Rita removed the fingers from the keyboard. Why does she still write such short stories? Here is her adorable Dina Rubin would have made one of the rhythine supply of the page three ...
"In the morning, Seva went to the store. He walked along the sunny side of the street, coming on a ripped carpet, which formed the sun's rays, breaking through the dense fatty foliage of the plane. Somewhere in the area of the top oil, children's voices rang. Seva swept his hands pleasant to the touch soft skin of a new belt, Anna's gift. The belt was dear, very fit to trousers - pants, by the way, had their own story. "
And so on, and so on ... While Seva would have come to the store, the reader would find out the whole history of his kind, he would have studied his wardrobe, his relationship with the boss would have done to get confused in the sevin women ...
And master Chen? Another adorable, recently open-rite writer. He would have come to the store, and, while she chose the wine, the reader would know the history of Italian winemaking, would have learned to distinguish to Spetburgunder and Dornfelder, and when Seva would have moved to the Japanese Food Department, there would be a murder of chopsticks, the detective love plot and Oh, how soon would have returned to Seva to the sleepy non-wisp wife ...
The brethren is the sister of the talent, but the enemy of the fee, he sighed Rita and reached out again to the keyboard. She wrote short stories. Story, how she spoke she herself. I even wanted to name the first compilation. He dissuaded the editor, skinny red-haired woman of an indefinite age with the ridiculous name of Susanna.
- Well, what are the "tracks"? She nervously asked her hoarse low voice. - Not seriously. The reader must be attracted by the title, not scare away.
Rita was a novice writer, nothing in the publishing business did not understand, the editor was heard and could not get rid of surprise on his own (!) First (!) Books ...
Now she finished the fifth. She had already had a name, readers loved her, they were waiting for her books, the editors became much more poked. None of them suspected that Rita is still in amazement from his breathtaking talent ...
Previously, Rita worked by art historians. The entire day was held in the exhibition hall: meetings with lucky and not very artists, the exhibition device, advertising, plans - everything was on it. So when the "arrival" happened, as her husband called her, and when this parish began to bring money - not so what, but still regular, Rita with a clean conscience threw their artists, and their exhibitions, focusing only in stories . She liked to write, and everything would be nothing, but the husband began to perceive her as a housewife. With all the ensuing consequences. On weekdays, he began to come home to dine, demanded fresh and tasty food, smooth shirts, ideal order. Rita was a pity on the daily cooking, she did not really like to stand at the stove. But for a timid supply to her husband to continue to dining in the dining room, she received an outraged verbal volley in response. The husband started, read her a lecture on what a real woman should be, as it should cook perfectly, sew and knit, but writing talents are an application to talents main, female. Rita listened in the voused - the next story was sitting in the head, she asked to the will, it was not at all to the verbal passages of her husband. We must, invented: sew-knit! Domostroy some kind! She stroked her husband on the shoulder, promised to learn to cook dumplings with cherries and ran to the computer ...
This morning, just about these dumplings, her husband recalled her, throwing Casual that the cherry would soon go away, and from the ice cream dumpling, of course, can be done, but there will be impossible.
There is nothing to do, it is necessary to leave Seva with the unreasonable wife and stump behind the cherries. Rita went on the Internet a recipe, made sure that all other components of her future culinary masterpiece in the house are available. The last time she was preparing dumplings with cherries twenty years ago, at the dawn of foggy adolescence ... In his youth, she generally prepared a lot and often, not lazy. Yes, and in stores it was not very, not that now: at all you can not cook, everything is sold. But here you are: I want my husband to prepare myself ... and what a capricious?
Was used Ritina Will, she would eat alone sandwiches and semi-finished products. Daughter, too, fortunately, unpretentious, and now, in his Moscow student dormitory, it was not soared about meals, I didn't miss my home cooking.
The cherry in the store turned out to be beautiful: large, dark, with lossy satin sides. Rita thought, not to buy more vegetables, as suddenly heard behind:
- Margarita Petrovskaya?
She turned around. A dormless thin man with a perfic face looked at her with undisguised joy.
Rita, as she herself said, was widely known in narrow circles. That is not so much so that they are recognized on the streets. She did not show it on TV, portraits on books, of course, were, but ... In general, she froze before learning her man in some confusion.
"You will not recognize," he handed out. - Really changed so?
Rita understood only that this is not a reader, and looked more closely. Yes no, she did not know this man, except that the eyes ... rare blue, they were like someone ... something like this no longer ...
- Well, you, ritka, give, - a man seems to be offended. - I understand, so many years have passed, the Queen of Margo may not remember his pray ...
Rita shuddered. Alcohol. As a merciless alcohol to male beauty ... In the university, everyone has fought over the coincidence of their names and surnames. Her name was the queen Margo - and because of the name, and because of a direct, royal walk, which gymnastics developed. Oleg Molkin became La Peas later, when everyone noticed that he did not drive his eyes with Margarita and tries to be everywhere, where she was ... Oleg loved her so selflessly, that she responded, fell in love, too, they were friendly, happy.
Then some stupidity happened: someone said something, someone came across to someone ... Only in eighteen years can be parted forever after the oaths in eternal love ... and they broke up, and almost forever. Irretrievably.
"La Mol," she said. - Hello, Alik! How do you?
They went to the cafe and for a cup of coffee in five minutes they told each other all their lives after parting. And what is particularly talking there? Weddings, children, work. Rita said nothing about the stories. Oleg did not mention alcohol. In general, it was no longer about what: neither the general topics nor the general current acquaintances. Only memories. All in the past.
Rita carried home Cherry and thought, saw Oleg if he married her. Would she write if they came out for Oleg.
Who knows who knows ... it happened as it turned out. Yes, she never loved her husband as Oleg. But maybe it's for the better? Passion does not always lead to happiness, solved Rita and began to sculpt dumplings.
Oleg continued to sit in a cafe, drank no coffee, but whiskey. Why, well, why did he call her today? What did you find on him?
He watched her life all these years. Nineteen years and four months. So much passed after their stupid separation. Oleg with his slowness then all hesitated, as henced to reconcile, decided that it was necessary to make an offer. There was no money for a good ring, he left for all summer to a construction unit, and when he returned, Rita was already married. Married. For this Her Henry, as he nick her husband. As in the "queen Margo", in fact: did not love, but married and was a devotee ...
Oleg did not understand what to do. I was waiting that she would also quickly pop up from this marriage, as jumped into it. But Rita became pregnant, her daughter gave birth, and Oleg realized that there was no refund.
He knew all that was going on with her. Well, or almost everything. I tried to do not get across, but from afar, I often saw her - then walking with my daughter, then carrying it in my exhibition hall ... He read all her books - for many times, ending and starting at first ... his whole life was filled with Rita. And he was confident that in a rhythine life there is a place to him. At least in memories. At least in the memories ...
No family, he had no children. Rita was his family all these years. He lurled her, so as not to suffocate the feeling of guilt: here, they say, because of her he did not work out ...
But now, pouring the whiskey, Oleg suddenly realized that Rita did not remember him all these years. She did not even recognize me, he said bitter himself. Probably she did not love me as I am her ...
"A man, a book forgot," the waitress shouted after him when he headed towards the door with an insecure gait.
"Take yourself," Oleg responded. - I already read. Good story stories, you like. "