Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous (26 page)

His was the last flight out of Krasnodar. It touched down in a cold and frosty Moscow at 11.20pm and after collecting his luggage Bronte headed for the international departures lounge. It was almost deserted compared with the arrivals hall he witnessed just days earlier and now, he might even be able to smoke inside the hall such was the scarcity of passengers and observers. He stopped to look at a departures board, its words, letters and numbers changing every ten seconds from Russian to English. He wondered how the Arabs and Chinese understood their flights and whether they felt prejudice. When his numbers rolled around again in English, he sighed when he saw that indeed the time on his ticket was correct. His flight left at 6am, still more than five hours until boarding.  

              He headed for the men’s toilet where he desperately hoped to take a shower, since his last had been days before in the hotel. Sure there’d been the traditional Russian outdoor sauna in the mountains and a wash in the icy river, but they were a poor substitute for hot, running water. Even Zhana had showered daily at her mother’s place and Tanya had taken a shower when she visited her sister in Krasnodar every day. With his good shoulder, Bronte leaned on the door into the men’s room. The place appeared to be empty so he dropped his luggage and found a shower. After washing body and hair, he dressed in fresh clothes and then he heard his mobile ring. It startled him. He’d switched it on to call Zhana once or twice but now back in Moscow, it was the first time he’d heard the thing ring in more than a week. In one sense it was good to speak with his brother, who along with the family, had really started to worry.

But the familiar voice from so far away also brought him down. The wrestle within had already begun as he struggled to come to terms with leaving Zhana and the emotional intensity of the past week. Compared to these last days, thoughts of being thrown back into the grind of life at home; work, commitments and pets now appeared as the epitome of a mundane life. No one had heard beep from him for almost a fortnight and although he told his brother little, the cat was out of the bag. Now they’d all know he had been in Russia on his internet adventure meeting Zhana. Thankfully however, there was still so much they didn’t know. As he left the men’s room another man was entering. He held the door open for Bronte who complimented the gesture with a smile and thank you. When the man spoke it was immediately evident he was an American.

Bronte walked to a nearby coffee stall and paid for a cappuccino and a football magazine. There were two other men also sitting at tables alone, drinking cognac and coffee respectively. One extinguished a cigarette, dumping the ashes and butt in his plastic coffee cup. Bronte glanced around for security and lit up. Soon after the American appeared, ordered a short black coffee then sat a table or two away from Bronte. Although the European football magazine Bronte bought was in Russian, the score lines still read the same, so he was busy searching for results when the American spoke.

              ‘Long wait for you too huh?’

‘Long night alright…’

‘Where you from man?

              ‘Australia - and you’re from the U.S… right?’

              ‘Sure thing, you got it. What you doing here?’

              ‘Good question …but don’t ask. I’m not quite sure yet’ Bronte replied.

              ‘Ha. Don’t go there, right?’ The stranger gave a cynical chuckle. Bronte looked up from his magazine, no answer necessary. ‘So how do you like Russia?’ The American asked.

              ‘I’m not sure if I do like Russia. What are you doing here in this crazy place anyway?’ Bronte asked, more politely than from genuine interest in the man or the conversation.

              ‘I have been visiting with my girlfriend… or I could say fiancé, but I haven’t officially proposed yet. We’ve just spent five days in Moscow… it’s my second visit here.’ He was sitting sideways in his chair, leaning forward facing Bronte, forearms on knees.

              ‘Ha.’ His laugh seemed to startle the American, ‘Sorry, just struck me as amusing, that’s all. I thought I might be thinking of proposing when I arrived, but that turned out to be a joke, that’s for sure.’

              ‘You came to see a girl too? Wow…’ The American was all ears, slowly rotating his cup in his hands. ‘What happened?’

              ‘Don’t go there…’ Bronte replied, returning to his football mag.

‘Really? It was bad, you didn’t like her? She didn’t like you?’

‘It was a disaster and… anyway, better forgotten right now.’ Bronte closed the magazine and reached for his luggage next to the table. ‘I think I’ll try to find some place I can stretch out for a few hours before my flight. Nice talking with you.’

              ‘Sure, no problem. I’ll see you ‘round no doubt.’

‘Have a good flight.’

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

Zhana arrived home drained and feeling completely numb. The dark, cold and lonely house she walked into only exaggerated her stark isolation. Tanya was with family, Willy was two thousand kilometres away in Frankfurt, her son was at mum’s place and Bronte was gone. Yes, he was gone. She felt her eyes moisten again at the thought. She had been so arm’s length with him and at a time when he needed support the most, especially coming from her. Why had she done that? She sobbed as a wave of anger and disappointment swept her. Just an hour or two before, she had been so close to having him and being with him and holding him and never letting go. Surely never before and never again could she feel the same force of emotions that rushed her as there in the park when they kissed, or at the airport while they embraced. She had caught a glimpse of the horrible pangs that surely gripped her grandmother when Stalin’s KGB came through the front gate and rapped on the door of the family home. Grandma told Zhana she’d held her grandfather so tightly that they had to pull him away from her. She had known she would never hold him again, so she’d made it an embrace she would never forget, long after they’d dragged him off on that blustering, snowy night in 1952.

Now, Zhana felt so strongly about Bronte that her thoughts completely overwhelmed the few times she thought of Willy - and that was scary. Despite her insistence she must pull herself together, there was no stopping the constant flow of tears. No matter what direction of thinking she took, all roads found their way back to Bronte. Why didn’t she tell him she wanted him to stay with her, and that she would be with him? Why was she such a coward? Willy would recover after a few months and that was nothing compared with her life, all the years that yet lay ahead. Deep down she knew Bronte was merely acting out of chivalry when he suggested she should look after Willy. She could feel beyond his words. O why had they placed feelings of guilt and responsibility ahead of such an important issue as love? God, she’d even told Bronte she loved him, something she yet hadn’t been able to say to Willy.

Now, worrying everything was headed for a return to the monotone it was months before was horrifying. It was all looking to be an ugly, lonely grey again and suddenly. Someone had pulled the plug on her emotions and she was absolutely drained, empty and hollow. She felt torn between the deep longing just to be with Bronte again, even for a moment, and the strange anger that she harboured for him leaving her as he did. Damn him for even arriving! Now her life was on its head. There was no way she could hold back the pools gathering force in her eyes and she burst into tears again.

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

Trying to find a comfortable place to sleep in an international airport is like trying to find the lost city of Atlantis and Bronte soon realized neither would be found in Moscow. He eventually settled on a row of seats not far from the ladies rest room, but the steel bars linking each chair made it impossible to lie in one position for any length of time. Sleeping was a forlorn hope and worse, rest only allowed all experiences of the past few days to catch up with his present. One thousand thoughts and feelings were all cartoon motor cars, whirring around on a giant freeway network with a myriad of overpasses, and Zhana the central boulevard. Everything that had happened since he boarded the flight out of Sydney had her name on it - every exit, every road, every billboard, no matter where he tried to go or whatever off-ramp he took, led back and around to Zhana.

When he met her on the pathway, it was a demonstration of the highest act of generosity Cupid could possibly offer. The best interventions of the wicked witch Alessiya and her naughty, crafty helper Rita had been cunningly undone that evening. Nothing, no fate, destiny or tragedy had kept them from meeting. But what value had they both placed on that, now that they were apart with no plans to be together? For him, its value had been priceless proof of the power of love and determination. Sadly though, Zhana had barely mentioned the miraculous event.

But perhaps the greatest disappointment haunting him was that time in her company had been the expression of another man. At least it must have been, for he never wanted to act the way he did with her nor say the things he said. Someone else had been impartial, considerate of Willy and non-plussed about walking away without a fight. Now, Bronte wondered who that man had been back in Krasnodar and for what reason? More than anything, he wanted to be with her and hold her like they felt there, in the terminal before his departure. On another day, his decision would have been to virtually insist Zhana break off with Willy. But when he’d had his day, his chance to take her and to force the issue, he did not. Just like Willy, the lion tamer deserted him too - and right when he needed him most.

Maybe they were not really in love and he’d overplayed the kiss in the park, time in the taxi, those moments at the airport? Of more concern, maybe he was now too encumbered with his past to recognise love when he felt it? Or worse, maybe he was beyond loving? What if love was a comet that swept all aside only once in a man’s lifetime, Bronte’s vision of Haley’s passing in his youth? But when he pondered the chance meeting that fateful night, he considered that was worth two comet sightings alone. When he eventually managed to doze off, some 200 pound Arab nearby dropped his luggage to the floor with a thud and sat down coughing and spluttering.

At 5am on Wednesday morning Bronte wandered into the customs control area, had his passport and visa stamped and after the mandatory security check in, walked through to the departure gate. There was still an hour before take off, but just making progress from the hall to the gate had felt like he was at last on his way home. The time spent stretched across three hard seats in the main hall had yielded little sleep and he knew it would take more than an airport terminal to shut out the torrent of events he kept running through his mind. It would take even more to diminish his thoughts of Zhana. It would take time.

He leaned back and rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. There was still an element of doubt whether or not he should even board the flight out of Russia. It would never be easier than right then to do an about face and return to Krasnodar. He tried to imagine whether seeing him unexpectedly again would be delight or drama for Zhana. Finally, he settled on the result being drama. At least he had to think and believe that because if he didn’t and went back and it was disappointment, he would never forgive himself. Out of the blue he was disturbed by the voice with the accent,

              ‘Hey, how’re you doin’?’ The young American was on the same flight.

              ‘You have to connect in Frankfurt too?’

              ‘Damn right, then onto Los Angeles… And you?’

              ‘Bangkok, then Sydney.’

              ‘Cool, we can hang out in Frankfurt, maybe drink a beer or two’ the American grinned.

              ‘That’s always a possibility… and I’m Bronte by the way.’

              ‘Hey Bronte, name’s Joey. Seen much of Moscow Bronte?’

              ‘I’ve spent no time in Moscow. And I don’t think I intend to in the future either. It’s too cold.’

              ‘Ain’t that the truth. Where you been man?’

              ‘South, southern Russia, a city called Krasnodar. It’s warmer.’

              ‘No shit! Krasnodar, that’s fantastic, my girlfriend’s from Krasnodar, she says it’s a beautiful place and if it’s anything like her, it must be damned hot.’

              ‘Well it’s sure hotter than here… and it is an interesting place, very beautiful in many ways... and there are many beautiful ladies there too. I have no doubt your girlfriend is lovely. What’s her name?’

‘Oly, her name’s Oly or Alessiya. I have a photo. She’s so wonderful, so hot. You should meet her!’

‘Whale Oil Beef Hooked’ Bronte said wide eyed.

Although this experience bordered the extreme, the emotional and financial damage done to the innocent and naïve by scammers and fraudsters is nonetheless shattering. This is tragic, given the vast majority of Russian girls are sincere, well intentioned, honest and loyal. Simple guidelines the author advocates are these:

Try to chat with the woman
in real-time rather than email only. This allows immediate responses to any and all questions. Ask about her work. If she chats during her working hours, how does she manage to do that?

Gather all personal information about her
; phones, address, family members etc.

If she requests money
for anything, including her internet costs,
walk away
. This is the hardest for many men. But again, walk away. Remember, any genuine girl will never ask for money from an unknown male.

If she asks for money
to visit; visas, travel costs, customs clearance money – anything –
walk away
. No Russian girl (from the CIS) can obtain a travel visa without letters of invitation from a sponsoring foreign male. If she says she will be visiting for work or study, why is she contacting you? Ask for proof.

If you suspect a scam
or worse have been conned, post all her details, photos etc on a registered Scammers Black List website – and then let her know you’ve done that.

If she suggests she has no mobile
and it is difficult to call her, she is not genuine. Like the west, all young or single women in Russia have mobiles. Even the kids have mobile phones. Often SMS will not go through, depending on network agreements, but calls always go through.

Watch out for signs of a generic email
letter which may be mailed to you or any one of a number of men. She should address you by name and answer you directly. If she avoids answering specific questions in letters, ask her why she did not answer you. Then ask again.

Go and meet her.
This is a must. See how she lives, meet her family and friends. Never think she should come to you first before you have been to meet her. Whether you choose to correspond with more than one woman and visit all on the same journey is up to the individual. Bear in mind it’s a long way to travel with all eggs in one basket if you discover you don’t like her or she doesn’t like you after all.

If while visiting, she deters you
from meeting her family or close friends, she is not genuine about you as a partner or she is not genuine period. This is a loud warning sign.

Make the effort to learn
something of her country, region, background and culture. Also make an effort to learn some Russian, at least common courtesies.

Finally,
when you are there, practise the three Ukraine traditions for interested, prospective lovers. You will find them at the end of
Chapter 32
.