must work until seven o’clock, I’m sorry. It’s a pity really, because I’d so like to see the look on that bitch Alessiya’s face. She will hate to part with this money. There’s no way Rita will have it so she’ll have to borrow it from Alessiya… unless she’s away with some poor sucker from overseas… oh sorry, no offence intended.’

  ‘None taken, though if the shoe – the Italian boot fits -’

  ‘Anyway, I have written my phone number on this napkin with the map. Call me after you get your money and I can tell you which will be the best hotel for you. I must check prices and rooms first.’ She handed Bronte the neatly folded napkin.

  ‘I really wish to see you again Zhana. You know, I have six days remaining here from tomorrow – and that’s a long time to be alone… I really don’t know anyone. It’s horrible.’

  ‘Of course we’ll meet; we must. It’s been a surprise and a shock for me, as you realize, but I want to see you… It’ll be easier if we see each other after my work tomorrow, okay?’ She squeezed his hand and they got up and made their way out.

  They stood embracing on the walkway. This was their prom night and they might have waited their whole lives for it. The park, the night lights and the moving shadows thrown by the vast dancing trees created a Hitchcock set with a wartime plot. They could have been lost lovers in an old black and white film. He had just returned from battle, having been incorrectly listed either dead or missing. She’d lost hope, married someone else and their love had been tragically stolen by the grand designs of time and fate. Ironically, Bronte had no idea how closely this fantasy resembled their situation. He was yet to learn she was engaged to marry Willy the German. Zhana indicated she was headed in the opposite direction. She leaned in towards him and after hesitating at the eleventh hour, kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

  ‘See you tomorrow okay? Call me, good luck.’ And she was gone with the shadows and wind.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  He wandered home somewhere in the “Twilight Zone.” In a true to life episode, a man kept in deep freeze for hundreds of years came back to find nothing had changed. Only the characters had married, become successful and moved on without him. Even his wife had a new husband living in his house, driving his car, playing with his kids and holding barbeque with his neighbours and friends. Bronte was still in shock that he had walked out of his flat and bumped into the real Zhana. That, in a city of a million was itself stranger than fiction.

  He had been more than lucky. He considered chance and luck too haphazard to have played any part in this pantomime of brilliant timing. The all-seeing eye pervading everything and everyone, The Almighty Dog spelled backwards, had known exactly where Zhana was. If It could bark loud enough to get his attention, then they’d meet on that pathway. Fortunately, Bronte heard and acted and it all came about.

  The walk home that night could have taken hours. His head was still on the path holding Zhana, the lost soldier returning to find his sweetheart. And all the while he had not given a single thought to his destination. As an automated response to her kiss and about turn, he’d walked in the opposite direction. Fortunately he knew it was the right one when he saw the statue of Lenin ahead and in the chilly April breeze that night, the old man needed his bronze overcoat.

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  Zhana re-read Willy’s sms which arrived while she sat alone with Katya in the cafe. She simply couldn’t deal with it at the time and she’d barely comprehended the words. Now re-reading his
message, she was faring only a little better.

  “Hi darling, just want you to know I have taken delivery of the ring. It’s very nice (smiley face). I’m sure you will like it. I love you and miss you.” She pressed reply on her phone and typed, “Thanks my dear, (smiley) you are a very good man. I miss you too. Kiss.” As she pressed send, she felt more than a little disappointed with herself. Here she was receiving news of the greatest gift in her life, yet could manage no more than those mere cool words. She wanted to cry. How could she show enthusiasm and joy on that evening? She was still in a state of concussion. What had begun as a casual stroll with conversation about pending marriages had instead became a walk into a romantic scandal of epic proportion. In as many moments as it took for Bronte to pass her on the pathway, the settled world she knew became a real life television soap drama.

  Only a script writer could be so ruthless with her love life. And the story she was still running through her thoughts had far reaching implications. What if Alessiya had not concealed Bronte’s letters? What if he had arrived first, instead of Willy? What if Rita hadn’t got involved? Might she even be marrying this Australian and planning a move to Australia and not Germany? She could admit she’d immediately felt empathy and instant ease with Bronte. It was as though she’d known him for one hundred years. Thankful her son was still at mum’s she burst into the apartment, threw herself on the bed and let it all out, indulging in a good sob session. The man from the photo in her kitchen had travelled as far as any man could possibly travel to meet a Russian woman, but had been suckered by a former friend. He had even sent her all that money, simply on a request to support her vanity.