Metlitskaya Women's Day read online in full. Women's Day - Maria Metlitskaya - Behind Other People's Windows

Current page: 1 (total book has 16 pages) [accessible reading excerpt: 9 pages]

Maria Metlitskaya
Women's Day

* * *

Looking for similarities with real characters is absolutely absurd. All characters are created by the author. There are no prototypes! The rest is the imagination of the reader.

- Didn't get enough sleep? the make-up artist asked helpfully and brushed Zhenya's chin with a brush.

Zhenya shuddered and opened her eyes.

“Yeah, not really,” she agreed sadly.

- With sleep or - in general? The curious make-up artist chuckled.

Jenny smiled too.

Why "at all"? "In general" everything is fine!

You can't wait, she thought, a fig with butter! We know those. Sympathizers. We give you a soul, and you give us gossip. Then you carry it along the corridors of Ostankino - everything is bad with Ippolitova. Pale, sad, in short - no. There are no other problems in the family. Yeah, cheers!”

The make-up artist was not young, apparently experienced in matters of the heart and clearly accustomed to intimate conversations.

- Eyes? – in a whisper, she asked intimately. - Will we strengthen the eyes?

It became funny to my wife - to enlarge her eyes! Imperceptibly sighed - before nothing enlarge was not needed. The eyes were nothing. Lips are also quite, quite. The nose didn't disappoint either. The hair is medium, but not the last ... yes. But the rights are persistent - the eyes are now clearly in need of enlargement. And the mouth could be refreshed. Yes, and everything else ... refresh, tune, enlarge. Everything except the ass and some parts of the back.

The make-up artist tried - sticking out the tip of her tongue, powdered, painted on, reduced and enlarged.

Finally, she straightened her back, stepped back half a step, looked at Zhenya and said:

- Here you go. And thank God! Fresh, young, good. In short, ready to go. Well, in the breaks we will fix it, get wet and dry it - well, everything is as usual!

Zhenya got up from the dressing room chair, smiled, pleased with the result.

- Thank you! Thanks a lot. You are truly a great pro.

The make-up artist waved her hand.

- So many years, what are you talking about! Ten years in Maly, seven in Taganka. And it's already here, - she thought, remembering, - yes, it's almost twelve here. The monkey would have learned.

A young curly-haired girl peeked through the door.

- Tamar Ivann! Olshanskaya has arrived.

Tamara Ivanovna threw up her hands.

- Lord! Well, it's about to start!

Zhenya sat down on a double sofa and picked up an old and tattered magazine, apparently intended to entertain the waiting guests.

The make-up artist began - unnecessarily hastily - to tidy up the dressing table.

The door swung open and a whirlwind rushed in. A whirlwind that sweeps away everything in its path. Behind Whirlwind ran two girls, one of whom was the curly-haired one. They babbled incoherently and were very excited.

Whirlwind threw off his bright red leather cloak and flopped heavily into a chair.

Olshanskaya was good. Zhenya saw her only on TV and now, forgetting about decorum, eagerly looked at her.

Red, short-cut, like a boy, hair. Very white skin, peculiar only to red people, light hemp on a lovely, beautifully upturned nose. Very large and very bright, completely without lipstick, lively and mobile mouth. And the eyes are huge, dark blue, such a rare color that almost never occurs in tired nature.

"Cool!" - Zhenya thought with delight, always with pleasure noticing female beauty.

Olshanskaya glanced around the dressing room and stared at the elderly make-up artist.

- Well, thank God, you, Tom! she exhaled with relief. - Now I am calm. And then ... These, - she twisted her mouth and nodded her head at the girls huddled against the wall, - these! These are fucking screwed up.

The girls shuddered and pressed even deeper into the wall.

Make-up artist Tamara Ivanovna parted her lips into the sweetest smile, spread her arms for hugs and went to Olshanskaya.

But she went up to the chair and froze - Olshanskaya was not going to throw herself into her arms.

- Maybe coffee? - Curly croaked.

- Yeah, how! Olshanskaya grimaced. “Pour me a stinky instant drink from the cooler now and call it coffee!”

- I'll cook! Tamara Ivanovna was alarmed. - I'll cook in a Turkish, ground in the morning! With foam and salt, right, Alechka?

Olshanskaya looked at the make-up artist for a minute, as if thinking, and then nodded languidly.

Zhenya again buried herself in the magazine - she didn’t want to look at the star at all.

“That's it,” she thought, “a star, a beauty, nowhere more successful. And such ... Although what? Well, show off a little, with whom it does not happen! A star is not a pound of raisins." But still. It became somehow uncomfortable or something ... Not that she was afraid of this Olshanskaya - no, stupidity, of course. I just thought: this swell will “kill” everyone. It will "star" and revel - with itself, beloved. And we ... We will stay in the backyard, of course. Under the bench. The actress will outplay everyone, of course.

Well, okay. Think!

But then I regretted a little ... That I signed up for all THIS. In vain. It was not necessary.

As I felt - no need.

She quietly went out the door - watching the capricious star is not enough pleasure.

I began to walk along the corridor. She had been to Ostankino before - on talk show recordings. She was often invited, but she rarely agreed. It was a pity both time and effort. Yes, and there was not much interest - if only at the very beginning.

Along the corridor towards her, a short and very pretty woman walked swiftly, with short steps. She looked at the signs on the doors, narrowing her eyes a little short-sightedly. Behind her ran what was called the guest editor.

Strekalova - Zhenya recognized her. Veronika Yurievna Strekalova. Gynecologist. A very famous doctor. The director of the institute is not only a director, but also practically a creator. Professor, member of various international associations. Clever, in general. The woman who gave dozens of desperate women the happiness of motherhood. My wife came across interviews with Strekalova, and she always noticed that she really liked this fragile and modest woman.

The young guy, the same meeting editor, stopped with someone and started chatting. Strekalova looked around in confusion, looking for him with her eyes, thought for a minute, sighed, stopped at the right door and knocked timidly.

A curly-haired girl emerged from behind the door and, seeing the professor, was delighted with her, as if she were her own mother.

“Forgive me,” Strekalova stammered, “for being late. Such plugs! Some kind of nightmare. I’m from the very center,” she continued to justify herself.

Curly pulled her into the room, practically by the sleeve.

Zhenya chuckled: well, this sheep is cleaner than me! Rejoice, Olshanskaya! Today, you definitely have no competitors. And the program can be safely renamed - not "Three tribeswomen whom we admire", but a benefit performance by Alexandra Olshanskaya.

Zhenya sighed and looked at her watch - there were still twenty minutes left. You can safely go down to the first floor in a cafe and drink coffee. For their own, for blood. Not choking on a free, soluble bourda and not begging for "brewed in Turkish".

However, she did not beg. And no one thought to offer her - a small bird. Certainly not Olshanskaya. Wrong caliber!

The coffee in the cafe was excellent - a real cappuccino, properly brewed, with high foam and a cinnamon heart. Zhenya leaned back in her chair and looked around the room. Familiar, entirely media faces - news anchors, talk shows, actors, directors.

A woman in a red dress waved at her obliquely from behind a table. Zhenya recognized Marina Tobolchina, the host of the program, which she, Zhenya, should have gone to in fifteen minutes.

Tobolchin was also a famous person. Everyone has been watching her programs for five or six years. And it was never boring. Tobolchina made programs about women. Once every two years, she only slightly changed the format - probably so as not to bore the viewer. And she had to admit, she was very good at it.

Someone considered Tobolchin's programs opportunistic, someone - similar to each other. Someone reproached her for rigidity, someone for lack of sincerity.

But! Many have watched. Transfers were boring, dynamic. And Tobolchin's questions were not hackneyed, not primitive. And yet - she was very good at knocking out a tear from her interlocutor, pulling out something deeply hidden, almost secret. Professional what to say. Her voice murmured softly, unobtrusively, like a stream. Lulled, soothed, relaxed. And then - oops! Sharp question. And the interlocutor was lost, shuddered, almost jumped in her chair. And there is nowhere to go! Tobolchina prepared for the programs carefully. Looking for skeletons in the closet - nothing like special ... But in the eye, not in the eyebrow!

Zhenya read on the Web that there were a couple of cases when Tobolchina's opponents demanded that the recording be erased and not allowed to air. Figushki! Tobolchina fought like a tigress for every entry. There was even one court case, but Tobolchina won it.

And the litigator was punished with a ruble and public censure. And even ridiculed in the media.

Actually, getting an invitation from Tobolchina was considered cool, very cool. Of course, she was a recognized shark of the pen - if you can say so about the television woman.

Tobolchina looked at her watch, got up briskly and went to Zhenya. She walked over to her table, smiled charmingly and leaned over.

Are you ready, Evgenia Vladimirovna? she asked softly.

Zhenya forced a smile and also nodded.

Yes, Marina. Of course, ready.

Were you wearing makeup? she inquired.

Zhenya nodded.

- Of course.

“Then get to work!” - Tobolchina smiled again and nodded: - Let's go?

Zhenya stood up, sighed, and reluctantly trudged along after her.

My heart was anxious.

"Coward! she scolded herself. - As she was a coward, she remained. Don't drift, Ippolitova! Well… you are no longer Zhenya from the sixth school. You are Evgenia Ippolitova! The star of Russian prose and the favorite of thousands of women. And even men. And you have circulation, mother! ..

So go ahead, dear. We forgot about childhood fears, teenage phobias and menopausal rages. Go ahead with songs! About the heavy, but almost happy female fate. You're a professional at this, Zhenechka. Where is Tobolchin!

Olshanskaya and Strekalova were already sitting at the white oval table in the studio. They sat in silence - Strekalova buried her eyes in the tabletop shiny with varnish, and Olshanskaya looked at her impeccable French manicure.

Marina Tobolchina gave the audience a Hollywood smile and sank into her seat. Zhenya sat down on an empty chair.

Tobolchina looked through the eyeliners, frowned, drew something with a pencil, sighed heavily and raised her eyes.

– Well, dear ladies, shall we start by praying?

Olshanskaya grunted and looked at her watch, Veronika turned pale and nodded cautiously, and Zhenya, sighing, smiled weakly and helplessly spread her arms.

“I wish it all ended, my God! And why am I so worried?

Tobolchina, as if having heard her thoughts, said in a precise voice:

- Don't worry, don't freak out! We don't flinch. We breathe freely and fully. You are all people with experience, familiar with the camera. I am your friend, not your enemy. And you are ladies worthy of admiration! The people love you. So go ahead!

And Tobolchina smiled broadly and amiably.

- Motor! - the director said on the radio, Tobolchina's eyes lit up predatory, and she slightly succumbed forward.

- My dears! she began. - We are together again. I was also looking forward to our meeting. I missed you too! And today, on the eve of the main women's holiday, we decided to make you a wonderful gift. - She withstood a minute pause and again smiled broadly: - So, I present to you my guests today. They don't need an introduction though. But - rules are rules. Please love and favor - Alexandra Olshanskaya! Star of national cinema. By the way, not only domestic. Beautiful, smart and very successful woman. Every time we see Alexandra on the screen, we admire her, strive to be like her and simply adore her.

Olshanskaya, raising an eyebrow slightly, nodded with royal dignity.

“My next guest,” Tobolchina smiled charmingly again, “Veronika Strekalova. Professor, head of the department, author of many works and monographs, and finally, the director of the institute, which I would call the Institute of Hope. Member, among other things, of the Public Chamber, wife and mother. And besides, she's a beauty too!

Veronika Strekalova turned pale as chalk, and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She glanced around at her companions and finally nodded.

- And - my third guest! Tobolchina smiled enigmatically and paused. “My third guest,” she repeated, “Evgenia Ippolitova! Our favorite writer. A woman who knows everything about the female soul and even more than everyone else. Over whose books we cry, laugh and admire them. She gives us happy moments of experience and hope. Evgenia Ippolitova!

Zhenya tried to smile and nodded her head.

The smile was strained and the nod too obvious, she thought. Anyway. Nobody will notice.

- So, - continued Tobolchina, - why did I invite these beautiful women? I think the answer is clear - they all give us joy, many pleasant moments and hope. Hope everything gets fixed. In love, in marriage and, of course, in health. They promise us that everything will be fine. And further. All of them are of the same generation. They have different fates and a different path to success. But they are all wives and mothers. All of them are wonderful and successful. And they are quite worthy to be the heroines of our festive and, I hope, sincere and honest program.

I ask honest questions and expect honest answers! - this was the refrain of the program, the “trick” of Tobolchina, which she repeated several times.

- Alexandra! she turned to Olshanskaya. You are as young and beautiful as ever. More precisely - every year more and more beautiful and younger. Tell me, please, how do you do it? Well, share your secret. With us women who adore you!

- I don't envy anyone! - sharply, almost with a challenge, the actress threw. “Neither more successful, nor younger. Envious aunts have a toad grimace imprinted on their faces - take a closer look. And see for yourself.

- Oh, is it? - Tobolchina smiled slyly - Is it just the absence of envy? And completely without the intervention of plastic surgeons? Oh, how tired of all these naive nonsense that no one believes in for a long time - do not envy, get enough sleep, cucumber and kefir on your face and other nonsense ...

Zhenya saw how Olshanskaya tensed up - for a split second a slight wrinkle ran across her snow-white forehead and her eyes slightly darkened. For a fraction of a second. And then she blossomed like a poppy flower - smiled so that goosebumps. “You can’t drink away skill,” Zhenya thought with admiration.

“Marina, dear,” Olshanskaya sang drawlingly, “what do I need secrets for? Everyone knows how old I am. Everyone knows how many times I'm married. And about tuning - so now they are just proud of it.

Tobol'china slightly leaned back in her chair.

- That's right, dear Alexandra! Personally, I don't doubt it for a minute. You were born in Siberia. And this is a diagnosis. Such resilience and such persistence! And besides - what do you envy? To you, Alexandra? Wonderful children, wonderful husband… Not to mention your career!

Olshanskaya nodded graciously - they say, everything is true.

– I was born, yes, in Siberia. My father served there. But - parents come from St. Petersburg. And that's where I actually grew up.

Tobolchina looked at Veronica.

“Dear Veronica,” she said softly, “well, now to you.

The professor shuddered and nodded meekly.

- You are an amazing, extraordinary, but simply a brilliant woman. Your technologies are know-how in science. You manage to do everything: teach, manage the institute, and even take a difficult birth. In addition, you are a loving wife and mother of a beautiful son. How can you combine all this? Some fail to succeed even in one of the above items.

Veronika Strekalova, almost without opening her lips, quietly said:

- Well, what are you! Why is it extraordinary? This is all knowledge and a good education. I just loved studying,” she chirped very quietly.

Tobolchina laughed demonically and waved her hand.

- Come on, Veronika Yurievna! Lots of people love to learn. And where are they, what happened to them? No, I don't think that's the point. And in what? - and Tobolchina narrowed her beautiful green eyes.

“But I really don’t know,” the interlocutor squeaked in confusion, “it’s somehow embarrassing to talk about myself ... such a thing!”

- Yes, what kind of "such"? the presenter was surprised. - We're telling the truth! For this we are loved and watched. Our viewers are interested in knowing exactly the truth about their contemporaries. Beautiful, successful, worthy! Because if someone could, then I can, do you understand me?

Tobolchina almost leaned across the table and stared point-blank at Strekalova.

- God! Yes, I really don’t know, - Veronica almost cried, - believe me, nothing mysterious! Studied, defended at the age of twenty-six. Candidate. At thirty-six - a doctorate. The topic was noticed, associates and like-minded people appeared. I've just been very lucky with good people, really! A couple of articles have been published in scientific journals. The minister got interested and supported us – we are very grateful to him. Well, and then ... It rolled.

She paused and took a small sip of water from her glass.

“Exactly,” Tobolchina picked up, “now everything is clear!” You have studied. With interest and zeal. And at the same time - that's where the rub! - managed to get married and have a child. And, what - all by themselves, alone? Just you and your husband? I'm sorry, but somehow I can't believe it.

Finally, Strekalova turned a little pink and cheered up.

- Oh, are you talking about this? Yes, of course not! Of course, not by yourself. And not alone. You know, - then she smiled and spoke a little louder, - I have a wonderful mother-in-law. Just a miracle, not a mother-in-law! Yes, if not for her ... There would be no professor Strekalova, my career and my son, and indeed everything that can be proud of.

- Amazing! - happily picked up Tobolchina. “Now we understand everything. So there is another woman, our invisible heroine. Applause! What is your mother-in-law's name, Veronica?

"Vera Matveevna," Strekalova wilted again for some reason.

- Vera Matveevna, - Tobolchina began bravura, - dear! A low bow to you from us sitting in the studio. And, I think, not only from us. If not for you and not for your help, we would not have such a doctor and there was no hope and faith that everything is fixable and will be fine. Because we believe your sister-in-law. We believe and trust!

- Well, now - to you, - Tobolchina grinned, turning her gaze to Zhenya. - To you, our dear sorceress! Our visionary, our storyteller. Carrying us into the world of wonderful dreams. To the world of beautiful and strong men, to the world of gentle and weak women. You are also a mystery - for me, for example. An ordinary woman working in (here she glanced at the paper) in an ordinary school, and suddenly - almost forty years old! This seemingly ordinary woman, mother, wife, employee, begins to write books that are amazing in their sincerity and sincerity. How did it all come about, dear Evgenia? What preceded this, where did it come from? How did the edges of your talent suddenly play?

Zhenya spread her hands in embarrassment.

“Honestly, I don’t know myself. Just… just one day, all of a sudden… I wanted to write. I then got sick. She lay for a long time, a month and a half. And she didn't know what to do with herself. And so I tried. And suddenly - it worked! To be honest, I didn't expect it either.

- Well ... It's somehow ... Doesn't convince, or something ... - thoughtfully drawled Tobolchina. - Here I am, for example. How much it hurt, but it didn’t even cross my mind to take a piece of paper and a pen. And if I had to, I don’t think that anyone would be interested in it!

“Everyone has their own destiny,” Zhenya smiled. - I was helped by banal sciatica. Turns out, it happens.

- And life? Tobolchina continued to insist. “Writing is a creative profession. Requiring silence, solitude. Concentration. And here - pots, ladles, unironed linen. And what about all this? With what is eating into our women's lives? After all, you work from home, right?

Zhenya nodded. Of course, at home. Of course, there is no separate office in a separate apartment.

She thought a little, although she answered these questions a hundred times.

- Yes, I got used to it. She sent her children to school, her husband went to work. And she flew off into her fantasies - probably so.

- Well, what about lunch, dinner? Cleaning, all the same linen? For some reason, Tobolchin continued to bend her displeasure.

- Yes, in the meantime, somehow, - Zhenya answered, - cooking soup is not a problem. Peel potatoes - even more so. And you can stroke in the evening, at the TV.

- And you want to say that, having become a famous writer, whose books are published in huge editions, you continue to stand at the stove and fry cutlets?

Zhenya laughed.

- Well, where are you going? Becoming a writer, I have not ceased to be a mother and wife. And then - I'm smart. Fast, I mean. And life is not a burden to me, believe me.

- Marvelous! - Tobolchina sang through the warehouses and spread her hands. - And what does it say? Right. This speaks of what amazing, amazing, extraordinary women we have! And now, - here she became sad, - I will upset you. Advertising, my dear. And I can get bored!

This is also one of her "chips" - "I'll have time to get bored." A sad look, a feigned sigh. Frustrated, sort of.

The music started playing and everyone relaxed a little. Make-up artists flew up and began to blot their faces with napkins and powder their noses and chins with a brush. Tobolchina did not look at anyone, furrowed her brows and read the eyeliner again. Olshanskaya leaned back in her chair imposingly and asked for hot tea. Strekalova tried to get through to someone. Zhenya got up and walked around the studio - her sore back ached, and a little warm-up was required.

Tobolchina raised her head in displeasure.

- Sluggishly somehow, - the director said displeasedly, - let's live more, or something. And then we are already sleeping.

- Pleasant dreams! Tobolchina hissed angrily. - Now wake up. You will be "live" ...

Zhenya shuddered for some reason and looked at Strekalova. She was whiter than a sheet and very concentrated. Olshanskaya was still examining her manicure and was, at first glance, completely calm. But Zhenya saw the fingers of her beautiful, thin and very well-groomed hands tremble.

Tobolchina smiled sweetly and turned to Olshanskaya:

Alexandra, please answer one question. Perhaps not the most pleasant for your family, but ... Refute the yellow media writing all sorts of fables about your respected spouse.

Olshanskaya raised her unique, blue, like mountain lakes, eyes to the host, and Zhenya saw how her gaze froze from pain, which was immediately replaced by indignation and rage.

– Which ones exactly? she asked harshly. - The tabloid press writes a lot of all sorts of vile things - including about you, isn't it?

– Yes, yes, of course! - Tobolchina enthusiastically picked up.

But her eyes narrowed slightly in anger.

- And yet ... Not because we trust her, this press - of course not. But - the fact remains. And, as they say, you can't argue against him. Your husband once said that the business at the beginning of his journey brought him many problems. For example, showdowns with criminal structures, bribes to officials, problems with authorities. It even happened that he was kidnapped. Some nightmare! And now - so strange - he himself is looking for a way into politics, where, as he said, "honest people do not exist and cannot exist." This quote.

Tobolchin, like a frozen cobra, unblinkingly looked at Olshanskaya.

Olshanskaya sighed, smiled charmingly, and calmly began to answer:

– And what, exactly, surprises you so much? How the business was built in those years is known to everyone for a long time. There was no other way. Impossible! And I think every businessman can tell you such horror stories, and even worse! And now everyone is striving for civility. They want to respect the laws. And to fix something - feasible - in our, not the most fair world. Is it wrong? Isn't it illogical? My husband is not a poor man, he has not forgotten his native city and wants - at least there - to put things in order. I answered your question? And she fixed her eyes on the leader.

“Yes,” Tobolchina replied languidly, “now everything is clear.

- Stop! - I heard the roar of the director. - What's the matter, Marina? What are you bored of?

Tobolchina twitched an eyebrow and slightly straightened her back.

“And one more thing, dear! Aren't you afraid to let your husband go for so long? After all, he - as I know - spends almost all the time in another city! Rich man, successful man, handsome man. Maybe you have a secret? How to remain desirable for a husband? How to make him think only about you and miss you? Temptations are the sea. And young beauties - even more so. And you, as it seems to me, the person for certain jealous. Well, you can see it!

And then Olshanskaya's wild cry rang out:

- What is it? Yo Mama! What kind of provocation? You promised that nothing like this would happen! The program is pre-holiday, only compliments and oil! And what happened?

Some people ran into the studio - editors, director. Tobolchina abruptly stood up and headed for the exit.

- Began! she hissed.

- What the hell? Olshanskaya continued to shout. “What the hell, I ask you? she shouted in the face of a thin guy in glasses and bright pink sneakers.

- What's got you so upset? the director inquired. - I think the questions are quite harmless and ordinary.

- I'm leaving! Olshanskaya said. - I am tired of this! and got up from the chair.

The director and others surrounded her and comforted her. A girl whispered something in her ear. Olshanskaya shook her head and continued to be indignant.

- I'm going to smoke! she announced loudly and hurried out of the studio.

Nervous fuss began, whispering.

Strekalova did not raise her eyes. Zhenya looked at her in confusion and shrugged her shoulders - they say that she was so wound up? Then hesitantly said:

“Maybe… we’ll go too?”

Veronica shuddered and looked helplessly at Zhenya.

- You think? she asked quietly.

Zhenya shrugged. Strekalova sighed heavily and said:

“I think… you are right. Gotta flush.

At that moment, Tobolchina flew into the studio - with lips renewed with fresh lipstick, with a wide smile and shining eyes.

- What, girls? Are we writing? she happily inquired.

The "girls" shuddered in fright and looked at each other.

- The actress, - Tobolchina spread her hands, - an emotional person, quick-tempered, hot ... It happens! she sighed.

- Well, we are with you ... Let's continue!

- Evgenia Vladimirovna, your fate is a complete mystery. Until forty, you were a completely ordinary woman, went to work, cooked dinner. Raised children. And suddenly! Suddenly you started writing. And after two years they became so popular and famous! And people say that your novels are so close and understandable to them that it seems as if they were written specifically about us. What is the secret, dear Evgenia? And how did you decide to write? Illumination? Mercy of the gods, so to speak? Or some serious events, some milestone, the Rubicon, after which this miracle happened? Reveal the secret to us! The secret of your favorite writer...

No secrets, I assure you! Maybe I will disappoint you greatly, but, believe me, no secrets! Everything is very simple - troubles started at work, and I left. It was the beginning of summer, and I did not immediately want to look for a new job. I decided - I will spend the summer and in the fall I will start searching. And here is the cottage. On Sunday, everyone leaves - children, husband. I'm alone. Things to do? Garden? Right! And then he grabbed sciatica - well, what kind of gardener am I? And then it happened - I opened my laptop and tried something. For a long time I did not dare to send the manuscript. In August, I made up my mind. Sent by email to a couple of publishers. I did not immediately believe it when I received an answer five months later. No one believed - neither the children nor the husband. And most of all, myself. I did not believe even when I signed the contract. I didn't believe it when I got my first money. Quite small, but understandable. I believed it when I first picked up the book. That's when the breath caught. My name is on the cover and my photo is on the back. It was such a shock and such a miracle that I put the book on my pillow and stroked and leafed through it all night. That's all, actually, - Zhenya smiled.

Did you say everyone left on Sunday? Tobolchina suddenly clarified. - You mean to work?

Zhenya was surprised.

- Well, yes, to work. Everyone has to go to work on Monday. Children go to school, adults go to work. What surprised you so much?

“Uh-huh,” Tobolchina said thoughtfully, “only…” she paused, “only, as far as I know, your husband didn’t go to work then. In the sense - that at that moment he was in places ... not so remote. Is not it?

Zhenya felt the blood rush to her face. Breathing became difficult, almost impossible. It became unbearably quiet. Hands went cold, and legs became cottony and heavy.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely, “there was such a… episode. But it's all over! Investigation error. The husband was acquitted and released a year later. Released. And they apologized.

“From the bag and from the prison, as they say ...” Tobolchina sighed lusciously and sympathetically and smiled again, “a folk proverb. And God bless all of this! The main thing is that everything ended well, right?

For some reason, Zhenya nodded. She nodded obediently, as if spellbound. Instead of spitting in the face of this bitch and slamming the door loudly. She sat on a chair, as if glued. I didn't have the strength to get up. I didn't have the strength to answer. I just didn't have the strength...

- Evgenia, dear, - Tobolchina sang again, - and your daughter ... More precisely - the eldest daughter. You once mentioned that the girl is problematic. Especially compared to the younger one. You said that your youngest daughter is just an angel. And here's another ... I mean - the eldest. They are completely different, your girls. I looked at their photos for a long time - and they really are completely different! The youngest is like you. But the eldest - Maria, it seems - is unlike you. And your husband too. And with my sister they are completely different! By the way, how are they with each other? You mean girls, sisters? Are they fighting too? Or is it all over now? Did it get better with time?

“God, what nonsense! Zhenya murmured. “What utter and horrendous nonsense! Where did you get such crazy information?

“From your interview,” Tobolchina clarified with pleasure.

“Nonsense,” Zhenya repeated, “my daughters are all right. They are close people, friends. And my eldest daughter, Marusya, she has long been ... grown up. I'm wondering where you... dug up? Maybe I'm not the best mother and I have a lot of mistakes in raising my daughters, but ... The main thing in my life I did right!

- Error? - as if Tobolchina was delighted. - Well, thank God! she exhaled with relief. She coughed, took a sip of water, and tried to stretch her lips into a smile.

“Well, don’t underestimate your self-esteem like that! Tobolchina asked. – To be a wife, mother and, in addition, a writer - already hoo! Do not be modest, dear Evgenia!

* * *

Looking for similarities with real characters is absolutely absurd. All characters are created by the author. There are no prototypes! The rest is the imagination of the reader.

- Didn't get enough sleep? the make-up artist asked helpfully and brushed Zhenya's chin with a brush.

Zhenya shuddered and opened her eyes.

“Yeah, not really,” she agreed sadly.

- With sleep or - in general? The curious make-up artist chuckled.

Jenny smiled too.

Why "at all"? "In general" everything is fine!

The make-up artist was not young, apparently experienced in matters of the heart and clearly accustomed to intimate conversations.

- Eyes? – in a whisper, she asked intimately. - Will we strengthen the eyes?

The make-up artist tried - sticking out the tip of her tongue, powdered, painted on, reduced and enlarged.

Finally, she straightened her back, stepped back half a step, looked at Zhenya and said:

- Here you go. And thank God! Fresh, young, good. In short, ready to go. Well, in the breaks we will fix it, get wet and dry it - well, everything is as usual!

Zhenya got up from the dressing room chair, smiled, pleased with the result.

- Thank you! Thanks a lot. You are truly a great pro.

The make-up artist waved her hand.

- So many years, what are you talking about! Ten years in Maly, seven in Taganka. And it's already here, - she thought, remembering, - yes, it's almost twelve here. The monkey would have learned.

A young curly-haired girl peeked through the door.

- Tamar Ivann! Olshanskaya has arrived.

Tamara Ivanovna threw up her hands.

- Lord! Well, it's about to start!

Zhenya sat down on a double sofa and picked up an old and tattered magazine, apparently intended to entertain the waiting guests.

The make-up artist began - unnecessarily hastily - to tidy up the dressing table.

Whirlwind threw off his bright red leather cloak and flopped heavily into a chair.

Olshanskaya was good. Zhenya saw her only on TV and now, forgetting about decorum, eagerly looked at her.

"Cool!" - Zhenya thought with delight, always with pleasure noticing female beauty.

Olshanskaya glanced around the dressing room and stared at the elderly make-up artist.

The girls shuddered and pressed even deeper into the wall.

Make-up artist Tamara Ivanovna parted her lips into the sweetest smile, spread her arms for hugs and went to Olshanskaya.

But she went up to the chair and froze - Olshanskaya was not going to throw herself into her arms.

- Maybe coffee? - Curly croaked.

- Yeah, how! Olshanskaya grimaced. “Pour me a stinky instant drink from the cooler now and call it coffee!”

- I'll cook! Tamara Ivanovna was alarmed. - I'll cook in a Turkish, ground in the morning! With foam and salt, right, Alechka?

Olshanskaya looked at the make-up artist for a minute, as if thinking, and then nodded languidly.

Zhenya again buried herself in the magazine - she didn’t want to look at the star at all.

Well, okay. Think!

But then I regretted a little ... That I signed up for all THIS. In vain. It was not necessary.

As I felt - no need.

She quietly went out the door - watching the capricious star is not enough pleasure.

A curly-haired girl emerged from behind the door and, seeing the professor, was delighted with her, as if she were her own mother.

“Forgive me,” Strekalova stammered, “for being late. Such plugs! Some kind of nightmare. I’m from the very center,” she continued to justify herself.

Curly pulled her into the room, practically by the sleeve.

However, she did not beg. And no one thought to offer her - a small bird. Certainly not Olshanskaya. Wrong caliber!

A woman in a red dress waved at her obliquely from behind a table. Zhenya recognized Marina Tobolchina, the host of the program, which she, Zhenya, should have gone to in fifteen minutes.

Someone considered Tobolchin's programs opportunistic, someone - similar to each other. Someone reproached her for rigidity, someone for lack of sincerity.

And the litigator was punished with a ruble and public censure. And even ridiculed in the media.

Actually, getting an invitation from Tobolchina was considered cool, very cool. Of course, she was a recognized shark of the pen - if you can say so about the television woman.

Tobolchina looked at her watch, got up briskly and went to Zhenya. She walked over to her table, smiled charmingly and leaned over.

Are you ready, Evgenia Vladimirovna? she asked softly.

Zhenya forced a smile and also nodded.

Yes, Marina. Of course, ready.

Were you wearing makeup? she inquired.

Zhenya nodded.

- Of course.

“Then get to work!” - Tobolchina smiled again and nodded: - Let's go?

Zhenya stood up, sighed, and reluctantly trudged along after her.

My heart was anxious.

Marina Tobolchina gave the audience a Hollywood smile and sank into her seat. Zhenya sat down on an empty chair.

Tobolchina looked through the eyeliners, frowned, drew something with a pencil, sighed heavily and raised her eyes.

– Well, dear ladies, shall we start by praying?

Olshanskaya grunted and looked at her watch, Veronika turned pale and nodded cautiously, and Zhenya, sighing, smiled weakly and helplessly spread her arms.

“I wish it all ended, my God! And why am I so worried?

Tobolchina, as if having heard her thoughts, said in a precise voice:

And Tobolchina smiled broadly and amiably.

- Motor! - the director said on the radio, Tobolchina's eyes lit up predatory, and she slightly succumbed forward.

Olshanskaya, raising an eyebrow slightly, nodded with royal dignity.

Veronika Strekalova turned pale as chalk, and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She glanced around at her companions and finally nodded.

Zhenya tried to smile and nodded her head.

The smile was strained and the nod too obvious, she thought. Anyway. Nobody will notice.

I ask honest questions and expect honest answers! - this was the refrain of the program, the “trick” of Tobolchina, which she repeated several times.

Tobol'china slightly leaned back in her chair.

Olshanskaya nodded graciously - they say, everything is true.

– I was born, yes, in Siberia. My father served there. But - parents come from St. Petersburg. And that's where I actually grew up.

Tobolchina looked at Veronica.

“Dear Veronica,” she said softly, “well, now to you.

The professor shuddered and nodded meekly.

Veronika Strekalova, almost without opening her lips, quietly said:

- Well, what are you! Why is it extraordinary? This is all knowledge and a good education. I just loved studying,” she chirped very quietly.

Tobolchina laughed demonically and waved her hand.

Books by Maria Metlitskaya always touch a nerve, apparently because the topics described in them are very vital. This is what happens in the book "Women's Day". You sympathize with the main characters, although they are famous, but first of all they are women who are familiar with all women's problems. They also want to be healthy and beautiful, they want to be loved, build a strong and happy family, raise children and fulfill themselves. No matter how successful a woman is, she needs all this, and the writer shows it well. And she also reminds that in life it is not always too good or too bad, do not forget about it.

Three well-known women in society shortly before March 8 were invited to the TV show studio. These are the talented actress Alexandra, the good doctor Veronica and the writer Evgenia. Each of them has already given interviews more than once, talked about how she achieved success, got married, how everything turned out well. And this time they are sure that everything will be the same. However, the host of this show is known for asking tricky questions that make you delve deep into your soul. This is where the ugly truth comes to light, which the women themselves forgot about, having already become confused about which of what they tell is true and which is a beautiful fairy tale.

On our website you can download the book "Women's Day" by Maria Metlitskaya for free and without registration in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format, read a book online or buy a book in an online store.

Maria Metlitskaya

Women's Day

* * *

Looking for similarities with real characters is absolutely absurd. All characters are created by the author. There are no prototypes! The rest is the imagination of the reader.

- Didn't get enough sleep? the make-up artist asked helpfully and brushed Zhenya's chin with a brush.

Zhenya shuddered and opened her eyes.

“Yeah, not really,” she agreed sadly.

- With sleep or - in general? The curious make-up artist chuckled.

Jenny smiled too.

Why "at all"? "In general" everything is fine!

The make-up artist was not young, apparently experienced in matters of the heart and clearly accustomed to intimate conversations.

- Eyes? – in a whisper, she asked intimately. - Will we strengthen the eyes?

The make-up artist tried - sticking out the tip of her tongue, powdered, painted on, reduced and enlarged.

Finally, she straightened her back, stepped back half a step, looked at Zhenya and said:

- Here you go. And thank God! Fresh, young, good. In short, ready to go. Well, in the breaks we will fix it, get wet and dry it - well, everything is as usual!

Zhenya got up from the dressing room chair, smiled, pleased with the result.

- Thank you! Thanks a lot. You are truly a great pro.

The make-up artist waved her hand.

- So many years, what are you talking about! Ten years in Maly, seven in Taganka. And it's already here, - she thought, remembering, - yes, it's almost twelve here. The monkey would have learned.

A young curly-haired girl peeked through the door.

- Tamar Ivann! Olshanskaya has arrived.

Tamara Ivanovna threw up her hands.

- Lord! Well, it's about to start!

Zhenya sat down on a double sofa and picked up an old and tattered magazine, apparently intended to entertain the waiting guests.

The make-up artist began - unnecessarily hastily - to tidy up the dressing table.

Whirlwind threw off his bright red leather cloak and flopped heavily into a chair.

Olshanskaya was good. Zhenya saw her only on TV and now, forgetting about decorum, eagerly looked at her.

"Cool!" - Zhenya thought with delight, always with pleasure noticing female beauty.

Olshanskaya glanced around the dressing room and stared at the elderly make-up artist.

The girls shuddered and pressed even deeper into the wall.

Make-up artist Tamara Ivanovna parted her lips into the sweetest smile, spread her arms for hugs and went to Olshanskaya.

But she went up to the chair and froze - Olshanskaya was not going to throw herself into her arms.

- Maybe coffee? - Curly croaked.

- Yeah, how! Olshanskaya grimaced. “Pour me a stinky instant drink from the cooler now and call it coffee!”

- I'll cook! Tamara Ivanovna was alarmed. - I'll cook in a Turkish, ground in the morning! With foam and salt, right, Alechka?

Olshanskaya looked at the make-up artist for a minute, as if thinking, and then nodded languidly.

Zhenya again buried herself in the magazine - she didn’t want to look at the star at all.

Well, okay. Think!

But then I regretted a little ... That I signed up for all THIS. In vain. It was not necessary.

As I felt - no need.

She quietly went out the door - watching the capricious star is not enough pleasure.

A curly-haired girl emerged from behind the door and, seeing the professor, was delighted with her, as if she were her own mother.

“Forgive me,” Strekalova stammered, “for being late. Such plugs! Some kind of nightmare. I’m from the very center,” she continued to justify herself.

Curly pulled her into the room, practically by the sleeve.

However, she did not beg. And no one thought to offer her - a small bird. Certainly not Olshanskaya. Wrong caliber!

A woman in a red dress waved at her obliquely from behind a table. Zhenya recognized Marina Tobolchina, the host of the program, which she, Zhenya, should have gone to in fifteen minutes.

Someone considered Tobolchin's programs opportunistic, someone - similar to each other. Someone reproached her for rigidity, someone for lack of sincerity.

When you feel bad, know that it will not always be like this. But even when you are sure that you are happy, remember that this will not always be the case either. Alas, we often forget about both. But fate does not miss the moment to find solace in time or, conversely, to click on the nose. And this is exactly what the new novel by Maria Metlitskaya is about.

On the eve of Women's Day, three successful women - an actress, a doctor and a writer - came to the studio of a popular talk show. All three had no doubt that they were expected to tell a story of success, about "how they made themselves." Each of them gave such an interview more than once, and over time, truth and fiction got so mixed up that the heroines themselves sometimes could not distinguish one from the other. But everything went in a completely different scenario. Women's Day has become another test - for strength, decency, for the ability to love and forgive. And another reminder - neither very bad nor very good is always the case.

Maria Metlitskaya

Women's Day

* * *

Looking for similarities with real characters is absolutely absurd. All characters are created by the author. There are no prototypes! The rest is the imagination of the reader.

- Didn't get enough sleep? the make-up artist asked helpfully and brushed Zhenya's chin with a brush.

Zhenya shuddered and opened her eyes.

“Yeah, not really,” she agreed sadly.

- With sleep or - in general? The curious make-up artist chuckled.

Jenny smiled too.

Why "at all"? "In general" everything is fine!

The make-up artist was not young, apparently experienced in matters of the heart and clearly accustomed to intimate conversations.

- Eyes? – in a whisper, she asked intimately. - Will we strengthen the eyes?

The make-up artist tried - sticking out the tip of her tongue, powdered, painted on, reduced and enlarged.

Finally, she straightened her back, stepped back half a step, looked at Zhenya and said:

- Here you go. And thank God! Fresh, young, good. In short, ready to go. Well, in the breaks we will fix it, get wet and dry it - well, everything is as usual!

Zhenya got up from the dressing room chair, smiled, pleased with the result.

- Thank you! Thanks a lot. You are truly a great pro.

The make-up artist waved her hand.

- So many years, what are you talking about! Ten years in Maly, seven in Taganka. And it's already here, - she thought, remembering, - yes, it's almost twelve here. The monkey would have learned.

A young curly-haired girl peeked through the door.

- Tamar Ivann! Olshanskaya has arrived.

Tamara Ivanovna threw up her hands.

- Lord! Well, it's about to start!

Zhenya sat down on a double sofa and picked up an old and tattered magazine, apparently intended to entertain the waiting guests.

The make-up artist began - unnecessarily hastily - to tidy up the dressing table.

Whirlwind threw off his bright red leather cloak and flopped heavily into a chair.

Olshanskaya was good. Zhenya saw her only on TV and now, forgetting about decorum, eagerly looked at her.

"Cool!" - Zhenya thought with delight, always with pleasure noticing female beauty.

Olshanskaya glanced around the dressing room and stared at the elderly make-up artist.

The girls shuddered and pressed even deeper into the wall.

Make-up artist Tamara Ivanovna parted her lips into the sweetest smile, spread her arms for hugs and went to Olshanskaya.

But she went up to the chair and froze - Olshanskaya was not going to throw herself into her arms.

- Maybe coffee? - Curly croaked.

- Yeah, how! Olshanskaya grimaced. “Pour me a stinky instant drink from the cooler now and call it coffee!”

- I'll cook! Tamara Ivanovna was alarmed. - I'll cook in a Turkish, ground in the morning! With foam and salt, right, Alechka?

Olshanskaya looked at the make-up artist for a minute, as if thinking, and then nodded languidly.

Zhenya again buried herself in the magazine - she didn’t want to look at the star at all.

Well, okay. Think!

But then I regretted a little ... That I signed up for all THIS. In vain. It was not necessary.

As I felt - no need.

She quietly went out the door - watching the capricious star is not enough pleasure.

This book is part of a series of books: